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ateezmakemeweep · 5 years ago

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richboy!seonghwa (part 11)

word count: 6k

angst, fluff

(part 10) (series masterlist)

"okay, now, which one, y/n?" wooyoung whines, holding up a fuzzy yellow sweater and a blue knitted one. you purse your lips to the side as you sit on his bed, examining the expensive fabrics.

"the yellow one."

"ugh but it's kind of itchy," he groans. your eyebrow raises and you desperately hold back a huff of your own because this is how the last hour's been going. shirts and sweaters getting tossed and complaints left and right and perhaps you should've put more thought into your own outfit.

"weren't we supposed to go at 9?" you whine back, looking at your phone that reads 9:52, "you'll look good in anything!"

he squints his eyes at your small smile as you wiggle your feet on his bed. you've been antsy all day and now just waiting around for your impending doom is making it so much worse.

because the second you stepped into the lobby for breakfast this morning, talk of a party being held tonight was the only topic of conversation between the bustling group of teens sprawled out across the couches and bar stools.

three of the boys in your grade had completely rented out one of the local restaurant bars, then promptly proceeded to sneak in all of their own alcohol and send out a mass text to everyone on the trip.

and of course you were hesitant from the start, seeing as what happened the last time you attended a party.

you listened to the boys talk over breakfast, yeosang only looking your way with a tense, barely-there smile. like he hadn't broke down to you and hugged you or delivered that (delicious) food to your door last night.

but then a part of you thinks he probably doesn't want to acknowledge it in a public setting, around all of his friends on top of the fact that you'd be able to cut the tension between him and seonghwa with a knife.

"so we're all in agreement then, we're gonna get shitfaced?" san confirms, clapping his hands together in excitement.

"the fuck, yes!" wooyoung says as if the question itself was absurd.

"i very much plan to," hongjoong concurs, mouth stuffed with a waffle.

"agreed," yeosang mumbles.

just the sound of his voice has the boy next to you tensing, your eyes peaking up to see seonghwa rolling his eyes at his friend and it makes you swallow nervously, not liking the tension or the way you feel like it's your fault. like how all of their little tiffs lately seem to be your fault.

he must feel you looking at him because his head turns to face you, cold eyes softening and the duality of his intense glares will never not shock you. how he could go from burning a hole in someone's face to having you fully mesmerized under his gaze.

his eyes move further down, brows knitting as his stomach sinks because just the mention of this party has you nervous, has your hands folded into one another and fingers fiddling nervously; he feels the familiar feeling of guilt start to creep in his veins at that moment.

"come with me?" he mumbles suddenly, placing his warm hand over the both of yours and rubbing them calmingly before taking one in his grasp.

you nod quietly, feeling the boy's gaze on you before the familiar sound of wooyoung's squeals.

"hands, hands, look at their hands!"

"oh, my gosh, cuuuuute," san whines happily, smacking the side of wooyoung's arm.

"do you two ever stop talking," yeosang growls, ripping his gaze away from your retreating figures moving to the breakfast table.

"are you still hungry?" you ask seonghwa, "i don't know how you guys eat like pigs but still stay so skinny."

a little laugh leaves his mouth as he takes more fruit and another bagel, piling it on silently before putting his plate down.

"are you gonna be okay tonight?" he asks quietly, taking a step closer to you and causing you to bite the inside of your cheek nervously, "i...we can do something else if you want."

a shy smile makes its way on your face, you heart warming at the gesture and the sincerity in his eyes. because it's so thoughtful and sweet and your heart continually melts when he shows time and time again how considerate he is.

but you don't wanna ruin the fun nor do you want that event to taint any other experience you might and will have. it appears though that even with your positive and strong thoughts, it doesn't translate to your body's natural nervous reaction. doesn't stop your stomach from feeling queasy or your mind start to race with the hazy memories.

you're suddenly very interested in the pictures on the wall behind him, eyes darting to take in the drawings and snapshots of the ski lodge throughout the years. the picturesque town, an overview shot from the ski lift at sunset, snow-covered tree, the-

his warm hand on your jaw moves your face ever so slightly so your eyes immediately fall back on him, your tongue darting out to lick your lips nervously and you don't miss the way his eyes follow it.

"y/n?" he hums, head cocked to the side as he looks at you, his gaze gentle and patient.

"no, i can...we can go, i'll be okay," you stutter out, your head turning to look at the table of excited boys throwing crumbs at each other.

"are you sure?" he asks, noticing where your gaze shifts and letting out a sigh, "they won't mind, you know."

"thank you," you say softly, turning back to him face, "but i promise it's okay, i...i think it'll be fun. we can dance."

a soft smile makes its way on his face and he has to suppress a laugh thinking about the kind of dancing you think is appropriate at a party.

"you're two left feet say otherwise," he quips, letting out a laugh when you smack his chest lightly.

"shut up!"

he bites his lip to stop his grin from widening, licking over the slightly red skin as his eyes glaze over with a seriousness. his hand falls to your waist a few moments later, pulls you a little closer and you look up at him breathlessly.

"what?" you squeak because he can go from playful to serious in the blink of an eye.

"i'll be with you the whole time, you know that, yeah?" his deep voice murmurs lowly and he thinks he's confirming this more for his own benefit than yours.

your cheeks warm as your eyes give him all the answers he needs and and you don't even bother to lower your face to hide your blush. "i told you to stop saying stuff like that," you whine and a laugh bursts out of his mouth when he pulls back to see your pink-tinted face.

"now why i would do that when you look so cute," he hums, his hand back on your jaw and moving your face gently.

you let out a huff, the pout on your face quickly replaced by your parting mouth letting out a tiny gasp when you feel his his warm, wet lips are on your cheek. it was a soft and sudden peck, warm and sweet and so juvenile it shouldn't have your heart pounding; you pull back and you don't even wanna know how wide your eyes look right now

"seonghwa," you whine, your hand covering the cheek he just kissed but a soft smile you have no control over stretching across your face.

another chuckle leaves him, his eyebrow raising teasingly as he covers your hand with his own. "what," he muses lowly, "you didn't say i couldn't do anything." and then with that, he winks, really winks, before taking his plate and leaving you shell shocked.

"okay, you know what, i'm going with the itchy yellow. but i'm just telling you now i'm gonna need you to scratch my back," wooyoung says, ripping you from the memory of this morning; the boy smirks at you when he sees your flustered expression.

"were you just reliving your dreamy kiss?" the boy asks sarcastically, fanning himself with one hand as he adjusts the neck of his shirt.

"ugh, stop," you whine, falling backwards on to the bed while wooyoung's chuckle rings in the background. "i still can't believe he did that," you mumble under your breath but apparently loud enough for a certain (self-proclaimed) nosy loudmouth to hear.

"you can't? he's literally obsessed with you," wooyoung says, walking over to his dresser where he has vodka and shot glasses lined up, "i don't know if i've ever seen him act like this," he says absentmindedly, such casual words sending you into a frenzy.

"what are you doing?" you ask warily when you pick your head up, trying to ignore the excited warmness spreading in your chest.

"these are for us, baby girl, c'mon," he says, calling you over with two fingers before throwing one back. he hisses before shaking his head and letting out a loud, dramatic "wooo!" that you thought for sure was only something frat boys did in movies.

"i don't think that's a good-"

he's over to you in seconds, both hands holding the neon glasses and you swallow nervously looking at them.

"both of them?" you squeak and he only nods, a smile that's much too large on his face. you both have a stare down, your eyes pleading but his relentless and you take them with a sigh.

"this is peer pressure, you know," you grumble as you take a whiff before scrunching your nose and gagging.

"oh, stop your shit," he yells from the dresser, pouring two more for him before walking back over. he clinks his glass with yours before counting down.

you take one shot on the count of three and promptly gag, nearly spitting it all up as you desperately look around for any other beverage. but he only shakes his head, holding a bottle of orange juice tauntingly.

"one more, y/n, come on," he urges and you suppress another gag as you take down the shot with a sneer. he hands you the bottle of juice with a little pat on the head and you squint your eyes at him as you gulp down the much better tasting liquid.

"that was so bad," you whine causing wooyoung to laugh and roll his eyes. "we're ready to go now!"

"okay, that actually wasn't toooo bad," you say only two short hours, leaning on san who just gave you your 4th shot of the night, "it tastes like peach."

"didn't i tell you," he says victoriously, grabbing on to your arm as you both stumble back to your friend group.

the restaurant is spacious and lit with fake candles, probably far too fancy an establishment to be littered with rowdy drunk teens grinding and drinking and screaming over the loud music playing from the dj speakers.

"oh no, here they are," yeosang says with a smile and you noticed he's much happier when he's drunk.

"here we areee!" you say as saunter up to him and stumble between his legs. "you," your finger coming out to bop him on the nose, "are a whole lot happier with a few in you. you should drink more often."

"you think?" he hums, tongue darting out to lick the top row of his teeth and your hazy eyes watch the slow stroke.

"i do," you squeak out before looking at seonghwa across the table who's gaze is boring into your body, or more so how close it is to yeosang. you furrow your eyebrows at him before moving to the other side of the bench, squeezing in next to him and he smiles at you.

"how many shots you have?" he asks lowly and you splay four fingers across your lips as a lousy attempt at 'sh.'

"and what about you?" you whine, looking up at him with wide eyes, "why aren't you drinking."

"i am," he says, holding up his beer bottle and shaking it. you furrow your eyebrows before leaning tiredly on his shoulder, hazy eyes moving to yeosang whose eyes are boring into seonghwa.

sober you would never so boldly call out the obvious tension and sneers between the two boys. but put a few shots in you and:

"stop looking at him like that," you whine before moving your head up to see seonghwa is doing the same. "and you too! you guys are-are best friends!"

"he's a dick," they both say in unison and you can't help but giggle.

"but you're each other's dicks."

"no, y/n, we are definitely not," seonghwa grumbles just as yeosang starts to fake gag. the both of them look at each other in disgust and you let out a sigh before shouting for wooyoung at the dj booth; he quickly turns and runs over, extending his hand.

"are you finally gonna dance with me!" he says excitedly and you nod your head, scrambling off the booth and taking the boy's sweaty hand in yours.

"be each other's dicks aga-again! you better have made out-wait no aha," you giggle to yourself, fuzzy brain searching for the word, "made UP, when i'm back!"

you attempt to pull wooyoung away when seonghwa quickly catches him by the arm. you let out an impatient huff as you watch him whisper something into wooyoung's ear. the boy face dims for the slightest of seconds before he nods enthusiastically and tightens his grip on your hand.

"i will not fail you this time sir," he says and the boy can only squint his eyes at the boy's playfulness causing wooyoung to grimace. "alright, let's gooo, y/n," he says, holding your combined hands up and running towards san and hongjoong on the dance floor.

"she can take care of herself," yeosang says after a few moments of silence and seonghwa's head snaps to him, his eyes squinting at the boy.

"what?"

"you told wooyoung to take care of her and to not leave her," he says, "but she can take care of herself."

seonghwa turns his head to the side challengingly, crossing his arms over his chest as his jaw starts to tighten.

"you couldn't have forgotten what happened the last time we were all at-"

"obviously not, i was the one who had to walk in on it," the boy snaps, "but this time's different."

seonghwa's leg starts bouncing nervously, his guilt and irritation from that night swarming back into him before yeosang daringly speaks again.

"it's just all the time, seonghwa," yeosang then bites, "you're always worried and on edge and ready to like ..kill for her or some crazy shit. like last night, what the fuck was that."

seonghwa lets out a huff, breaking eye contact for a second to take a swig before looking back.

"you pay for her, tell me you're not gonna fuck with her, and then go and do the shit you did. what the fuck was that."

"i told you i already explained myself to her and apologized," yeosang snaps, "so you have to stop attacking me any time she's involved."

seonghwa's jaw twitches again and yeosang rolls his eyes at his friend's obvious anger, his drunken, hazy brain so over this confrontation and tension. "now can you stop clenching your jaw, you're gonna need new implants."

his eyes roll, head turned to the side as his tongue peaks out angrily and yeosang can't help the smirk on his face. "fuck you, i still don't know how that rumor got started."

"yeah, me either," yeosang hums, "because it definitely wasn't me."

seonghwa's head snaps to his friend, eyes roaming his face because if a rumor of that caliber was started by this little shit, he's gonna have to smash this beer bottle over his head.

"tell me you're joking."

his head turns to the side challengingly, tone sharp and teasing, "quit biting my head off anytime i breathe around y/n and i'll confirm or deny if i confessed my conspiracy in a drunken stupor."

now seonghwa can't help but burst out laughing, shaking his head before throwing the cap from his beer at his friend. "you're a fucking asshole."

and just like that, the tension was gone, the two of them laughing and turning to watch their friends sloppily dance and jump around. watch with bright smiles and soaring hearts as san and wooyoung spin and twirl you dramatically, your happy squeals filling the air.

but even in his drunken daze, yeosang is his ever observant self. watching you pull your neck back slightly, hand flying to your stomach before your mouth opens oh so subtly to take in a deep breath.

"oh, no, no, no, no," he mumbles, seonghwa turning his head to the side at his friend's mantra. and before he can ask, yeosang jumps up and runs to grab you by the arm.

"hold it," he grumbles in your ear before pushing you out the closest door to outside. his eyes frantically search before they land on a garbage, leading you to it just as a gag begins to leave your mouth. you grip the cold, snowy rim of the can just as you start to puke up the bile in your stomach.

you faintly feel a hand holding back your hair, the other rubbing your back as you choke out your sudden onslaught of puke.

"you shouldn't have been spinning around," he chastises softly causing you to whip your head back at him.

"i'll puke on the rest out on your shoes," you snap before turning around and lurching forward when the last bit spews out your mouth.

"right, okay," he hums, faintly aware of the sound of the door opening and feet scuffling toward you both.

"is she good," seonghwa mumbles and you close your eyes because how embarrassing that they're both here during this.

"oh, yeah, ju-just great with my head in the trash," you snap and both of them snort despite themselves, loving how you're extra snippy even with your drunken slurs and less than stellar position in the public garbage. they watch as you take a few deep breaths before finally wiping your mouth with your arm. yeosang releases your hair, taking a step back as you turn around and look at them with a bashful (humiliated) smile.

"that....was gross," you whine and the both of them bite their lips to hide their smiles. but it doesn't stop yeosang from making a snide comment complaining about how loud your gags were.

"can you shut-shut up," you hiccup, "i should've ruined your fancy little rich boy shoes." you kick the snow under your feet at him before seonghwa cautiously comes to your side. he wraps his jacket around your shoulders gently causing you to let out a content hum because you hadn't realize how cold you were.

"mm nice, thank you," you slur and you hope your act of inhaling his scent in subtle. "are we gonna go back and dance now?"

"i think you're done, little one," seonghwa says, a chuckle threatening to bubble out of his throat, "how 'bout we go back to your room?"

your head snaps up to him and yeosang raises his eyebrow, stepping forward ever so slightly and seonghwa's cheeks redden.

"not like that!" he says immediately, "i just...you should rest."

"he's right," yeosang agrees, his body suddenly relaxed, "and you need a toothbrush."

you narrow your eyes at the boy, reaching forward to shove him lightly and he stumbles back with a laugh. "go on home, little one," he mocks, teasing eyes moving to seonghwa who flips him off.

"you're little," you stupidly say and seonghwa wraps his arm around your waist to pull you away from him.

