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the-wild-wolves-around-you · 3 years ago

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hear those bells ring: chapter 4 (a deaf!bakugo x reader fic)

Summary: Bakugo and Reader finally get a moment alone, and important conversations are had. Over dinner of course ;)

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugo x Reader; Katsuki Bakugo x You

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: Adult language.

A/N: Sorry for the wait on ch 4, but it’s over 10k, so hope that makes up for it lol Anyway, hope you enjoy!

~*~*~ No spoilers or anything. This is just a self-indulgent AU fic with aged up characters. Everyone’s in their mid-20s. Fic title is from a song called “Achilles Come Down.”

Ao3 Link: Here

Ch 1 Tumblr Link: Here

Ch 2 Tumblr Link: Here

Ch 3 Tumblr Link: Here

“Great. See you then.”

The words ricocheted around your head like pinballs, and all you could do was stare as Dynamight turned on his heel and strode out of your ruined shop like he couldn’t stand to be there a second longer.

“Bak—bro, c’mon!” Red Riot, or Kirishima as he insisted, called after the blond, who didn’t stop. Then the redhead turned back to you, clapping his hands in front of his face and bowing his head. “I’m so sorry about him. He can be a little…”

“Direct?” you offered when the hero trailed off into silence for a beat to long.

“I was gonna say he can be a little bit of a dick, but that sounds better,” Kirishima laughed, and you felt your face flush when he aimed that charming grin in your direction.

You’d heard stories of how charismatic Red Riot was. He was a popular, mainstream favorite hero. The gossip magazines were always covered with his shirtless pictures that never failed to rile up the female population, even Mrs. Kojima and her old lady friends.

But nothing could have prepared you for being in front of him, for having him wink and smile at you, even if you logically knew he wasn’t coming onto plain old you. He was currently wearing a dark hoodie and non-descript jeans, but you could still see the definition of his muscles through the bulky clothing, which definitely wasn’t helping matters.

“W-Well, I’m sure you and D-Dynamight have more important places to be,” you stuttered as you averted your eyes. “I-I don’t want to keep you from any hero business.”

“Alright, alright, I can take a hint, I’ll get out of your hair,” Kirishima chuckled as he held his hands up.

Your face burned even hotter, if that was possible. “N-No! I mean—”

“Just a joke.” The redhead winked at you again as he started to back up toward the front door, his boots crunching over glass and debris. “I’ll see you later, though. Oh! And, uh, make sure you’re on time tonight for Bak—Dynamight’s pick up. He really hates tardiness.”

“Noted,” you murmured as your stomach bottomed out inside you.

“Don’t look so terrified!” the pro hero laughed, pausing in the frame of your broken doorway. “I promise he’s not so bad once you get to know him. All bark, no bite, remember? But if he does bark at you too much, just let me know, and I’ll be sure to leash him.”

Kirishima shot another sharp-toothed grin at you, and you strained your facial muscles to try and flash him a small smile in return. You weren’t very successful, since Red Riot’s bright expression dimmed a fraction, but thankfully he didn’t come back into the store.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” he said in a more serious but reassuring tone. “We can get breakfast! I know all the great places around the agency.”

“O-Okay.” You didn’t know what else to say. Why was this pro hero offering to take you to breakfast? Was this just because of the news? You’d seen how the media had been tearing into Dynamight the last two days, calling him reckless, arrogant. Several interviews with the other heroes who’d been on the scene didn’t help matters, either, since by their accounts, they almost had the villain handled before Dynamight stepped in.

Maybe Red Riot was just trying to butter you up so you didn’t help with Dynamight’s crucifixion.

What the redhead didn’t know, however, was you couldn’t say a word against the blond, even if you wanted to.

“Okay,” Kirishima echoed and drew you out of your thoughts. The pro hero flashed you one last smile and put two fingers to his forehead in a jaunty salute. “Have a good rest of your afternoon and evening! And when you get to the agency, if you need anything, just let our PR manager Nao know. Take care!”

With that, the redhead pulled up the hood on his sweatshirt, slipped on his sunglasses, and ducked out of your store. Seconds later, he was gone.

A beat of silence passed by, then two, and then you felt your knees give out from under you as you collapsed to the floor. Pain flared through your lower legs as you struck the hard, debris-strewn tile, but you barely registered the discomfort. Your breathing started to quicken, coming out in harsh pants, and the two paper bags in your arms crinkled with the motion.

“Fuck,” you exhaled as tears blurred your vision, lifting a shaky hand to grasp tightly at your hair. “Fuck.”

You’d been so stupid. Yesterday, when neither Dynamight nor the police came banging down your hotel room door, you thought maybe you were just being paranoid. That the blond pro hero hadn’t noticed anything unusual, and you could just go living your normal, unimportant life.

Of course, the universe just had to prove you wrong.

Because if you had any doubts before, they were gone now, evaporated under Dynamight’s hot, crimson glare.

He knew your secret, and he was going to confront you about it. Tonight. Why else would he insist on picking you up? Alone. You’d heard Red Riot say he was patrolling this evening, so he wouldn’t be around to play buffer between you and Dynamight, which provided the perfect opportunity for an interrogation.