"you're both little," he says despite yeosang's glare, "c'mon, let's start walking, okay?"

you turn in his hold, looking up at him and poking him in his chest. "you use that-that soft voice thinking it's gon-na make me do anything for you and wh-hile you're absolute correct-"

your own hiccup cuts you off again along with the door busting open, san running up to seonghwa and it's obvious something is very wrong.

"you need to get in there, now," san says, grabbing seonghwa's arm and pulling him toward the door. but the taller boy pulls his arm back, "i'm bringing y/n back."

"have yeosang do it, you need to control hongjoong. he's-he's trying to fight that guy again."

"oh, god, not apple boy," yeosang grumbles and your head snaps to san who's turning to him in a fit of outrage. "oh yes, apple boy!"

you hear seonghwa groan above you, promptly causing your neck to snap up to him. "not this shit again."

"yes, this shit again," san whines, "c'mon! he only listens to you."

seonghwa's eyes are immediately on you and if you were sober, you'd see the conflict swarming in his eyes. warm and soft and really not wanting to leave you but also darting back towards the restaurant because he can't let hongjoong get his ass beat.

"i'll go with her," yeosang says, "i'd probably be leaving soon anyway."

seonghwa's eyes meet his for a second and yeosang sees the fleeting moment of envy in his eyes he almost thinks he made it up. because then he gives him the subtlest of nods and yeosang watches as he mumbles something in your ear. you look back at him with squinted, apprehensive eyes before turning back around to seonghwa and nodding.

"drink some water when you get back, okay?" he mumbles, lips grazing your ear and you wanna sigh at the feeling of his hot breath on you. but instead you nod up at him with a small smile and shoot him a thumbs up.

"be careful, don't get your pretty face messed up," you say, reaching up to tap his cheek twice.

"i could say the same to-"

"oh my god, i'm usually all for this, honestly, but you're gonna see her in a few hours." san whines, impatient and anxious at the prospect of hongjoong bleeding out on the floor, "let's fucking go!"

and with that, san is dragging seonghwa away and yeosang makes a show of gesturing to the sidewalk in front of you.

"i'd say ladies first but ladies don't puke in public."

"you're a mean boy," you grumble, stumbling past him and wrapping yourself further into seonghwa's coat.

"oh really," he says as he walks directly next to you, "because if it wasn't for me, you'd have puke in your hair. actually, you'd have puke in your hair after vomiting in front of everyone."

you let out a little huff because okay, correct. "wow, my hero," you sarcastically spit before whining, "i just wanted to dance." you stagger through the snowy piles on the ground, bumping into him several times before he wraps an arm around your shoulder, bringing you into him to keep you steady.

"do yo-you like to dance?" you ask him suddenly, leaning your head on his arm.

he's silent for a few moments, only surrounded by the sound of muffled music and your feet scuffling in the snow.

"no," he says and you look up at him dejectedly.

"what! how do you not like to dance," you grumble, "everyone likes to dance."

"not me," he insists, "i just like to sit around and bully people."

a little giggle leaves your mouth as you press yourself back into his arm, "okay, no-now that i can attest too."

the arm not connected to his body brushes against a snowy bush and you look at the cold, white wetness with furrowed eyebrows before an idea crosses your mind.

"hey," you say and he hums, glancing down at you when he feels you shrug off his arm. he watches with his arms out, ready to catch you if you fall as you stumble a few feet away from him and start touching the shrubs.

"what are you-"

"what about snowball fights? do you like snowball fights?"

his eyebrow raises and before he knows what happens, a giant ball of snow hits him dead in the face. a surprised gasp leaves his mouth as your laugh rings through the cold air, fog leaving your mouth and your hands already freezing off.

but the look on his face is so worth it, especially when he pushes off the snow to reveal his mouth open and eyes blazing.

"you didn't just do that."

"oh, but i did," you giggle out teasingly, "that's for you talking about my shitty aim in the-"

he's bending down and gathering a pile of snow in his hands before you can finish your sentence, promptly throwing it and now hitting you square in the face.

your squeal echoes throughout the town and you shake the snow off to see him standing there with a smirk on his face, two more snowballs already in his hands.

"you're gonna wanna think hard about your next-"

you reach behind and shove the snow off the bush, hitting his legs and waist before clumsily running away. you're wobbly and completely off balance but he doesn't think it'll be too devastating if you fall, cushioned by the fluffy snow and harsh reminder that karma is very much a thing.

he hits your back with one smack of coldness and you yelp, running further as you try to make a snowball on your escape. but you fail miserably, nearly tumbling down and luckily catching yourself last minute.

"stop!"

"you started this!" his deep voice echoes, no hint of mercy in his tone as he pelts the next snowball into your shoulder blades.

you giggle before turning around, holding out your hands defensively and he stops short to not smack right into you. "okay, i'm-i'm sorry," you say, even more breathless and dizzy from running on top of your dazed head.

"i don't think you are," he says lowly, inching toward you, "i think you're only sorry i did something back."

"that," you say, placing your finger on his chest and tracing figure eights, "is very corr-ect. you must be a smart tutor or something."

he bites his lip to hide his smile, his eyes rolling to the side in mock annoyance, so he doesn't see your hand making its way to his face. until be does, your finger on his lip, dragging down it slowly so it isn't trapped by his teeth before you sooth over the abused spot gently.

the fog of your cold rapid breaths from running and maybe something else, nerves you'll say, mingle together as he watches you trace his mouth slowly.

you pull your finger back before meeting his gaze and it's a moment filled with a sudden buzzing thats making you both unable to pull your eyes away, only slightly aware of your hand still on his chest.

but in the long run, you'd grateful for it. because it's able to create some distance between you in a moment where there'd hardly be any.

your glossy eyes roam his face, smiling softly at his red cheeks from the cold and his usual cold gaze no where in sight. instead, his eyes are warm and a light brown and looking at you with such wonder and intensity it's making you feel queasy again.

you really really hope it's that, at least, because you'd die if you puked again. especially after you drunkenly mumble, "are you gonna kiss my cheek, too."

that snaps him out of the moment almost instantly, eyes widening and heart beginning to pound ever so slightly and he knows he shouldn't even respond. should just roll his eyes and walk you to your room and never think about you saying that again.

because he saw seonghwa do that this morning, saw the warm way you both looked at each other and how light and happy his best friend's eyes were. he can't even remember a time he saw seonghwa as happy as he is around you sometimes.

but even with that, he doesn't. and he can't. and he's gonna blame it on all the beers he had tonight and admit to his hungover self tomorrow that he's a shitty person and friend.

"wasn't planning on it," he quips lowly, "why, do you want me to also?"

your head cocks to the side and your eyebrow raises, hearing the teasing tone in his voice and poking the inside of your cheek.

"i don't know. i really do-don't like you sometimes."

"agreed."

a little laugh leaves your mouth as you shake your head. "but then sometimes i..."

"you....?" he says after a few moments of silence.

you let out a sigh, shaking your fuzzy head and moving away from him.

"nothing," you mumble as you walk past him; but he surprises you and himself when he grabs your arm gently. and then he really surprises himself when he asks the next question. he doesn't even know what possessed him too, just falls from his lips and the second he says it, he silently prays that you don't remember anything tomorrow.

"if you had to kiss someone," he says lowly in your ear, "would it be me or seonghwa?"

you swallow nervously, finally turning around to look at him and it scares you that there's no longer a hint of teasing anywhere. not in his face or his tone and you wish you could puke again to rid the twisting in your stomach.

"i...i don't know," you say weakly, looking at him with anxious eyes, "why are you asking me that."

"i think you know why," he says darkly and you shakily inhale before pulling your arm out of his hold.

"i-i don't know anything," you say, the hiccup in your sentence reminding him of both your current states and he want to smack himself for doing this right now. but he couldn't help it, not with the intensity of whatever stare down happened before.

"so you're finally admitting it," he says and you calm when the teasing is back in his voice. it's a little forced but it's back and it calms your dazed, racing mind. "let's get you to bed now, huh?"

and with that, you two walk silently the rest of the way back. your arms graze every few moments, his hand reaching out to grip your wrist when you stumble up the stairs of the lodge and stagger over to the elevator. you lean your head tiredly on his arm the whole way up, nodding off until the ding brings you back to your senses.

you both walk down to your rooms, snaking the key out of the tight pocket of your jeans and tapping yeosang on the arm quickly. "watch," you stutter, bringing your hand up to the door and moving the key slowly through the slot; his heart staggers when your smile lights up after it turns green.

"see!" you say, hand on the knob as you twist it open, "like a pro."

"you're good," yeosang hums, turning to the side to lean his head against the wall. "opened the door and remembered your key," he quips, tapping you on top of the head and causing you to scrunch your nose at him.

"thank you for walking me," you say softly, just overwhelmingly confused by drowsiness, "and for holding my-my hair back."

a small chuckle leaves his mouth, shaking his head as he watches your eyes barely being able to stay open. "you're welcome, you mess," he says, "go to bed now."

"you go to bed now," you mock before turning around to enter your room, your quiet voice murmuring goodnight before you door shuts and he lets out a exhale.

"goodnight, y/n," he mumbles to himself, looking over your door before retreating into his own room and promptly passing out five minutes later.

until the sound of shrieks next door have him shooting up in his bed, looking around in confusion before registering the loud cries are coming from your room. he quickly throws on a shirt before pulling his doorstopper out and then banging on your door.

"y/n," he says, quiet but firm and he listens quietly for any sign of a response that isn't your tortured yells. but there's nothing so he waits a few moments, no longer hearing anything now and the quietness is even more eerie than your screaming.

"y/n," he says, a tad louder.

but still nothing.

his mind races for what to do, maybe getting an extra key from the lobby or calling your phone, until he realizes he doesn't have your number. so he tries one more time, with a sharp bang and a firm call of your name.

he presses his ear up against the door and settles ever so slightly when he hears the scuffling of footsteps and what sounds like a small whimper, the door suddenly fumbling until your tear-stained face pops out; his heart promptly drops in his chest.

"y/n?" he asks cautiously, eyes roaming what he can see of the room behind you. "are you okay?"

he knows more than anyone how much worse those words make anything and yet he asked them like an idiot and now your sobs are back and he's cursing himself out internally.

"shit, i'm sorry," he says, attempting to step forward and his face dropping when you lean back ever so slightly. "what happened?" he asks softly, the softest he's ever heard his own voice as he steps back to give you space.

because the grip on your door is making your veins bulge, your breathing is scarily erratic and your eyes are shooting back and forth so fast he thinks they're about to fall out of your head. he sees you trying to form a sentence, your shaky breaths and mouth opening and closing a clear indication.

"seonghwa," he hears you mumble a few seconds later and his ear leans in closer to make sure he heard you right.

"what?"

"seonghwa. i-" a strangled breath leaves your mouth and you feel more tears burning behind your eyes. "i need him."

he swallows the lump in his throat, nodding his head but not missing the way your legs are starting to wobble. it's a risk and he knows it but he moves in closer, very cautiously, and he calms when you don't move away from him.

"i'll get him, okay," he says quietly, like he's talking to an injured, abused animal, "but you're shaking really bad so why don't you go sit down okay?"

you crane your neck back to look at the bed and its what causes a fresh set of tears because you can feel that cold, hard bed underneath you and you turn back to tell yeosang you can't. but then his soft voice pierces the air again.

"i'll come in with you and call seonghwa, okay? i just...you need to sit."

you nod after a few more uncontrollable, shaky breaths leave your mouth and you nod your head hesitantly. yeosang opens the latch of your doorstopper as he follows you in, grabbing the phone in his pocket as he sees you sit stiffly on your bed.

seonghwa answers after four rings, his deep, gruff voice full of sleep.

"this better be good."

"come to y/n's room."

and just like that, just from the mention of your name, he's calm and alert.

"what happened?"

"she needs you-" he barely gets the last syllable out before the call ends.

"he's coming," he tells you and you nod your head, eyes brimming with tears and you just wanna breathe. just want seonghwa hear to talk to you and hold you and-

less than 15 seconds later does your door burst open, seonghwa's eyes wide and alert as he looks around your room frantically before they land on you. yeosang watches as his face pales and he rushes over, the sound of your small cries back and filling in the room.

"hey, hey," seonghwa says softly, bending down to put his hands on your knees. "what happened, what's wrong?"

his eyes are strictly on your face, the soft concern and adoration blind to you but extremely evident to the other person in the room.

"dream," you blurt out before shaking your head, "ni-ightmare of...i saw him and re-remembered," your voice cracks and you swallow because you feel like you're choking, "and now i can't-"

your sob breaks off your words and seonghwa quickly stands to sits next to you on the bed. your body immediately falls into his as he wraps his arm around your shoulder tightly, rubbing your exposed skin up and down slowly. yeosang watches quietly as his friend's pained expression meets his, biting his lip and quietly mouthing thank you to the boy.

he nods once, unable to take his eyes away and he doesn't know why he can't stop looking. is it because he's enthralled by the way seonghwa was so quick to comfort and soothe you? how quickly you melted into him? or because some strange part of him is hurting that you didn't-

"don't leave," you whimper and yeosang's head snaps to you to see your face buried into seonghwa, "please stay with me."

"i'm not going anywhere," he mumbles, his lips against your head before placing a kiss on your hair.

and that's about all yeosang can stand because it's getting far too intimate in here for him to be sitting here staring at you both. the boy turns to leave before catching seonghwa's gaze again, mouthing 'good luck' before making his way to the door.

he hears more cries and whimpers leave your mouth followed by seonghwa's coos and whispered mantra of "baby, i'm here"and he shuts the door with the most bizarre pit in his stomach.

but he's gonna say it's because he's still drunk, still impaired by the alcohol or maybe just envious and lonely; but it's definitely not because the mean, biting voice in his head is laughing at him for thinking he ever had a shot when he asked "would it be me or seonghwa?"

(part 12)

#seonghwa angst #seonghwa fluff #seonghwa #ateez #ateez fluff #ateez angst #ateez fic #seonghwa fic

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bxcketbarnes · 5 years ago

Text

Muse

Pairing: Art Student!Dacre Montgomery x Art Student!Reader

Words: 2900+

Author’s Note: This is the Art Student AU in that list of AU’s that I was extremely interested in and @thebookamongmen said that it definitely should be with Dacre so here we are! I really like this one. It’s so cute, ugh.

Dacre Montgomery. Everyone knows who he is. He's one of the top students at this college, along with myself. He's the most gorgeous guy I've ever seen in my life with his light brown hair that's usually slicked back, ocean blue eyes that I could get lost in for ages, pink lips that look so soft and let's not forget his Australian accent.

No one knows this, not even my little group of friends I have, know that he's been my muse ever since I saw him on the first day of classes.

I'm sat in my Art History class as the professor explains something from the textbook we're using. My sketchbook was open and I found myself working on the unfinished drawing of Dacre. Luckily, I'm sat at a table by myself so no one else could see what I'm doing.

The other students never found it odd that I was constantly drawing. I'm a bit shy, so I don't really talk to anyone, except to the people I absolutely have to speak to. A part of me hates being so shy because there were countless times I wanted to ask Dacre if he would be my subject for a drawing class I was in last semester, but I never had the courage to ask him. That was when I began drawing him from afar.

"Ms. L/N?!" Professor Blanche basically yells and I get snapped out of my thoughts, lifting my head up to see him and every student looking at me.

"Y-Yes, sir?" I timidly ask and feel my cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

"What's the answer to number 3 from the assignment?" He asks me and I quickly grab the sheet, looking at the answer I wrote down before telling him. "Very good. For the love of God, please pay attention."

I nod my head quickly before looking at the sheet that sits in front of me, not even wanting to finish the class. I can feel my skin flare up, hiding my face behind my hair as I close my sketchbook and tucks it into my bag.

After staring at my worksheet for a few minutes and the professor finishing going over everything, I pick my head up to see Dacre's eyes on me. My breath hitches in my throat, averting my eyes to somewhere else in the room. My cheeks flush once again, probably looking like a tomato.

"Alright, that's all for today. I'll see you on Monday. Don't forget about the Art Exhibit this weekend and if you have some work you wanna enter, the deadline is due tomorrow afternoon!" Professor Blanche tells everyone as we all pack up.

"Shit. I need to get mine finished," I mumble to myself as I rush to get all my things in my bag before running out of the classroom, heading towards the art studio.

I stare at the black dress that hangs from my closet door. My roommate had convinced me that I should dress up a little bit since it's a semi-formal event. A sigh leaves my lips and I take it down from the hanger, draping it over my bed as I begin to undress from the clothes I wore today.

My eyes look over myself in the mirror, seeing the black fabric hug in all the right places and the dress ends a few inches above my knees.

Carly knocks on my door and I invite her in, the blonde peeking her head through the crack. "Oh my god, Y/N! You look incredibly gorgeous," she squeals and comes into the room completely, shutting my door behind her.

"I can't believe I'm actually gonna agree with you," I chuckle softly while running my hands down my dress. "You're coming tonight right?"

She laughs and nods her head. "Yeah, of course. I put a couple of pieces into the show and plus, gotta check out some others," Carly winks and I roll my eyes.

"I'm lucky enough I got mine finished in time. I've been so distracted lately that I totally forgot," I mention to her and a smirk comes to her lips.

"Mhm. I've never seen you distracted until you caught eyes of Dacre Montgomery," she states and my eyes widen, lips parting in surprise.

"I… wha-no-I don't know what you're talking about," I stutter and feel my cheeks blush. How does she know?!

Carly shakes her head with a smile on her lips. "Girl, you fell asleep one night while drawing. The night I came back late? I saw the picture of him in your sketchbook," she informs me and I sigh.

"Okay, yeah, he's gorgeous and intriguing," I try to reason with her while fumbling with the makeup on my vanity.

"I think it's cute, Y/N/N. And I'm gonna be honest with you," here we go… "you should totally go for it."

I snap my head towards her, a strange noise leaving my lips and covers it up with a small cough. "What? Dacre would never go for me," I tell her while shaking my head, a scoff leaving my lips.

"How do you know? I'm pretty sure he's single and I've definitely seen him look your way a few times," she says and I bite my lip softly. He was staring in our Arts History class… but would he really- "He'll be there tonight. Try to talk to him."

"Maybe, alright? Maybe," I mumble and looks at her through the mirror. "Can you do my makeup now? We're gonna be late."

She nods her head yes and grabs the makeup off my counter, motioning for me to sit. "Yeah, but we'll be fashionably late!"

Carly and I walk into the Arts Building, my feet already hurting from the heels I'm wearing. There was already quite the people here and it started almost fifteen minutes ago.

"I'll meet up with you in a bit, okay?" I tell her and she nods, heading towards her boyfriend who's a couple feet away from us.

"If you see him, talk to him!" Carly calls as I walk away.

I roll my eyes with a chuckle and grabs some of the champagne that the event is handing out. I thank the waiter quietly, taking a small sip before looking at the various pieces hanging from the wall.

A couple of people are standing in front of the piece I had enter, content with the comments they were saying about it. At least my hard work paid off. I weave around the people as one piece of art catches my eye.

"Is that…?" I trail off and my eyes widen. That's me. I analyze the drawing in front of me, admiring the way they had painted this.

I went to see who the author was when a voice speaks up from behind me. "It's gorgeous, no?" The familiar Australian accent asks and I can feel my heart pounding against my ribcage. I look over my shoulder as Dacre stands behind me, looking more handsome than ever. "But it's not as gorgeous as its muse. Hi, I'm Dacre."

Is this happening? Oh my god. "I-I know who you are," I tell him quietly and he raises an eyebrow, looking a bit surprised. "Uhm, I can see that you know who I am as well, but I'm Y/N," I introduce and hold my hand out to shake his.

He grabs it, shaking it for a second before bringing it to his lips, kissing my knuckles softly. "I do. You're the cute shy girl in some of my art classes," Dacre smiles down at me and I can feel my cheeks redden.

"I'm kind of surprised you've noticed me," I practically whisper, not trusting my voice and he chuckles.

"How can I not? You're an incredible artist. I've seen some of your work around the building. I've been wanting to talk to you, but every time I get close you end up disappearing," he tells me and I feel like I'm gonna faint.

An embarrassed chuckle leaves my lips and I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "Sorry, I'm uh, I'm kinda shy so once classes are over I try to leave as quick as possible," I mention to him and mutters that's okay. "Y-You mentioned that your muse was just as gorgeous as your painting…"

"Yes, I'm talking about you," he clears up and I close my mouth, pressing my lips together while nodding my head.

"I-Would you come back to my apartment with me?" I ask him and my eyes widen at the way it sounded. "N-Not because I wanna- I just-I wanna show you something that's a bit ironic."

Dacre laughs a bit but nods his head yes. The two of us began to leave the building and I look back after feeling a pair of eyes on me, seeing Carly looking at me with wide eyes and two thumbs up while mouthing oh my god.

His hand lands on the small of my back as he holds the door open. I thank him quietly, feeling the cool air hit my skin as we started the journey back to my apartment.

Once we reached my place, I unlock the front door before heading inside, keeping it open to let Dacre in as well. After he enters, I shut the heavy door and make my way towards my room where my sketchbook is.

"Should I follow you?" He asks loudly and I look around my room, making sure it looks decent.

"Y-Yeah, you can come in," I tell him and I sit on the bed, clutching the black book against my chest as Dacre walks into my room. I move over slightly and he sits beside me. "So, you know how I said I wanted to show you something ironic?"

He nods his head and I let out a sigh before opening my sketchbook to the finished portrait drawing of him. All colored and everything. I pass the book to him, watching his face as he takes it into his hands.

"Oh, wow," Dacre mumbles and takes a small glance towards me. "This is incredible, Y/N. How come you didn't put this in the exhibit? Everything about it is flawless."

"I thought it'd be weird. Like, I wanted to ask you last semester if you'd wanna be my subject for a project, but I never had the courage to ask you. You're so… intriguing to me, especially with your art skills that I ended up drawing you one day without realizing it at first. Since then, you've been my muse," I confess to him and his blue eyes met mine.

His eyes dart down to my lips for a few seconds before looking back into mine. "Can I take you out?" Dacre asks and I'm taken back slightly.

"Are you serious?" I question him in a quiet whisper as my heart beats a mile a minute.

"Yeah," he mumbles as our faces inch closer together. "I've always liked you and want to get to know you better. Plus, I really want to kiss you right now, but I'm sure you're not the kiss before a date type."

Butterflies are swirling around my stomach as our noses brush against one another, my breath hitching. "I," I pause and swallow hard, "I can be surprising."

"Yeah? Prove it," Dacre mumbles against my lips as they hover over them. My hand reaches out to grab his suit jacket, clutching it in my fingers before pulling him closer to me, our lips colliding. The light-brunette sets my sketchbook down, his hands finding my hips while moving his lips against mine.

My other hand moves to his cheek and slides it back to thread my fingers into his hair. I pull away from him a few moments later, keeping my eyes closed as our heavy breathing was the only sound in the room. Tingles roam through my entire body as his hand strokes my jawline, making me open my eyes to look at him.

"God, you're so gorgeous," he whispers and I blush slightly.

"Is that date still an offer?" I ask him and he grins, nodding his head.

"Absolutely."

Two Years Later

“Stay still!” Dacre laughs and I let out a groan, taking in a deep breath before staying still again.

“It’s not my fault you put me in such an awkward position,” I laugh while looking towards him. His tongue was poking out of the side of his mouth, looking deep in concentration as he strokes the paintbrush against the canvas. “I still don’t understand how you can paint people. I tried and I failed… many times.”

He chuckles and his blue eyes shift towards me. “I told you I’d teach you, babe,” Dacre mentions and I shrug my shoulders. “I’m almost done and then you can move all you want, alright?”

I nod my head and move it towards its original position. I can’t help but smile a bit as I just realized he called me babe. It’s one of the pet names I enjoy most, along with sweetheart and angel. It’s been a little over two years since we started dating and it’s been amazing. Little fights here and there, but other than that it’s been quite pleasant. We got our own apartment this semester since Carly was not a fan of hearing us… you know all the time.

“Done,” Dacre’s voice cuts me out of my thoughts and I glance towards the light-brunette boy. I let out a sigh of relief and begin to move my body, hearing my bones crack a bit. He gets up from his chair, walking over to me and leans down to press a short kiss to my lips. “Thank you for being patient with me.”

“Always, handsome,” I look up at him and grin, stretching to reach my lips with his again. He hums softly and deepens the kiss as I move to stand up. Dacre’s arms wrapped around my waist and his shirt I was wearing was riding up, his fingertips brushing against my skin.

He pulls away from me and rests his forehead against mine, one of his hands moving down to the black thong I was wearing. “Let me tell you, if anyone comments on how they want you in their bed or something, I’m gonna hurt someone,” he mentions and I chuckle, shaking my head.

“Well, you’re the one that wanted me to dress like this.”

“Because it’s supposed to be an intimate painting and I wasn’t going to ask some random girl when I have the sexiest woman on campus right in front of me,” Dacre informs me and I hum while running my fingers through his ruffled hair.

“I would’ve been pissed if some random girl was half-naked in front of you,” I state with a smirk, “you’re all mine, baby boy.”

He lets out a chuckle as his hand slides over my ass cheek, squeezing lightly. “Is that so?” He asks and I bite my bottom lip, nodding my head. Dacre’s eyes trail down my body, licking his lips slowly before his eyes meet mine once again. “You think you can model for me one more time?”

“Haven’t I modeled for you enough? Half of your art pieces are me,” I jokingly state and he chuckles, leaning down to press a tender kiss to my lips.

“I mean, yeah,” he tells me after pulling away, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear while his other hand was still firmly grasping my ass, “but I can never get enough of you. We started discussing a new style of drawing and I wanna try it.”

I hum, tilting my head to the side as I try to figure out which one he means. “Yeah? And which one would that be, babe?” I ask him and his smile turns into a small smirk.

He leans forward, his lips grazing against the shell of my hear. “Nude,” Dacre whispers and my breath hitches in my throat.

“O-Oh,” I stutter and feel my cheeks head up as I pull away from him.

“Can you do that for me, sweetheart?” He asks, his voice getting a bit deeper than normal as one of his hands move under his flannel shirt I’m wearing. I begin to nod my head as his fingers brush against the curvature of my breast, my heart beating rapidly. “Good girl.”

Dacre’s hands leave both my breast and ass, fingers beginning to fumble with the buttons on his flannel. His eyes stay on mine the entire time he unbuttons the shirt, pushing it off of my shoulders. He crouches down and his hands grab a hold of my thong, slowly pulling it down my legs. My cheeks heat up as he stands back up, pushing me so I sit back on the bed.

“How do you want me?” I whisper to him as his hooded eyes stare down at me. He shifts me around so I’m laying on my back, moving one of my legs so it’s bent. Dacre’s fingers graze against my arms before grabbing my hands, moving them so they’re dangling off of the edge of the bed.

“God, you’re so perfect. Can I… can I just take a picture of you before we start?” Dacre asks and I shyly nod my head. He slips his phone out of my pocket and points it towards me. He takes a quick photo before placing it back into his pocket. “I love you,” he mumbles and presses his lips to mine quickly, heading towards his chair.

“I love you, too.”

Taglist: @thebookamongmen @daisyxbuckley @morningfears @sammi-rent @okaybutsteveharrington @makeupbychio @hlnicoleee @definitelykobi @hanoi15 @lightsonaaron @bumblebet-20

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pangtasias-atelier · 5 years ago

Note

1,9,22 with Stahl please Before he proposes to Cherche, he ends up getting a potion that's supposed to have him lose weight but it backfired and ended up making him immobile

1) oblivious, unintentional weight gain

9) magical weight gain

22) rapid weight gain

The idea/setting came to me quickly with this one, was fun writing it cause Stahl is so cute

__________

"Sir, you understand, correct?" Selling her wares, Anna makes sure that her current customer understands the product.

"Yes ma'am," Handing Anna a hefty sum of gold, Stahl travels down the marketplace back to his house.

Several food vendors shouting his name, Stahl happily visits them all, a sigh leaves his lips as he sits down, his poor feet resting from carrying such a weight. Each vendor's food finds its way into Stahl's meaty stomach.

By the time Stahl reaches the end of the market, he rests a hand on his stomach, the gurgling contents slowly digesting. Making his way to his house, Stahl smiles upon seeing it. Entering, his first order of business is to sit on the couch, legs and thighs tired, every body part is tired.

Couch groaning, Stahl tosses his head back, a grown leaving his mouth as he sweats. Catching his breath, Stahl remains like that for a while stomach rising up and down. Breath calming down, Stahl brings up the bag containing his item.

A small vial containing a potion. Not just any potion, a potion meant to reduce it's user's weight.

At a large and ever growing 400 pounds, Stahl found moving and basic activities much harder. And everyday it was harder to refuse Cherche's amazing cooking. Her cooking was far too delicious for Stahl to employ self control. And her portions were astounding, tables full of food meant solely for Stahl.

And his weight grew with such lavish constant meals. His stomach became a monster, a tyrant even! Constantly demanding food, whether awake or asleep even. Stahl had recounted tales of suddenly waking up while raiding the kitchen. An event that became more and more often. He was far too big for anything meant for normal sized humans.

But no more, this potion would solve everything. Being skinny again, he would finally find the courage to propose to Cherche. Stahl didn't necessarily hate his weight, but how could he be a good husband when getting out of bed was a chore? Or even showering? An incident where Cherche had to assist him while he stayed the night at her house was far too embarrassing. Or the incident where he got stuck in a chair. Or-

Shaking his head, cheeks shaking, Stahl focuses, opening the vial.

Anna had explicitly made it clear that no food or liquid was to be consumed 12 hours after drinking the vial. Or the effect would be nullified and worsened.

The sun already setting, Stahl planned it out. Eating massive amounts of food to be stuffed before drinking it and then sleep. Stahl loved to sleep as much as he loved eating, sleeping for 12 hours wasn't a completely rare occurrence with Stahl, especially since he forced himself to sleep only a hour the past week. He couldn't afford to mess this up!

"For Cherche," Stahl cheers before drinking the potion.

The magic instantly working, Stahl smiles at seeing the fat receding, his weight going back down. Clothes falling, Stahl lifts them up, the tent of cloth draping over him ridiculously before falling completely off, Stahl glad to currently live alone for he's in the nude right now.

Lither and fit again, Stahl does a couple pushups; his strength back again, he smiles before yawning. Sleep takes him seconds after resting his weary head on his pillow.

The dead of the night, Stahl snores as he lies in bed, the night nearly silent. Tossing and turning continues on, Stahl's sleep a restless one. Covers tossed off of him, Stahl stands up, eyes closed as he smacks his lips.

Route memorized from the numerous trips, Stahl sleepwalks to the kitchen, nothing stopping him. Pantry nearly torn open, Stahl's stomach hungry, he reaches inside. The first grabbed item, bread, is shoved immediately inside his mouth. Still asleep, Stahl doesn't notice his growing figure.

Once lithe, his slight abs become faded, overwashed with growing pudge that grows further, drowning his stomach in a sea of fat. His skinny thighs press up into one another, his stance widening to accommodate them. Growing, Stahl returns to his original fat self only to grow further.

Huffing, Stahl simply continues raiding his pantry, his sleeping self unaware of anything.

The pantry empty, Stahl heads back to his room. His body fails him; too tired from his still growing weight, Stahl falls onto his back.

Groaning from the light hitting his face, Stahl huffs from feeling so lethargic and warm. Opening his eyes, Stahl panics at seeing his new form.

Nowhere near this big before, Stahl's stomach rises far into the air, now taller than even the counter. Struggling, Stahl kicks his arms and legs, both only resulting in his corpulent form in shaking.

"It didn't work," Stahl whimpers upon realizing his immobility, his helpless state pathetic.

"What didn't work?" Cherche's cheerful voice rings through from the living room, the door closing.

Stahl's heart leaps out of his mouth, unable to form words he stutters.

Stahl sighs from Cherche's distracted state from the living room. Though his relief ends upon Cherche's curios nature.

"To Cherche. Now what must this box have inside?" Cherche teases.

"Ugh," Stahl stutters

"A ring! Back in Valm, we used to-" Cherche quiets upon seeing Stahl's massive immobile form.

"Misused potion, wanted to be skinny before proposing," Stahl wheezes, face red from embarrassment and exertion.

"Well, the thought is indeed nice. But I still accept,"

"Wh-"

"But how will we get you ready for the ceremony?" Musing, Cherche heads back into the living room, planning already taking place in her mind.

#fat emblem #male weight gain #male wg #feeder emblem #my writing #fat!stahl #fat!awakening

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imyourliquor-youremypoison · 5 years ago

Text

A Girl’s Best Friend (Peter Parker x OC) - Part 17

Synopsis: Diamonds are man’s best friend- or dogs are girls’ best friends, wait… how does the saying go again?

Warnings: Family issues; Peter has a crush and it’s complicated; mention of assault; good dogs; College AU; aged up! characters; TONY STARK IS ALIVE AND WE ALL LIVE IN A HAPPY PLACE CALLED DENIAL

A/N: Is anyone still there? I swear things are going to happen soon, your pain is nearing the end now hehe (I love writing slow burns)

Word count: 2.7k

Part 16 <<< >>> Part 18

MASTERLIST

From the outside, a sense of normalcy seemed to have returned in their lives. Peter waited for Emmeline outside the door to her class; Emmeline walked with Peter and Tessa in-between her classes on Fridays; they sometimes ate together before she returned home at the end of the day.

The outcome of their conversation was certainly not one Peter had known to expect. He had been prepared to wave goodbye to the friendship he had built with Emmeline – and tried very hard not to think about what it would have become if he hadn’t fucked up. Then again, nothing could ever have happened between them as long as she didn’t know the truth about him.

The first Saturday, when she walked out of the elevator and made a beeline for him in the Stark Tower lab, Peter broke into a grin that wouldn’t waver the entire day.

“Hey you!” she greeted him, returning the beaming smile and joined him behind the desk.

“Hey yourself,” Peter answered, almost twisting his neck when he followed her with his gaze.

She set down her bag and hung her coat on the back of a chair before coming to stand next to him.

“What are you working on?” she wondered, leaning in to have a closer look. “Is this a miniature motorbike?” Her eyebrows shot so high up that Peter lost sight of them.

“Oh, it’s nothing, it’s just-“ he caught himself right before the lie came out, and just when Emmeline gave him a skeptical side glance. “I mean, yeah. It’s for Hope. It’s got all kinds of equipment and features that normal bikes don’t have, of course. And it’s fast – like real fast.”

“Hope?” Emmeline asked.

She didn’t point out Peter’s deep blush that he always seemed to sport whenever he said anything related to his work with the Avengers. Unlearning to lie about his double life would take a while, they were both aware of that fact.

“The Wasp,” he explained. He took the motorbike in his hand to have something else to focus his attention on, and try to get his own face in check. It shouldn’t be possible to blush this much. “It’s not its normal size, obviously. Just checking a few things before she tries it out.”

Emmeline made a hand gesture, silently asking if she could hold it and Peter handed it over very carefully, letting her lift it to eyelevel and examine it from up close. She didn’t say anything, only hummed appreciatively a few times.

“When will I meet the Avengers?” she asked as she put it back on Peter’s desk.

Peter’s jaw dropped and he stayed open-mouthed and at loss for words a few seconds, until he saw the expression on Emmeline’s face and the glimmer of playfulness behind her eyes.

“You already met two of them. The best ones,” he told her, now standing up.

He would finish working on Hope’s motorbike later; when Emmeline dropped by, they worked together on his Spider suit. It was the first time they would work on it knowing it was his…

“Oh! Of course, silly me!” she laughed, slapping her palm against her forehead. “Turns out, you’re the most famous of us two! Who’d have thought, ugh?”

Peter rolled his eyes and turned around, walking backwards as they made their way towards the back of the room.

“I also photograph way better than you,” he teased her before quickly dodging her arm when she attempted to smack his head. “What’s that in your hand?” he asked when he spotted the paper bag and the familiar logo.

“Oh nothing…” Emmeline trailed off, lifting the bag and peeking inside. “Only your favorite muffin from your favorite place,” she announced, holding the bag behind her back and out of reach when Peter tried to snatch it from her hand. She placed a palm flat against his chest to keep him at a distance.

Not that it could stop Peter, but her mere touch sent him in a state of complete submission and he froze immediately when her hand was over his heart. He dropped his hand.

“No, you didn’t. I stopped there on my way here, they were all out. I say you’re bluffing!”

“Oh, not for me, baby, they aren’t,” she bragged, wiggling her eyebrows and walking past him, bag still out of his reach. “And since you’re so mean to me, I might eat it myself. If you want one, try going there in your Spider suit!”

“Isn’t that abuse of power?” he wondered, though seriously considering her suggestion. Nah, if Tony found out, he would confiscate the suit, and then wouldn’t he look smart scouting the streets of Queens in his old, DYI suit?

“You kids having a good time?” Mr. Stark’s voice suddenly asked, coming out of nowhere. Emmeline and Peter looked around but saw no one. “Cameras, guys. They are everywhere. Microphones too. Just casually letting you know, in case you decide to get naughty because you think I can’t see you.”

“Ah!” Emmeline exclaimed dramatically, raising both hands in the air. “Here goes my plan for the day!”

“Keep it in your pants, this is a workplace, we only do work-related stuff and nothing fun whatsoever,” Stark said, unable to sound even remotely stern. Then he switched on some music, blasting AC/DC in the lab. “Now get to work, I don’t pay you to slack off!”

He seemed to tune off and only the background music remained, but Peter frowned and shot Emmeline a confused look.

“Pay? He doesn’t pay us?” He said it like a question, wondering if he was being paid this whole time and didn’t realize. “For my fake internship?”

“I don’t know about you, but I got a legit internship. So yeah, I’m getting paid now.” She shrugged and Peter picked up the clue.

“What? Since when? Why haven’t you told me?” he questioned, feeling a little offended that she kept that from him all this time.

She winced.

“It’s pretty recent…” she trailed off, biting on her lip. “Tony came to my place shortly after New Year’s Eve,” she started and Peter immediately knew what was what.

Tony Stark, ever the match-maker, decided to take matters in his own hands and help Peter out after he confessed that Emmeline found out about his secret identity. Or maybe he was simply desperate to get Peter to stop mopping around in his lab.

“I thought he came to plead your cause so I told him to go fuck himself at first,” she then told him. Those words pulled the brakes on Peter’s train of thoughts.

He stared blankly at her for a second or two or more.

“You said what to who now?” he asked dumbly, blinking slowly while she rolled her eyes at him.

“It’s true,” Tony’s voice came again. It seemed it came out of the same speakers through which F.R.I.D.A.Y spoke. “I have the recording, if you want to hear it. And see? She calls me Tony!”

“It’s very rude to eavesdrop on other people’s conversations!” Peter snapped before remembering who he was talking to. “Can we have a little privacy, Mr. Stark?”

Only a faint chuckle answered his request, then it was only Back to Black again. He could only hope he wasn’t listening anymore. For being such a busy person, Tony sure had a lot of time on his hands if he spent it spying on him whenever his crush was around.

Peter was pulled out of his internal musings by Emmeline’s laughter.

“You’re too cute, you know that?” she simply asked, not expecting an answer but chucking him the muffin. “Anyway, long story short: he didn’t come to beg me to forgive you on your behalf, but he offered me an internship.”

“A real one? A legit, normal internship?” Peter felt the need to ask for clarification.

“No, I’m actually a superhero too now. Code name’s Captain Sarcasm,” Emmeline replied with a smirk.

She crossed her arms over her chest while Peter glared at her through narrowed eyes, not appreciating the jokes she made at his expense.

“Don’t you make that face at me, Peter Parker!” She held out a finger and poked him in the chest. “I bought you the best and also last pecan and white chocolate chip muffin in all of New York City, it’s a debt you’ll never be able to pay off, so you better be nice to me.”

“I saved your life! Twice!” he pointed out.

He didn’t really think about what he was doing when he grabbed her finger – he just wanted to make her stop poking him accusingly in the chest. But then he was holding her hand against his own chest, and she still didn’t move it, and he was ready to melt on the floor right then and there. Where was Tony when he needed him?

“Who’s counting?” she simply said with a smile.

Without letting go of his hand, she walked the last few steps to their workshop, dragging him along.

Emmeline hadn’t left town to avoid Peter; she didn’t hole herself up in her room and left all other rooms of her penthouse in the dark to throw him off. No, Emmeline hadn’t done that.

What she had done, though, was blackmail her own parents into getting her out of her big, empty penthouse and allow her to gain some kind of autonomy. After the events of December, she had something to hold against them, something that would sink her father’s political career faster than the Titanic: they had left her behind.

The mayor and his lady wife had fled the scene of the shooting, ignoring all their supposedly natural parental instincts that would have made them stay until they knew their daughter was safe. The city was still recovering from the event, it would be the perfect timing for Emmeline to go live on TV, telling everyone what terrible parents they were.

They had spent her entire life forcing riches onto her as if it made up for everything else that lacked in her life. She chose to take this as a fair retribution. She told them to sell the penthouse, that she never wanted to set foot there again, and instead to buy her a reasonably sized place of her own choosing, in a quiet and not so in-your-face neighborhood, a place normal people with a decent income could also afford, and not only the wealthy 1 %.

The new place was in her name, entirely paid for. All she asked of her parents now was to cover her expenses until she had a steady job of her own. In exchange, she would keep her scandalous family secrets to herself, continue to play pretend when they needed to appear as a united family, but not have any other ties to them. She was legal after all, the only thing still tying her down was her lack of money.

She did have a pretty hefty amount of money in her trust fund, but she wouldn’t have access to it for another few years, and she was petty enough to ask her parents to pay for everything a while longer – they liked to buy her affection so much, she figured buying her silence would be the same.

The new place was radically different, in all aspects. Peter liked it a lot, and he had told her so many times. She didn’t keep anything from her old apartment, expect one object.

“I can’t believe you kept this, of all things,” Peter mused, throwing the glasswork in the air and catching it behind his back.

He did this now. He showed off. Emmeline noticed a few subtle changes in his behavior since she found out he was Spider-Man. He didn’t hold back anymore now that he didn’t have to pretend to be an average young man, he allowed himself more liberty around her. She liked that.

“It has a certain sentimental value, you see,” she had told him, taking it from him and setting back on its stand. “Couldn’t leave it behind.”

Peter chuckled and continued to explore the place. It was a typical open space apartment in one of those old buildings that get restored every ten years. This one had a particular charm, and the lighting was great. She had done marvelously well with the decorating.

The wooden floor that creaked in some places was her favorite thing, she told him. The walls were a warm dark red color on the side where her bed proudly stood, and the rest of the apartment was painted a dusty orange. Only warm, rich colors, with wooden furniture, lots of small lamps to creates a cozy atmosphere.

He hadn’t truly measured how impersonal her previous place was, how unlike her. It was obvious now that she hadn’t had a word to say in the decoration of the penthouse, while everything here had been her choice. Every book on her shelves, every plant hanging from the ceiling, and every cushion lined with fringes.

“You’re unusually quiet,” she commented when Peter still hadn’t spoken a word after ten minutes of looking around. “Do you hate it?”

Peter spun around, hand in his front pockets, a little smile dancing on his lips.

“It’s great. I love it.”

“But?” she pressed him.

“But there’s no balcony.” He pouted, but Emmeline’s frown turned into a smirk. “What? Is there?”

She lived on the first floor, she couldn’t have one.

“Come with me,” she said, gesturing him to follow her.

They walked past the bed and the kitchen area and to a narrow backdoor that he had assumed led to an inner courtyard, or a private parking space. But it wasn’t that.

“Wha-“ Peter couldn’t believe his eyes. “You have your own garden in New York City?” he asked, fighting the urge to touch the grass to make sure it was real. It was small, but real.

“Even better than a balcony, ugh?” Her smirk grew even wider. “Thought it was a nice touch, and Bella loves it.”

“I can imagine,” Peter replied distractedly, picturing Tessa playing here.

He stopped himself right there. He couldn’t let himself wander on such slippery slopes right now. Why would his mind even go there? Emmeline had only just let him back into her life, two weeks ago he thought he had ruined everything between them. He couldn’t think about how much Tessa would enjoy having a bit of open space instead of living in a small student dorm.

He especially shouldn’t linger too much on the homey feel of her place, of how hard it hit him that he would love to live in a place like this. He simply couldn’t think about her the way he did.

There was much to rebuild before he could even think about making a move again. Whatever small step he had taken when he asked her out was in the past now. Since then, he had taken a hundred steps backwards, and now he had to fix what he broke before thinking about picking up where they left things off.

Trust, among other things.

He had to unlearn his automatic response to inquisitive questions, become used to tell her the truth when he had to disappear at random times of the day, something for a few hours, sometimes for days. He hadn’t realized how many white lies he told within a single day before he started telling the truth.

“It’s…”

He couldn’t find his words anymore, suddenly too overcome with emotion to speak. It was a daunting task to try and mend the broken limbs of their fragile relationship, and the weight of his own lies and mistakes felt heavy on his chest. It would take time, patience, effort, resilience.

However, when he turned around to meet her expectant smile, waiting for him to finish his sentence, it didn’t seem that impossible, and more than anything: he realized it would be worth it. She was worth it; and if he had been head over heels for her before, he realized he had another thing coming, because now that she was freer than ever, she would truly begin to shine and blossom in a way she couldn’t until now.

“It’s perfect.”

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real-fakedoors · 7 years ago

Text

under leaves so green - CHPT 9 - Miraculous Ladybug

After the Dupain-Cheng family purchases a flower shop around the block from the Agreste mansion, Chat Noir frequents the spot in search of company from the manager-but-not-really Marinette. Beneath the mask, Adrien starts to struggle with how cute she looks in that green apron. (AKA: the not-really flower shop AU where basically everything is the same, but Marinette is extra stressed by her job and Adrien tries to be supportive)

Crossposted on AO3 and FF.net

Chapter 9: The Hummingbird Flower

In which, Adrien and Marinette are both very excited for their date, and Chat Noir decides he can't wait until tomorrow to see her.

We apologize: your regularly scheduled Marichat programming has been interrupted by a surprise guest appearance.

Marinette had never enjoyed her work so completely.

Sure, it was hard and laborious as ever, but she could practically feel the happiness seeping into her pores with the light of the sun. Every breath came easy, every customer seemed pleasant, each order was seamless, and all of her plants smiled brightly back at her. Her brash Banks’ roses were a magnet of attention, lustrous rubies beneath a cloudless sky. Subtly even seemed a quiet grace in the form of her painter’s paradise of hydrangeas or by her terracotta beheld boxwoods. Within, Marinette’s heart was a hummingbird, and the greenhouse seeped with the lush overgrowth of peaceful fullness.

It felt like she had forgotten how to frown.

Her phone had been buzzing all day, and Adrien’s name was a frequent one that came across the screen. In fairness, he hadn’t been the one to text her originally; their group text was blowing up with Alya’s planning, only to be derailed almost immediately by Nino and Adrien. As it happened, Marinette didn’t a bit. Heck, her phone could fall into a bag of topsoil and be crushed by the delivery truck, and she was certain her mood still would not be hampered.

With respect to the conversation, Marinette wasn’t able to contribute much. She was constantly busy with the demands of her job, but she appreciated that her friends didn’t fault her for her radio silence. It was simple and nice, to peek at the screen occasionally when a customer headed out the door or between restocking the shelves. Alya had been the one to initiate the four-way chat today by sending a picture of the Louve from the street - why she was around that part of town, Marinette hadn’t a clue - and pushing the La Nuit des musées idea onto all of them, but since then the conversation had degraded to mostly dumb humor and well-meaning goading between the boys.

Alya was by no means absent, though. She and Nino poked plenty of fun at the both of them for their date plans tomorrow night. Adrien had been quick to try to shut it down (for what he said was Marinette’s sake, to not make her feel uncomfortable) but they were persistent. Still, through dodging plentiful innuendos and frequent sarcasm, Marinette thought Adrien seemed rather excited to talk about it.

Proud, even.

That thought sent her running towards the back with rose-tinted cheeks more times than she was willing to admit.

The reporter-to-be eventually looped them back to a proper topic, about spending that Saturday night at the La Nuit des musées. It was an annual event in Paris that only happened one night of the year where all of the big museums remained open from dusk ‘til dawn. There was a modest upfront charge for a wristband that allowed unlimited access to all of the participating venues. Any of the Paris museums worth their salt were included on the list, so it would have felt foolish if she were to not go: the Louvre, Musée d'Orsay, the Centre Pompidou, the Arts and Metiers Museum, the Decorative Arts Museum, and the Palais de la Découverte were all possibilities.

Marinette was excited by the prospect of attending, although that would be with a post-date Adrien... so the possibilities for what that night might turn into was like dividing by zero. At least until Tuesday passed, Marinette could whip between gooseflesh and stomach cramps at the possibilities for Saturday night quicker than she could sew a seam.

Between watering planters and wrapping bouquets, Marinette noticed an uncharacteristically serious text from Adrien directed towards a tag-team of Alya and Nino insisting he give them a firm answer on La Nuit.

Adrien (1:56 PM):

Um, idk if I can. I want to, but Nathalie says there’s something on my schedule I don’t think I can get out of.

And now that it was on her mind, she did recall Adrien saying he wasn’t going to be available on Saturday. It explained why he kept getting off-topic, probably trying to avoid disappointing everyone. Marinette couldn’t blame him for that, even if she was saddened to think on it. She would probably still attend if Alya and Nino wanted to, since it was a one-night-opportunity, but she would definitely skip out on the reception and deal with the minor annoyance of third-wheeling.

After another thirty minutes, Marinette ate her lunch in the back office while going over her next purchase order. Tikki played the part of sympathetic audience.

“Ugh, these prices… How’s a girl supposed to eat?” She said, taking an entirely ironic bit from the lunch Maman had prepared for her. It was some sort of curried potatoes and rice creation.

Tikki frowned and settled into her shoulder, nibbling on her favorite variety of macron.

“Well, at least the need to order plenty means you’re doing good business, right?”

Marinette sighed and retrieved the “company” checkbook (it was just her parents, linked to the business account with their bank) and wrote out a figure with so many 0’s she actually had to double-check to make sure she hadn’t made an error.

“Yeah, I suppose… Maybe it’s a seasonal thing, but all of this?” Marinette pointed down at the catalog, finger tracing plastic planters and floral wire. “It’s annoying that they would inflate the price of necessities because they know we need them.”

Tikki giggled and adjusted her weight on Marinette’s shoulder. “Maybe Hawkmoth akumatized the factory workers. If there’s no flowers left in the city, what will draw ladybugs to Paris?”

The girl shook her head and chuckled. “Why didn’t I see it before? The answer was so obvious, Tikki!”

They shared a laugh and Marinette took another bite of her food, sealing the envelope and writing down the purchasing figure in the books. Hopefully this was the just the height of seasonal pricing, because they were barely breaking even with these sort of margins.

Just as she finished her food and took a long drink from a water bottle, the bell at the front chimed. Marinette could only check the messages on her phone and couldn’t get much utility from the device otherwise during business hours, so she opted to leave it with Tikki who could pass the time watching videos.

Marinette wiped her hands quickly on her apron and walked through the front of the store. A young gentleman, well-dressed and a few years her senior, had walked in looking very nervous. He eyed an assortment of bouquets wearily, and Marinette had to suppress the urge to laugh.

Mo would get a kick out of this.

If a man came to the store alone, Mo had warned her of three things.

“When M&M is at its end, when I go, you’ll need to be wary on your own! ...Yes, Marinette, I just rhymed, you can stop laughing now. I am but a poet who doesn’t even know it!”

Even in present day, Marinette rolled her eyes. Typical Mo.

“Young men - and nay, even some young women - will need your help with these purchases. They know nothing of the language of flowers, and they’ll be so blindsided by romance they won’t have the forethought to study up before coming to the store. If they are not purchasing for an apology or a date, then they may have a lustful eye for the unsuspecting female clerk, working the store alone. Don’t be afraid to use those muscles of yours to kick some sense into them, if you have to.”

Mo said he had an eye for that type, which Marinette frankly found to be a little ridiculous, but he would always insist on “helping” those clients so they might not make some sort of unwanted advance on her. It was actually very sweet how protective the old man had been, but she usually though he had a tendency for the dramatic.

Grinning, the bluenette strode across the counter and called his attention. “Bonjour. Can I help you?”

His face was conventionally handsome, a strong jaw with some dark five o’clock shadow that made him look a bit more mature. Glasses and brown eyes, darting and anxious, looked up at Marinette’s greeting.

“Oh, bonjour, Mlle. Um... actually, yeah, if you don’t mind. I’m not sure...” The customer turned his attention back towards the wide variety of bouquets Marinette had prepared, and she felt a little smug at having just finished restocking. It was a bit impressive to look at, especially for someone like this.

Marinette nodded and placed a hand at her hip, joining his study of the display. “Rather you did something wrong, or you’re aiming for a date. Right?”

There was a pause, and the man laughed in relief. “Wow, you’re good. Yeah, I… I’m trying to ‘impress’ someone.”

Marinette nodded, tapping her chin and keeping her eyes forward. That narrowed the possible list of appropriate bouquets, although it depended on what type of impression he was hoping to make.

“Well, if it’s a date,” Marinette mused, taking a step towards a cacophony of crimson, scarlet and ruby red buds that were easy to admire. “You might consider something classic. Roses are popular, of course, but…”

She gestured to another, softer and slightly fuller arrangement. “If you want something a little different, Hummingbird flowers are always a reliable, pretty pick.”

Marinette brushed the star shaped petals of the palest pink with her fingers, a delicate bunch accented by Baby’s Breath and White Diamond Limonium.

Roses were cheap to grow and they could sell them at a high mark-up, just by way of the demand. Fiscally, it probably would have made better sense to stick to upselling the former recommendation, but Marinette just will herself to make a sale based off money alone. There was soul within each stem, and some blossoms simply needed additional advertisement for people to appreciate their personalities.

“Hummingbirds?” The man croaked, and Marinette just nodded patiently.

“No, Hummingbird flowers. They’re technically called bouvardia. They’re simple, reall-- ”

The bell at the door interrupted her, so she quickly called a greeting before continuing.

“Bonjour! Just a moment, please! Sorry, but yes - bouvardia are really simple to care for, and they will keep for weeks. Just pop them in any vase and change the water every few days. They’re supposed to represent enthusiasm, and they have a…”

Her voice fizzled out, because a ringing in her ears didn’t stop. The bell was going off continuously, and it had picked up a rhythm.

Marinette turned to face the door, having caught a child playing with the bell to elicit such a sound before, but it turned out the chime was coming from someone much less predictable than a child.

“C-Chat Noir! Bonjour,” Marinette bowed her head, surprised to see him, and the customer turned with wide eyes.

Clasping his hands together, the young man bounced on his toes. “Wow! I-it’s… you! I’m a huge fan!”

The black cat, always one for a show, performed a theatrical bow while his tail swished around the middle aisle. “Ah, it’s always a pleasure to meet a fan! And in the most charming spot in all of Paris, no less.”

The gentleman beside Marinette practically floated over to Chat, and he vigorously took the heroes hand and shook. “I hate to ask - I’m sure you get this all the time, but could I get a selfie with you? My boyfriend wouldn’t believe me if I didn’t show him a photo!”

“Of course,” Chat accepted the man’s phone and they leaned in for a picture. “I actually happen to photograph rather well.”

Just after they snapped the shot, Chat caught Marinette’s eye, and the smug blond had the nerve to wink. Out of reflex, her head fell back on her shoulders, and she had to keep herself from hissing at him in annoyance.

“Yes, hello, Chat Noir. If you’re here for a purchase, I’d be happy to help you once I’m finished with this gentleman.”

“W-What?” The man clutched his phone to his chest, hugging the device like it was a lifeline. “No, please! Chat Noir, you go first. My thing isn’t important, it can wait!”

Chat Noir shook his head and smiled. As he opened his mouth to speak, however, the bell to the door rang again and Marinette thought seriously about throwing her hands up and quitting.

She fixed her face into a smile, certain that it was not convincing, and faced the door. “Bonjo-- …?”

There was no one there. Had the person stepped in and left immediately? It… had had happened before, though it struck her as odd.

Whatever the case, she could not complain. Chat’s presence alone certain to bring a tide of business crashing down Courtier St., so she needed to wrap things up.

Marinette stepped firmly towards the center of the store and gestured to young man who had begun texting furiously into his phone. “I’m sorry, sir, but I insist. Chat Noir is a hero of Paris, but in this store, he’s also a customer. You were here first, and I’ll assist him once we’ve made a choice for you.”

Behind the young man’s glasses, he blinked repeatedly and looked between the hero and Marinette like she had just started speaking Yiddish. It wasn’t until Chat nodded him to go that she was able to finish the sale, and thankfully, it had been quick thereafter. He seemed so starstruck that Marinette didn’t even have the chance to finish her explanation of Hummingbird flowers before he hastily accepted and passed her a shiny credit card.

“Wow, who would’ve thought? I’m here for flowers and bam! Chat Noir. This is such an amazing day!” He whispered across the counter to Marinette, who just smiled politely and passed him his receipt and requested a signature.

It really shouldn’t have struck her as a a surprise, as Chat Noir came frequently, but Marinette had gotten used to seeing him in the evening after the past week. Him coming here during the day while she drowned in work seemed comparatively frustrating, but Marinette kept her voice kind all the way until the man left the store (only after he stopped to shake Chat Noir’s hand two more times, of course).

Even so, Marinette had nothing but positivity to offer today, grinning at the alley cat who had folded his hands neatly behind his back.

“Hi, Marinette.” Chat said once they were alone, and she raised a brow at him. The cat must’ve hit his head or was actively hiding something, because the look he was giving her was filled with unusual admiration.

“Hello, minou,” Marinette smiled as she returned to the counter. Chat respectfully remained on the other side, though he did walk rather close behind her.

Sticking her tongue out, Marinette broke through his intense stare when they both laughed. “What brings you by today?”

“Ah, right meow? I was simply in the neighborhood and thought you might want some company of the kitten variety.” He smiled and wiggled his eyebrows, and Marinette just slapped a palm into her face.

With a good-humored sigh, she picked up some papers and began to make a few notes. “I’m so flattered, Chat, you have no idea. How could I ever thank you?”

“Oh I’ve got a few ideas, Puur-incess. Especially now that I know you sneak boys into your room.” His voice was riddled with suggestiveness, but it was clearly sarcastic. Marinette just shook her head and giggled.

Chat seemed to notice her exuberance and commented, “Well, isn’t your cat-titude just meow-valous today? Even my puns seem ineffective!”

Marinette just exhaled brightly and met his gaze. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I happen to be in a very great mood.”

“Oh? Do tell!” The black-suited hero leaned his elbows on the counter, coming closer in interest.

Her face flushed, but she did not look away. “Well, that friend I was telling you about… They came back, and…”

She stopped mid-sentence, interrupted yet again by the ever-present bell that called her attention, and Chat straightened when she glanced over his shoulder.

There was no one there.

“Again?” Marinette pursed her lips in annoyance, walking around the counter and coming to the door.

Chat stayed a pace behind her, watching her examination of the doorknob. “Is something wrong?”

“I think there’s something broken… with the… um…”

Marinette’s voice trailed off, but not, for once, due to lack of the right words or a sputtering confidence. Instead, her attention had been caught by some unusual activity beyond the glass walls. Instead of a typical flow of passing couples, groups of friends, or parents and their children, the predictable midday ambiance of Paris had been unsettled.

“Something’s happening,” Marinette whispered, voice suddenly urgent. Chat scowled and moved right up to the window, standing so close she could feel the smooth exterior of his suit as he looked into the road.

Indeed, people were no longer passing along peacefully, a steady tide of leisure down the sidewalks. No, the current had picked up, and a wind was blowing ever East, loud and panicked. People were screaming, and running, and clutching their loved ones.

Chat clenched his jaw. “An akuma.”

Marinette tried for a playful smirk. “I suppose it was inevitable, wasn’t it?”

He pursed his lips, and the witty joke that Marinette expected didn’t come. Instead, Chat Noir turned to her and put a hand on each of her shoulders.

“Go hide, Princess.” The sharpness of his tone surprised her. “Please.”

“Umm…” she felt his hands squeeze her slightly. “O-okay, Chat Noir. Be careful.”

The promise of her safety must have been enough to undo whatever had rattled him, because his smile turned huge and he stepped away, bowing low.

“But of course, I’m paw-sitive things will be just f-el-ine.”

Marinette rolled her eyes while the cat hopped away, the only force of nature moving against the clamor of people fleeing the source of danger.

Wistful, Marinette watched him go, worried again. Was he okay?

“Marinette!” Tikki chimed, flying a few inches in front of her. At what point her kwami had come to the front of the store, the girl had no idea. “Aren’t we going?”

“O-oh, right!” She nodded seriously. “Let me go out the back…”

As quickly as she could manage, Marinette locked the front door and ran through the exit on the southern side of the building. Thankfully, everyone in this part of town had already fled or found refuge indoors, so it seemed safe enough to transform.

Marinette met eyes with her kwami, and the two shared a fierce nod. “Tikki, spots on!”

In a flash, a strength flowered from her core as red spandex fit to her like a second skin. Clarity and focus settled in her mind with ease, and with a contented sigh, Ladybug stepped out into the courtyard.

“Alright, let’s do this!” Ladybug said, mostly to get herself to get in the right headspace for a fight. It’s been weeks, and taking to the rooftops with her yo-yo in hand felt invigorating.

Back-tracking slightly so no one might see her depart directly from the flower shop, she ultimately headed towards the center of town. Ladybug made quick work of a few miles when the magical device in her outstretched hand began to buzz.

Finding a building to stop upon, Ladybug flipped open the screen, listening for disturbances or ambushes all the while.

“Chat Noir,” Ladybug nodded severely in greeting into the screen. The black cat grinned sheepishly, and she had to stop herself from laughing.

“Do I even want to know why you’re soaking wet?”

“Well, you see Bugaboo, it all started this morning when I -- “

“Mon chaton,” Ladybug said pointedly, raising her eyebrows at him. He shook himself off slightly like a drenched animal, and his hair seemed puffier as a result.

He kept his grin just as wide. “I’m afraid things are a bit fishy down by City Hall.”

“Fishy?”

Chat shrugged. “You’ll see. I’ll keep ‘em distracted for you, Bugaboo.” He sang her nickname and blew her a kiss.

Ladybug merely shook her head, flipping the screen closed. “That cat, sometimes…”

Setting a course towards her partner’s location, the heroine moved as a flash of red along the Parisian skyline. The roads were quiet in their vacancy, and it was always one of the worst parts of battling an akuma. People abandoned the streets and sucked the life from the city itself; it sounded of death and reminded her of absence, neither of which were conditions she yearned after.

Once City Hall was in sight, Ladybug quickly came to understand Chat’s meaning. The nearer she moved to the scene, the more that awful, odorous waves reeking of fish wafted to meet her. Even as a civilian, Ladybug was not the biggest fan of seafood, and this wasn’t the smell of a roasted salmon or freshly prepared sushi. It smelled like of salt and seawater, musky and dark and totally unpleasant. Vaguely, she recalled someone telling her once that olfactory experiences are more poignant than any other sensory memory; Ladybug could only hope that was hyperbolic, because this smell would surely haunt her forever.

“What the…” Ladybug muttered, covering her mouth and nose, trying in vain trying to block some of the oceanic air from making her dizzy. At the cusp of a large building looking over the city square, she looked down into the streets to find a torrent of… money? Coins, bills, and currency of every kind spilled into the streets, so high it covered some smaller buildings entirely. It was like a flood of cash sprang from City Hall and was rushing down the streets, a broken dam that began to submerge the city beneath the weight of wealth.

Baffled, Ladybug wondered aloud (through a compressed, nasally voice). “What kind of akuma is this?”

“Beats me,” answered a familiar call. She turned and spotted Chat Noir, retracting his baton and finding his footing. By the looks of it, he must have just vaulted to the top of the building himself.

“You weren’t kidding when you said it was fishy, mon chaton… ugh, this is terrible.” Ladybug replied, scowling and scanning the world below in vain, searching for some source of the chaos.

“Really?” He seemed amused. “Maybe it’s the whole, cat-like-instincts thing, but I think it’s actually rather nice.”

“Bleh,” Ladybug stuck her tongue out, and her partner snickered at her expense.

Stretching his arms, Chat moved to the buildings’ edge and crouched down. The streets were still filling with money, a sea of metal and paper growing taller in the center of the square and spreading further down each side street.

“Looks like we don’t have anytime to waste, unless we want to be sleeping with the fishies,” he commented, almost sounding annoyed. Ladybug sighed, and they met eyes. She gave the cat an approving smile.

“Well, kitty, this seems like your specialty. It looks like it’s all centralized around City Hall, so we best start there.” Chat’s ears perked, and Ladybug’s grinned widened. “Shall we go akuma fishing?”

Chat stood and spun in a fluid movement, facing her after a full rotation and bowing. “It would be a pleasure, Bugaboo.”

Leading the way, Ladybug swung her yo-yo far and aimed high, not particularly interested in falling into the flood of currency - the smell seemed to come from the rising tides, and frankly, she was glad to have nothing to do with it. The catching wind while she leapt closer to the building actually helped to wick some of the odor from the air surrounding her face, but when she landed deftly on the roof of the building, it grew even worse. The gentle thud of Chat Noir landed beside her, and his voice was immediately alarmed.

“L-Ladybug! Are you okay?” He gripped her shoulders. “Why are you crying?”

She groaned and patted his hold, using the knuckles of her other hand to brush away the sudden tears.

“I’m just fine, thank you for the concern Chat. It’s the smell, my eyes are just watering. Ugh.” Setting her jaw, she tried to indicate finality with her tone, and thankfully Chat Noir drew back.

“Hmm,” Chat tapped his chin and walked to study some of the skylight windows. “If you don’t think you’ll be able to breathe, don’t be afraid to fall back, okay? Maybe we can draw the akuma out away from the, uh,” he paused, looking over the side of the building at the growing pile of cash. “Ocean?”

Ladybug huffed and squared her shoulders. “You might be right, but let’s see if we can’t figure out what’s going on first.” She had to blink through some latent wetness while investigating the glass beside Chat Noir.

“It doesn’t look like there’s - oh, well,” Chat was about to state the obvious - that there wasn’t anyone inside - but his claim would have become immediately false. The door to the mayor’s office burst open, and so far as they could see, all of the inner sanctums of the building remained entirely vacant of money.

Stepping out from the office and cackling wildly, a larger-than-life man stepped through the doorway (just barely fitting) and dragged a large net behind him. In some weird way, Ladybug was reminded of Santa Claus, but only if the jolly man of Christmas carols had jaundice and turned mad.

The man sported a bright, almost insultingly yellow, coat with matching hat and boots that covered almost his entire body. A few inches between the bottom of the coat and the top of the boots exposed gray tattered clothes beneath, and even the man’s face was largely obscured by a bushy grey-white beard. Striking against the his drab appearance, his eyes were gruesome - one, large and blown from glass, matched by a scar from lid to cheek, and the other was gray as an overcast sky. What little of his face was visible and not disfigured appeared papery and tough, and he must have been getting up there in age.

Thrown over his shoulder, adding to the illusion of a deranged Kristopher Kringle, the man gripped a net at least double his size. Large and black woven wire crossed over itself into what must have been some sort of fisherman’s net; it was the only part of his get-up that seemed a clear candidate for the akuma to hide.

Ladybug grimaced when she realized the net was not empty.

“He’s got the mayor,” Chat commented, almost as casually as if he were remarking on the weather. With a glance over the streets, Ladybug noted the rising rate of the strange paper and metal sea, and snapped her fingers.

“Ah. The treasury is in this building. That’s probably where the money is coming from, and I think it’s below ground.”

Chat nodded, already understanding her meaning.

“I’ll stop the flood,” he offered.

She smiled. “And I’ll try to get the net away from ol’ greybeard.”

With a quick nod, she watched Chat dive from the building into the “water” with surprising grace. The sound of his body hitting a conglomerate of metal, however, did not sound at all pleasant.

“It probably doesn’t tread like water,” Ladybug yelled down to him through cupped hands. She giggled as Chat massaged his backside, more crawling than swimming towards the bit of the entrance that was still visible.

He called back to her. “That would have been helpful about 10 seconds ago!”

Allowing herself a little laugh, the red heroine readjusted her shoulders and faced the window again. The akumatized victim was shouting something nonsensical to the mayor, who was quivering under the net. She needed to act quickly before things escalated into some sort of hostage situation.

The windows on the roof did not have any visible locking mechanisms, so Ladybug shrugged and kicked through the glass, leaping to the marble tiles effortlessly.

“Let him go!” She demanded as the yellow-coated man turned to face her, and much to her surprise, he dragged the mayor’s weight with his turn.

The moment of recognition came too slow, though, and Mayor Bourgeois slammed into her and knocked her back into a pillar.

“Ladybug!” He cried, seemingly uninjured though he had just been used as a weapon.

Groaning, she blinked a few times and tried to ignore the several tender spots where rock had met her back muscles, and took another, more prepared stance across the hall outside the mayor’s office.

A different approach, she held her yo-yo at the ready. “What do you want?”

“Fair trade in the state of France!” He shouted automatically, adjusting the net at his shoulder. “And I, the Pêcheur, ain’t going to let some bug get in the way of what the hardworkin’ people of France deserve!”

Ladybug dropped and rolled away from the swing of the net she knew was coming, the threat evident behind his words. Not a moment too soon, as a loud crunching sound left a crater against the wall where she had just been standing. Maybe the net wasn’t hiding the akuma after all? It seemed really careless to swing around the object she needed to destroy so recklessly.

“The people of France don’t want violence, Fisherman, I can assure you that.” Ladybug replied calmly, standing and gripping her yo-yo. If not the net, than what?

The hat? Maybe… It still didn’t feel right, though.

“Oh I don’t know,” he said, cackling and swinging the mayor like a ragdoll. Ladybug winced, glad whatever magic kept Mayor Bourgeois in the net equally seemed to stop him from getting hurt. Still, he was a civilian, so she needed to get him out of here as quickly as possible. With a hasty scan of her surroundings, Ladybug noticed an elevator at one end of the hall.

“The people of France welcomed a revolution filled with violence, or did you forget, Little Miss?”

Backpedaling down the length of the corridor, Ladybug tried to keep Pêcheur far enough away that he would have to release his net to swing it at her, but near enough that he kept in pursuit. Just a little further…

“That’s true, but times have changed, Fisherman!” Ladybug took a threatening posture with her weapon in one hand, her other hand seeking the elevator button. “You can’t expect the people of Paris to--”

She stopped when the lift behind her dinged lightly, and she reared back with her yo-yo ready to send it spiraling around his ankles. In retaliation, Pêcheur roared furiously and whipped his net around, swinging it at her with barbaric force.

Perfect.

Like pretending to throw a dog a bone, she kept a close hold on her yo-yo, leaping over the net as it swept at her. Instead, she flung the trusty weapon at the man’s forearm that had a hold on the mayor. With a cry of pain, he dropped the net just in front of the elevator, and gravity did the rest.

She fell to the earth just inches in front of Mayor Bourgeois and quickly dragged him backwards before the elevator closed.

An angry wallop could be heard against the metal doors, but she had been just fast enough to complete the getaway. Immediately, Ladybug began to unravel a whimpering Mayor Bourgeois.

“Mayor! Are you alright?”

He was shaking, but appeared unharmed. “Y-yes, Ladybug. Thank you! I feel t-terrible about this…”

Ladybug noted a pleasant beep above their heads; they entered on the third floor, and she had her sights on the basement.

“Do you know what happened? Who is Pêcheur?”

Mayor Bourgeois made a face. “Well, he’s a fisherman.”

“... Yes, thank you, Mayor. And?” It was difficult to keep the irritation from her voice as she lifted the last bit of net above his head.

Another beep.

One more floor.

“He came to my office with a proposed bill to reduce the state tariffs on exporting fish, but that is something politically way above my head. I’m just a mayor! When I refused to bring his concern to my compatriots at the Assemblée nationale, he screamed about earning his livelihood at sea and stormed from my office.” The man completed his explanation as Ladybug helped him stand. Once he was steady, she reared an arm high in the air and used her foot as a counterbalance, tearing the net wide.

No butterflies here.

As if on cue, the final ding sounded in time with Ladybug’s sigh and the doors opened.

The horrible, repugnant scent of dead fish flared in her throat, and the mayor covered his mouth to stop from throwing up. A small influx of money spilled around their ankles, but it wasn’t surging as it once had.

“Why, there you are Bugaboo,” Chat called nonchalantly straight across from them, using his bodyweight to keep a large bank-style safe closed. It was clearly giving under the stress of compounding currency within, but his barricade had stayed the madness temporarily.

He shifted when a particularly horrendous metal creaking sound went off behind him. It was clear the door was going to give soon.

“I hate to be a burden, but purr-haps you could lend this poor cat a hand?”

Ladybug helped the mayor wade through the mess to the stairs, and thankfully Chat had mostly cleared a path on his way inside. “Mayor, find any room to hide it. It’s too dangerous in the streets with all of this in the way,” she gestured at the mess at their feet. He quickly nodded and thanked her again before sputtering and slipping his way up the stairs.

In a flash, Ladybug flew across the remainder of the room and, with their combined strength, managed to better stabilize the door.

“Okay, minou, got any ideas? Where’s the money even coming from?”

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that,” he said, the strain clear in his voice. “It doesn’t seem to be coming from anywhere. It’s just seeping through the ceiling in there. Like rain, almost.”

“Rain?” Ladybug glanced down. “And you were wet earlier, weren’t you?”

Chat scowled. “It wasn’t my fault, I was helping someone in a car that got turned over and some people running by were soaking wet.”

She frowned, brow drawn together as she looked at her feet. “Maybe this isn’t just like water. Maybe it is water, Chat. That explains why its able to sort of swish and move on its own, and there’s no way he could have an endless supply --”

The cat yelped as the door started to give a bit, and he hastily replied. “Yes, sure, great - your logic is amazing and you’re amazing, blah blah, but maybe we should get out of here?”

“Ugh,” Ladybug groaned, exerting even more force as the door started to buckle. “We need a plan first. If one of us lets go, the metal won’t hold.”

Ears perked, Chat Noir turned to her with a grin. “Wait a meow-ment! I have an idea! Just hold the door for one second, and um..well, actually...” His smile flickered and faded.

“Well?!” Ladybug shook her head, eyes bulging. “What are you waiting for? What is it!?”

“Umm, you’ll have to, uh, spread your… legs” he muttered. Frankly, she didn’t care about boundaries and all that - Chat clearly was not understanding the urgency of the situation.

“Okay! Okay, sure, just do whatever you have to!”

Chat frowned at her for a moment, as if surprised she trusted him so completely, but his focus came back with another groan of the metal.

His tone was hard. “Okay, hold the door.”

Under her breath, Ladybug muttered a quick retort through grit teeth. “Yeah, like I have much of a choice.”

Chat Noir moved directly in front of her, crouched down and drew his weight back. “Cataclysm!”

He aimed a hand, miasmatic and deadly, at the spot where the metal barrier met the ground, just between her feet, and the floor began to quake.

With his other arm, Chat wrapped a deft hand around her waist and extended his baton forward into the metal, just as the hinges began to snap, and drove them back into the elevator.

He smashed the button closed the moment they were inside. The door dented under the crushing weight of coins, but they were unscathed.

Ladybug heaved for air, crisp and sharp against her windpipe as they stood in the strangely quiet elevator. Beside her, Chat rubbed the back of his neck anxiously.

“S-Sorry, that was close.” He glanced at their feet, noticing some netting caught in the small collection of coins and paper below. “I take it the akuma wasn’t in the net?”

Still breathless from exertion, she merely shook her head and glanced up at Chat. The moment they met eyes, his ring beeped twice.

“Ah…” he pressed his lips together and eyed his right hand in annoyance. “Well, any ideas?”

“I think…” she began, looking at the ceiling. “I think the guy isn’t going to leave the building. At some point, he’ll demand our miraculous, and we’re already here. More importantly, he said he wants to change the laws, I guess.”

Chat Noir snorted and ran a hand down his face. “They have like, petitions for that, right? Did getting akumatized seem like the most logical solution?”

His ring beeped again.

Ladybug was only half-listening, and she lifted herself up using the wall to support her weight, pushing through the latch in the ceiling. He didn’t need directions to know they were going up, the long way.

Once situated in the dark vertical tunnel, she squinted upwards and addressed Chat’s earlier question. “Yes, but, this man felt wronged, or cheated from what I gathered. He called himself the Pêcheur. The Mayor refused to help him… and he was talking about ‘the hardworking French people’. The smell, the ‘ocean’ of money, his outfit...”

A little more quietly, Chat reached the same conclusion she had earlier. “Ahh… A fisherman who wanted to improve wages or something to that effect, wronged by the Bourgeois. Literally, probably.”

She nodded, to which Chat added, “But what is he hoping to do?”

Another beep.

Ladybug just shook her head as she unsheathed her yo-yo, spinning it before grappling to the floor she had last seen him. “I have no idea, but we’ve got to stop it before things get more out of control. Your ‘second basement’ bought us some time, but Paris is going to flood if we don’t do something.

“It’s almost like the city is under-funded, am I right, Bugaboo?”

Chat had his baton ready, but Ladybug lifted a hand to stop him.

“You should stay here, you’re about to detransform. I’ll go after Pêcheur, and you recharge. Okay?”

She could tell, even in the low-light, his ears drooped slightly. The hard truth came in the form of his final beep, warning them of only sixty more seconds until he would revert to civilian form.

“I’ve got some food on me, so I’ll be able to catch up with you soon.” Chat offered, and Ladybug gave him a quick two-fingered salute.

“Bug out for now, mon chaton.”

The sound of hastily typing thumbs and a gorging kwami were the only things to break the silence for several minutes.

It was a little unnerving, sitting cross-legged at the bottom of a dark elevator shaft, waiting patiently for time to catch up to need. It was some sort of poetic pseudo-marketplace dealing in minutes and cheese, patience and fortune. Still, the quiet was peaceful, but it stirred a fear in his stomach.

Was Ladybug okay?

And another, newer worry found dominion beside that familiar fear.

Was Marinette okay?

Digitally speaking, things had spiraled out of control. Providing live updates to the Ladyblog, Alya was wading the sea (and probably earning herself some serious bruises along the way) while Nino had texted the group in clear panic, trying to get her to move inside or at least seek higher ground.

Marinette had not messaged any of them, which was disconcerting.

Adrien pulled up the blog in spite of himself, knowing his compliance was sort of encouraging Alya’s dangerous behavior, but it was an undeniably useful source of information when away from the throes of the fight.

The livestream was turning from selfie mode to photoview, and he cringed at the quick glimpse of Alya sauntering waist-deep towards the center of the city.

“Alright Ladybloggers, looks like there’s a change of scenery going on. Ladybug just appeared outside the building, and by the looks of it, no Chat Noir in sight.”

Scowling, Adrien and Plagg met eyes.

“The man calling himself Pêcheur,” Alya continued, oblivious to mutual annoyance of her audience in the elevator shaft. “Seems to be able to manipulate money, and he’s using the change to -- whoooaa,” Alya wavered and nearly dropped her camera, and the broadcast jostled disorientingly.

“We are in deep water now, folks, and that’s not a Chat Noir signature pun,” she shouted, and true to her word, the semi-calm mountains of cash had turned back to a freshet of angry ocean, literal water pouring into the city streets and sweeping Alya out and away with the deluge. His “second basement” must have bottomed out.

Adrien’s heart went out to Nino; at least Marinette had enough sense to stay inside.

“Okay folks, we need to seek higher ground. We couldn’t get close enough to hear the akuma’s threats, but there’s no denying one thing: he can control the water, and it can change to… well, change, apparently, by his whim. Stay safe everyone!”

She stopped the livestream, and Adrien couldn’t decide if it was appropriate to laugh or sigh. The girl was about as brave as Ladybug herself, but without the supersuit. In another life, she would have made a great superhero.

“Alright kid,” Plagg chewed his last piece of camambert and swallowed. “I’m ready when you are!”

Adrien stood quickly, his gaze fierce.

“Plagg, claws out!”

As easily as breathing, black leather encased his right arm and branched to his left, down his torso and hugging his body. Running a hand across his hair, familiar ears fit to his blond tresses and Chat Noir shook the familiar resurgence of power through his muscles.

“Round two.” He declared quietly, readying his baton to vault through the building, after Ladybug and the akuma.

Chat managed to trace after without issue, following the sounds of battle raging above his head. A clear hole had shattered a glass window, and the jagged edges offered droplets of water near the middle of the hallway. Unable to cling against their own gravity, the droplets turned to metal with a tiny shing each time another drop loosened and hit the marble floors.

Hmm. So LB and Alya were right. He turns water to money.

“But where is he even getting the water?” Chat wondered aloud, glaring at the ceiling.

A rush of red flew backwards across his line of sight, propelled by a gush of liquid that sounded hard and metallic upon impact.

He watched the Fisherman saunter forward, after what had clearly been an injured Ladybug. Chat waited just until the man crossed over the opening before vaulting himself on the roof.

“Hey now!” Chat taunted, twirling his baton upon landing. “Don’t you know that fish keep their money at the riverbank, Mounseir Pêcheur?”

Grinning, he paused to leap away from a second crashing wave of bills, rolling and landing on one knee. “C’mon, if you’re a Fisherman, surely you can catch me?”

Another rush of money snapped in his direction from over the side of the building, near enough that Chat felt the light tickle of passing air besides his ear.

The more Chat baited, the more the man fumed and rage, and the blond hero rather enjoyed watching the Fisherman’s face turn red beneath his yellow suit. It was clear, unbridled fury, and it was turning him reckless.

“Why are so crabby, anyways?” Chat mewled in time with the rising tides, the sound rapturous as metal smashed into concrete and plaster walls. Coins rained from above with the jostling movements, flying upwards only to smack against the top of his head. Chat hissed, more in annoyance than in pain.

Still, the Fisherman looked too ensorcelled to do much else than storm senselessly after the black cat. Not a single intelligible word passed through the man’s cracked lips, and of course, Chat Noir was never one to pass up a joke.

“What, cat got your tongue?”

In a furious roar, Pêcheur raised his arms high in the air and the sea moved with him, punching a hole straight through the roof with brute force.

Chat barely managed to backflip away from the assault, but it seemed Pêcheur had been hoping for that. He had driven Chat rather close to the edge of City Hall’s rooftop, and the hero barely managed to stay upright, thanking Plagg for his enhanced reflexes. Below, choppy tides and dangerous currents called up to him in a manmade monsoon.

“Heh, well, looks like you, uh, caught me?” Chat shrugged, and blessed be, Ladybug had regained her wits and he watched as the string of her yo-yo snaked around the Fisherman’s ankle just as he reared up for another attack.

A fierce shout garnered Chat’s attention while the man went sprawling.

“The akuma are the papers in his coat! It’s in his front pocket!”

Nimbly, Chat prowled forward and rolled the man over with his foot, ducking down to follow Ladybug’s directive. As he did, a massive shadow cast along the roof at his back, winking the sun out of existence. His ears were pitched to two sounds: one, of rustling paper and rising winds, and the other, a voice.

“Chat Noir! Look out!”

He had only time to cover his face before much more than just the sun was eclipsed - his whole body was smashed by waves of pain. Every muscle twisted and flared against sharp edges of coins and paper, crushing him beneath sheer weight alone. It was like getting smacked by a metal mallet, over every inch of his body, all at once.

“Lucky Charm!”

Oh thank god, Chat thought through grit teeth. It was disorienting, a rush of sensations that were fueled mostly by discomfort, shoving and dragging by invisible hands. The force of the hit had knocked him clean off the roof, and it was clear that the man was trying to drown him in a sea of greed.

A much different, sudden flare of pain made Chat wince, but this was neither a compression of coin or the twisting of substance pelting into his body again and again. It wasn’t the same light paper cuts that marked his cheeks and nose. This was tight and sharp, like someone was trying to pop his shoulder out of place.

Before he knew what was up from down, Chat Noir was airborne again.

He blinked several times, even more confused by his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was he had been freed of his alloy-bound tomb. The world was inverted, the fringe that usually rested along his face hanging down and away from his forehead, brushing into his sort-of-but-not-really cat ears. A definitely upside down and cute red heroine frowned at him- or was she grinning? - and raised an eyebrow in bemused appraisal.

“Hello, mon chaton,” teased Ladybug. “Can I borrow your baton?”

“Oh I suppose, it’s not like I’m using it, given that I’m just hanging around,” he grinned, though not without clenching his jaw through some of the latent soreness from his earlier battery. Chat reached for the trusted tool at his lower back and offered it to her.

Ladybug rolled her eyes and accepted his baton, only to let him go and crumple on the roof of what he figured to be a tall neighboring building. She had rigged some sort of pulley to bring him out of the crushing sea with her yo-yo and a large antenna. In her other hand, she held a comically huge polka-dot cutout of the mayor.

By now, the “water” had completely covered most of the square, and City Hall was immersed.

“Hmm, and where did our fishy friend go?” Chat asked as he rubbed the strain from his arms and shoulders.

Beside him, Ladybug pursed her lips while tieing one end of his baton and her yo-yo together, keeping the disc of her weapon dangling from the end. “He’s under the, uh, money somewhere. But I thought we might go back to our original plan.”

Chat watched her movements with interest, and Ladybug tested out his baton, extending it slowly.

“Oh? And what’s that?”

She smiled widely. “I thought we could try akuma fishing.”

And with no problem at all, she cast out their weapons into a makeshift fishing pole, far into the square with the cut-out of the mayor secured to one end. Her yo-yo stuck out above the choppy waves, a red sinker in the middle of a brown, silver and bronze mess of wealth.

Several seconds passed of silence, and Chat eventually offered, “Just like that?”

“Yep. Now we wait,” Ladybug offered simply, and Chat frowned when her earrings beeped.

“You sure about this?” He crossed his arms nervously, eyes scanning a jingling ocean.

That caused her to laugh, and it was a bubbly, infectious sound. Chat smiled.

“Of course, mon chaton. My lucky charm has never failed us before.”

“Well,” he shuffled his feet before deciding to sit down onto the roof beside her, boots almost grazing the top of the bristling body of money below. “I guess that’s true. This was a strange akuma, LB.”

After a pause, Ladybug replied. “Yes. It definitely was. I feel bad for the old man, he really seemed to just want a better life for himself and other fishermen.”

Another beep.

“I don’t think anyone can fault him that,” Chat responded, and they both fell quiet and watched the chaos start to calm. He must be close and spotted the bait.

Ladybug was going to change back in just another few minutes, and still the akuma hadn’t appeared. Even if they did manage to defeat it in time, it was sort of a shame. It had been awhile since he’d seen his partner, and Chat admittedly missed her company. Ladybug was one of his best friends, and… well, given the nature of their relationship, he felt like he should tell her about his recent interest in someone else. It’s not like it mattered really, but he loved Ladybug in the sort of way you would only with someone you’ve nearly died for, and who has nearly died for you.

With the recent luck he’s had as Adrien, Chat felt it was the sort of good news he could share with her and that she might want to know about. Even if he wouldn’t be able to refer to Marinette by name, it was something so new and pure that made him happy it was almost like lying to not talk about her. A lie of omission, almost.

Again, Ladybug’s earrings beeped, and Chat fidgeted uncomfortably. “So… how are you?”

She blinked down at him, brow drawn together. “What?”

Rubbing his neck, Chat clarified. “Well, you know, it’s been a little while and…”

A horrible grinding sound caused them both to jump, and Chat sprang to his feet while Ladybug returned her focus forward. The baton was starting to bend under a sudden weight, and a swishing release of Ladybug’s “line” began zipping loudly over the water.

“This is it!” She said, but the sudden intensity of Pêcheur’s grip at the other end was starting to pull her over the building’s edge. Without a second thought, Chat situated himself behind her and wrapped his arms around the baton as well, using their combined strength and weight to doubleback against the line, and he cringed at the sound of beeping just beneath his head.

“Ladybug! You only two minutes left!” He managed, grinding his molars.

“It’s okay. I’ve got this,” she spoke confidently, and quick tug his baton began to retract in, dragging the akuma’s weight along with it.

Of course, just as Ladybug said, the rest was simple. Pêcheur’s body had gotten tied up in the wire of her yo-yo, unable to escape though he thrashed like a fish just caught from the ocean. Quicker than they ever had before, Chat leapt up, snatched the akuma and threw it down to his partner, and she quickly ripped the papers to shreds.

Ladybug bid the luminescent, glowing akuma farewell, and stayed only long enough to offer Chat her fist.

“Pound it!” She smiled before, in perfect Ladybug fashion, bugging out in the other direction.

Sighing contently, he watched her go from the rooftops, looking down into the center of Paris with satisfaction. Another successful battle, and Chat watched as the people began to return to their wares, ducking out from buildings hesitantly.

With some gentle reassurances, Chat helped escort the akumatized victim to the medical professionals, and he caught the tailend of a conversation between the man and Mayor Bourgeois.

“I really do apologize, Monseiur Naser. I’ll at least see if I can take it to my colleagues, but I do not know how much power I will have.”

“T-thank you, Mayor. I appreciate you even trying to make a change.”

Chat sighed and removed himself as politely as possible from the crowds, trying to disengage from the probes about Ladybug’s whereabouts or his take on the recent dry spell of akumas. Of course, he did his best to answer vaguely but kindly, and thanks to Ladybug’s power any of the pain or soreness from his body had been wicked away.

Paris had been defended, but that didn’t mean he felt his job was done. Chat still had someone waiting for him, halfway across town, but what had been intended as a short break between shooting for the new Gabriel ad had been totally sucked up in the attack. Once again, responsibility got in the way of seeing Marinette, and it had only been so fleeting. Chat did not want to jeopardize the recent headway he had made with his relationship with his father, so he was resigned to return to his civilian life.

Chat Noir took to the sky and his feet only touched the tops of buildings long enough to propel him into the air again, preferring the open wind to the chains of gravity that would return him to himself soon.

Carefully, he slipped into an alley behind the studio he was expected in and spoke three familiar words.

“Plagg, claws in.”

Adrien held his palms out carefully, and his black kwami settled himself comfortably against his chosen’s fingers. Unfortunately, Adrien had only brought cheese enough for one detransformation, and Plagg knew as much.

Grumbling, the kwami curled in on himself, much like the creature that gave Chat Noir his namesake. “If ya can gets me something with some cheese in it, I’ll forgive you... this time.”

Adrien smiled. “There’s a snack table in the back. It’s not camembert, but I’m pretty sure they have some cheeses.”

At that, Plagg mustered enough energy to float into the front pocket of Adrien’s jacket, urging him on towards the dressing rooms.

Adrien stopped in the middle of the hallway, spotting some floral arrangement with a flower he actually recognized. It was part of one of the “sets” for the shoot, he assumed, as it was complex and larger than life. This had been the first time he had been able to utilize Marinette’s lessons in all things floral outside of the shop, and the recognition caused his heart to skip a beat.

He wasn’t sure what came over him, and Plagg certainly did not understand why Adrien felt the urge to stop in the middle of his Holy Grail quest with cheese at the helm, but in a quick motion the blond had his phone in his hands and was snapping a picture of the flowers.

Adrien (3:01 PM):

I’m at a shoot today. I saw these and I thought of you. :)

The only disappointing thing was that he knew it wasn’t a Dupain-Cheng product - those were easy to spot. With each delivery he had seen Marinette prepare, rather as Chat Noir or as Adrien, he always noticed the tag she would attached to the outside somewhere with care; a handwritten note thanking each customer for their business.

“I’m dying, Adrien,” Plagg called dramatically, turning over inside his jacket. “I’ll never be able to help you fight another akuma again, or sneak into your girlfriend’s room late at night.”

Hastily, the teen shoved his phone back in his jeans and made a beeline for the snack table, shoving enough cheese into his jacket to satiate a fully grown human.

Adrien took off his coat in the dressing room and left Plagg to his disturbing feasting rituals, staying only long enough to grab his phone and take it out to the set with him.

Marinette (3:08 PM):

What a coincidence!! I just sold some of those earlier today! They’re (bouvardia) Hummingbird flowers. Sorta like those latanas you sold the other day. :D

Marinette (3:08 PM)

Although Mme. Kleinstein probably would’ve bought anything from you with those freakin puns.

He grinned, walking down the hall. Adrien wasted no time writing back, stopping just shy of the shooting area so he could finish his message.

Adrien (3:09 PM):

That was the best sale the store has ever made and you know it! I gtg, we’re about to start again - but I thought they were pretty and knew you would appreciate them.

“Aye! There you are!” The photographer called, snapping her fingers aggressively halfway across the room.

“S-Sorry,” Adrien stammered as he slipped his phone into his jeans, but the woman simply glared suspiciously before turning her attention back to fixing her camera.

Around the studio, clusters of people moved around in preparation. Set designers, wardrobe, make-up, photographers and aids, Nathalie, magazine editors and people with clipboards all fluttered about, busying themselves with this-or-that. You wouldn’t even know the whole city hadn’t been under siege not twenty minutes ago.

Adrien hadn’t much time to think about it before he was swept up in the din, being shuffled back into his next outfit and having hands poking and prodding around his body. It felt annoyingly like the sensation of getting smashed by a tidal wave of change, just a little less sharp.

Still, he was thankful that most of his shots today were ones requiring happy poses. With recent events, that posture came naturally and his smile felt less forced. The photographers commented on his unusually but refreshingly chipper attitude, and he could only blush when Nathalie mentioned off-handedly that he had a date tomorrow night.

It was true, and it’s not like he was ashamed of it.

Between shots, different people would whisper to him about it, and he tried to just brush it off with the same answer.

“I’m excited! Just a little nervous.”

For whatever reason, it turned out that had been the wrong thing for Adrien to say. Several of the adults took his honesty as an opportunity to grant him all sorts of unsolicited advice and to offer tips from their wide experiences dating.

Adrien knew most of these people moderately well - business acquaintances, he would probably label them. Some were comfortable enough to be on a first-name basis, but it wasn’t without an arm’s-length of familiarity between them, so discussing something so personal with people like this was… strange, definitely. But more than that, it was nice. Everyone was clearly excited for him, asking all sorts of questions about Marinette and their plans, how they met and how he asked her out. The photographer, Lila, audibly “aww’d” when he told her about her employment as (practical) sole proprietor of the flower shop.

By the time the next break came, an hour had passed and Adrien felt like he had just finished having the most bizzare group therapy session imaginable. Between the overwhelming positivity of the people around the studio and their decidedly bizarre interest in his love life, he strode to his dressing room to check on Plagg when another model spotted him.

“Oh, hi, Macey.” Adrien stopped and nodded politely. She was a brunette with a dark complexion, taller than his father probably, and he knew she was about five years older than he was. They had done dozens of shoots together for the Gabriel line, and she tended to treat him like a younger brother. While Macey wasn’t quite a friend, she was at least always polite and easy to talk to.

“So A,” she said, hand at her hip. “Tell me about Marinette.”

A rush of blood flooded his cheeks, and the woman laughed. She gestured for them to continue down the hall, which gave him a chance to clear his throat.

“Well, she’s in my class at school - I’m not sure how much you heard out there…?”

She brushed him off. “I want to hear it all again. From the top.”

The explanation felt practically rehearsed after talking to so many people about Marinette recently, so it only took a few minutes to re-explain his friendship and admiration for the dark-haired miracle in his life.

They were standing outside Adrien’s dressing room by the time Adrien finished.

“So you like her. Marinette.”

“Um,” Adrien blinked. Had she even been listening? Wasn’t that much obvious? “Yes. A-a lot, actually.”

“As in, maybe-one-day-a-serious-relationship?”

He nodded firmly, omitting the comment that popped into his head about the possibility they might already be in a relationship if not for his own obliviousness.

Lowering her voice, Macey glanced down the hall.

“Well, then, I’m really happy for you, A. Really.” She smiled, as Adrien was clearly confused. “But take it from me - be careful with the press, especially early on. I lost a lot of good guys to the stress brought on by the paparazzi.”

Ah. Right. That… actually made a lot of sense.

“I guess I didn’t really think about that, I’m just so used to it...” He admitted, tapping his chin.

Macey closed her eyes and nodded, satirically serious. “The burden of fame, my friend. I know it’ll be fine, but I couldn’t not say something. It really sucks if a story gets out of hand, you know?”

Adrien thanked her, and Macey left him to his room. As he entered, he found Plagg snoozing beneath his jacket, so Adrien looked around for his cellphone.

Crap.

He left it in his jeans, which were still over in wardrobe.

Sighing, he sat at the mirror and considered Macey’s advice. It was reminiscent of a rumor that had gotten out about him and Marinette once, and in retrospect, it was funny to think about it now. Someone had taken a photo of them at the park beside her house, under rather embarrassing circumstances if he recalled correctly, and the photo went viral with claims of a secret relationship. At the time, Marinette had taken the gossip in stride and insisted it wasn’t an issue, and like most tabloid fodder, it died out rather quickly since no one in the Agreste circle acknowledged the photos.

A photo or two was innocent enough, so they had no problem dismissing the public speculation surrounding their friendship. But now? If he and Marinette continued to spend more time together (a thought which made him grin in spite of himself), the winds would likely stir the rumor mill all over again.

The irony of all of this was not lost on him.

Adrien had grown up under the constant scrutiny associated with fame, bulbs flashing and shouts commandeering his attention just walking down the sidewalk. The press knew no boundaries, demanding answers on anything and everything ranging from French politics, to the disappearance of his mother, to his take on Chat Noir and Ladybug. Incidentally, when he first wore his miraculous, admiring fans had already been second nature at that point.

Would Marinette be okay with the publicity?

…Maybe?

She was sort of shy, but fierce when she wanted to be. It’s not like you had to be an extrovert to deal with photographers - look at his father, for example.

Still, Adrien didn’t want to upset her or make her uncomfortable. Especially as he’s gotten older and come to, um, understand romance in a more adult context, he could imagine plenty of horrible headlines that could really start them off on unfortunate footing. It’s not like footing was something something Marinette was exactly known for...

“Plagg - I got a question for you.” Adrien pondered, glancing over at the clock. They’ll need him again in another five minutes.

“Adrien, I swear to the stars,” his kwami mumbled. “If Paris isn’t on fire, I’ll cataclysm you.”

The teen smirked, though took a few steps back for good measure. “Can you even do that?”

“Do you really want to find out?” Plagg replied darkly, but lifted his head and met his stare with a half-lidded glare.

“Nope.” Adrien help up his hands. “Actually, I think I just figured out my answer. Go back to sleep, grumpy.”

His kwami did not need telling twice, and his head lowered beneath Adrien’s jacket again. Tiny snores came almost immediately.

Rolling his eyes, Adrien headed out the door and made his way back to the front of the studio. Despite Plagg’s bad attitude, he actually had answered Adrien’s question. All he had to do was ask for the kwami’s attention, and Plagg’s reaction was answer enough to know how the conversation would go.

Why not just do the same thing with Marinette? Not everything had to be a riddle or require a complicated plan. Adrien respected her too much to make assumptions on what she might feel.

By the time he was in front of the camera again, Adrien’s mood was bright again. Some of the set workers still occasionally whispered questions to him about Marinette, which made him blush more than once (each time, the photographer or makeup artist would yell in annoyance. Red cheeks were good for a winter ad, not one with floral backdrops). Aside from those interruptions, the remainder of the shoot passed without issue.

They were all dismissed just a bit few minutes after six, but by the time Adrien had finished changing and washing his face, he wasn’t in the car until quarter-til seven. Sinking comfortably into the seat, he finally sought out his phone. He had fifteen texts from the group chat, and from a separate, private conversation.

Marinette (3:11 PM):

Thanks for sharing, that was really sweet. And np - good luck!

You would think he would be tired of smiling after a photoshoot, but then, he was also lucky enough to have something to look forward to afterwards.

Thinking through a response, Adrien studied the streets as the car rolled by. Vermillion streaks of maroon velvet had begun to explode across the sky, rippling outwards against a swirling miasma of night that began to overtake Paris. Softening, the day was mending beneath the horizon as night came to reign again. It was both dark and luminous, all at once, reminding him of Marinette’s hair as it bounced down the sidewalk.

No, wait.

That was just her, walking home.

“Oh!” He blurted, shooting upright.

Nathalie jumped, and she turned to him sharply. “What is it? Are you alright?”

Adrien blushed, still staring at the window. They were stopped at a light, so Marinette just floated off towards the bakery, towards her home.

“Umm…” He glanced at Nathalie, who was staring at him with hard eyes, and his bodyguard, who was completely not reacting at all.

“Y-yes, I’m fine! It’s just, Marinette is right outside. Could we offer her a ride home?”

The two in the front met eyes, his father’s secretary pursing her lips, and they both glanced at the time on the dash.

“...Pull over,” Nathalie commanded, and the driver did just that at the first chance.

Adrien hastily thanked them and practically flung himself onto the sidewalk, running to catch up with her.

“Marinette! Mari!” Adrien called, speeding past a few alarmed pedestrians. Perhaps she had been examining her cellphone from within her purse, because her pigtails shot up at the call of her name, and she turned around.

“H-hey!” He greeted, stopping and panting in front of her from the sudden sprint. Marinette blinked, nonplussed, and shook her head.

“Adrien? What are you…?” She clasped her bag shut, but smiled as she spoke his name.

He tried to smile back, still slightly bent forward from his exertion. “I was just driving home from the photoshoot… we were stopped at the light,” he jerked over his thumb in the general direction of the car, and Marinette peered over his shoulder. “And I saw you walking. Did you just get out of work?”

Marinette covered her mouth to laugh lightly, and nodded. “Yes, and earlier than I hoped. That akuma scared away a lot of my customers.”

“Oh. Sure.” He rubbed his hands together anxiously, not sure what to say to that.

Silence came thereafter, but it wasn’t awkward. Marinette was just radiant, both physically and by way of her presence alone. She seemed to diffuse happiness into the air itself, and Adrien drank it all in.

It was almost too much when her cheeks turned pink.

Adrien cleared his throat and gestured behind him. “Did you want a ride home? We could take you.”

Marinette’s mouth fell open slightly, surprised. “O-oh, really? I would… I would love that, actually, if you’re sure it’s no trouble.”

He laughed and started to guide them back to the car. “Nah, it’s fine. You’re the only one who attracts trouble, after all.”

Adrien leaned down and grabbed the door, opening it for her. Marinette scrunched her nose, always acting sort of flustered when he would try to behave chivalrously.

Quietly, before stepping in, her blue eyes sparkled. “Should I start calling you trouble, then?”

Marinette closed the door for herself, smiling proudly at what was probably his stunned expression. He was still working through the joke by the time she was buckled in, and he had to scramble around street-side to get in, blushing and grinning at her all the while.

Beside the goofy glimpses they shared on the way back to the bakery, sticking their tongues out or winking dramatically, trying to fight the urge to laugh, the actual conversation remained perfectly cordial. Marinette asked Nathalie how she was doing, and apologized for her mother’s insistence the other day (Adrien guessed she heard it all second-hand from Sabine and Tom once she got home), and she and Adrien spoke about their days.

Well, besides the whole turning into Chat Noir and protecting Paris for almost two hours. He decided to leave that part out.

Towards the end of the ride, Marinette began to bounce lightly against the lush seats, brightening as she retrieved her cell phone. “Your text was really nice, b-by the way. I love Bouvardia, they’re the flower of enthusiasm!”

“I’m glad,” Adrien responded with a smile “I like how enthusiastic you get when you talk about all flowers, so this is like, enthusiasm about enthusiasm.”

“Meta-enthusiasm,” Marinette closed her eyes and nodded solemnly, peeking through a lid and catching his eye. They both grinned and snickered quietly.

“Yeah,” he said with a small, contented sigh as he gazed at the streets. They were very near to her house now. “I always think of you when I see flowers anymore. I hope that’s not weird,”

he tagged on the last part hastily, hoping she didn’t see the color fill his cheeks.

“The shop is like, one of my favorite places in the city.”

Marinette’s smile reached her eyes, and she too was looking out the window. The lights of street lamps that hit her face in a sort of constant flutter. It made her look almost angelic.

“Mine, too,” she commented, voice soft.

They pulled to a stop just outside of the bakery, and he could see Tom inside with a broom, sweeping the front of the store.

“Well…” Marinette said, rubbing her hands on her jeans. She looked nervous, which only made her even more adorable.

Adrien turned to her and tried for some confidence, very aware of the adults in the car and her father fifteen feet away in the building. “I’ll see you tomorrow, after you get off of work?”

Ducking her head, Marinette nodded vigoriously and started to get out the door. She paused halfway through and looked back inside the car.

“Thank you, Adrien, for taking me home. And thank you, Mme. Sancouer and, um, Adrien’s driver.”

“You’re welcome,” Nathalie said, keeping her eyes forward.

Adrien scooted down the seat slightly, leaning towards her. If only he could tell her how beautiful she looked right now, hair framing her face and eyes wide, turned up in kindness.

“Can I... call you again tonight?” He managed shyly.

Adrien lost a bit of his will power when she beamed at him, causing her freckles dancing under the light of the moon. He reached for her hand resting on the open door and, as gently as he could, kissed her knuckles. Glancing up, Adrien hoped the action spoke the word he was too embarrassed to say aloud.

Please?

Her own gaze looked only surprised, but if he didn’t know better, her skin had darkened from the gesture. A tiny bit smug, Adrien thought she looked much less offended than when Monseiur Delcair kissed her hand a week ago.

“I- I, yes. Yes.” She nodded and gave his fingers a light squeeze before pulling away. “I would like you very much. I-I mean, I would like that very much! I’m, I’ll… uh, see you!” Quickly, she waved and tagged on a squeaky “‘Bye!”

The door closed firmly and he watched her scurry up to the door, nearly colliding with the frame on her way inside.

Night proper had settled across Paris, dark and enigmatic, yet the city of love had never seemed so bright. Adrien felt like he was dreaming already, and he when he arrived home after mercifully little questioning from Nathalie, he had never wanted to sleep so readily. The next day, he would take Marinette on their first date, and the hours could not pass fast enough.

#miraculous fanfic #miraculous ladybug #miraculers #miraculous #tales of ladybug and cat noir #ladybug and chat noir #adrien agreste #marinette dupen-chang #marinette dupain-cheng #chat noir x marinette #adrien x marinette #adrinette #adrienette #flowershop au #flowers #language of flowers #ao3fic #ao3feed #fanfic

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