But what could you do? Refuse? Dynamight didn’t seem to be the type to take the word “no” very well. Run? The expression you’d seen on his face before he left clearly told you that you wouldn’t make it very far. Besides, where would you go? Your parents were in America, and as you embarrassingly admitted to that detective the other night, you didn’t have any friends.

And, until your apartment and shop were renovated, you didn’t have a place to sleep, and you didn’t have the spare money to live out of a hotel, so the agency was really your only option.

Well, there was prison, too, you supposed. Maybe Dynamight was just going to pick you up and take you straight to the police station.

He’s not going to turn you in, a small, hopeful voice inside of you said. He would have already done so if that was his goal.

There was logic behind that sentiment, but it offered you no comfort.

Because if Dynamight didn’t want to turn you in, what did he want from you?

~*~*~*~*~

“Mrs. Kojima,” you sighed for the millionth time. “I’m going to be fine. And I really can’t take all of this with me.”

You gingerly passed the large paper bag full of glass food containers back to Tadashi, Mrs. Kojima’s teenaged grandson, who stared at the bag with the hunger only a sixteen-year-old boy could achieve.

“Fine?” the old Japanese lady scoffed, narrowing her dark eyes at you. “You would be fine in a nice, fancy hotel, not in a building with those… those… delinquents!”

“Delinquents?” you couldn’t help but laugh. “They’re pro heroes. Famous pro heroes, some of the top in the country.”

“If they’re so good, they wouldn’t have destroyed your home,” Mrs. Kojima huffed before she used her cane to nudge her grandson. “And Tadashi, give the poor girl back her food. Your face is too gaunt to be healthy, girl, and don’t think I can’t see those circles under your eyes.”

The boy sighed as he stared longingly at the homemade food, and you could have sworn he was drooling, but he obeyed his grandmother and extended the bag to you again.

“No, please, keep it,” you insisted as you waved your hands in front of you, taking a step back. “I-I don’t know if there will be a place to keep food in my room, and I don’t want to bother them too much.”

“You should bother them, since they’ve been such a bother to you,” the old lady said as she nudged you this time with her cane. “You are too nice. I always say this. You need to be more selfish.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You smiled. “But thank you for thinking of me, Mrs. Kojima. It was very kind for you and Tadashi to come see me off.”

“How many times must I tell you to call me Ayano?” the elderly woman groused, tapping your shin with her cane again. “And of course we came. I wasn’t going to let you stand alone on a dark street and wait for that monster of a man.”

“Grandma!” Tadashi gasped as he looked up from salivating into the bag of food. “Dynamight is the number two hero! He’s not a monster, he’s the coolest!”

“I’ve seen him on TV,” his grandmother sniffed. “Always yelling and swearing. And Mr. Takeyoshi said he was very rude the other night. Not to mention all the damage he caused! Nothing but a foul-mouthed delinquent.”

“Grandmaaaaa,” Tadashi whined.

You sided more with Mrs. Kojima on this one, but the absolute adoration on the boy’s face made a small smile tug at your lips.

But your amusement quickly faded as you glanced down at your phone again.

6:58.

Said foul-mouthed delinquent should be here any minute.

As if your thoughts summoned him, the squeal of tires suddenly echoed through the otherwise quiet twilight, and you turned—with a pit in your stomach—to face the intersection down the road. Your street had been blocked off by barricades since the asphalt was still missing in patches, so the sleek, black car that had just pulled up was forced to park on the corner and put on its hazards.

Your heart was hammering beneath your sternum, beating out a frantic, hummingbird rhythm, and you watched the car door get flung open, a lithe figure ducking out a moment later. The last rays of fading sunlight glinted off his ash blond hair before he pulled up his hood, but then he was looking in your direction, and even if he was too far to see the details of his face, you felt the instant his eyes locked onto you.

“Holy shit, is that him?” Tadashi asked behind you, followed by a yelp as his grandmother smacked him with her cane.

“Language,” she hissed, but the rest of her sentence was drowned out by the blood roaring through your ears as Dynamight started to walk toward you.

No, not walk. Stalk. He looked like a predator slinking down the sidewalk, dressed in black and skimming through the shadows. There were a few people milling about the street, your neighbors who were still trying to clean up, but the pro hero paid them no mind. His gaze was still zeroed in on you, and your breath grew more shallow with each step he took.

Don’t pass out, don’t pass out, you chanted in your head. And smile! Try not to look like he’s your executioner.

You plastered on a smile, but it felt jagged like the broken street you stood on, your cheeks aching from the strain.

Finally, after what felt like a blink and an eternity simultaneously, Dynamight came to a stop about ten feet away from you on the sidewalk. His hands were shoved in the pocket of his hoodie, his face was a cold mask on the tipping point of a scowl, and his eyes felt like red-hot embers burning into your face.

“At least you know how to be punctual,” he said without preamble, his voice as sharp as his scarlet gaze.

You heard Mrs. Kojima gasp behind you, followed by Tadashi frantically trying to shush her under his breath, so you cut the old lady off before she could say what was on her mind.

“T-Thank you for taking the time to escort me to the agency, Dynamight,” you said, bowing at the waist so you could get a moment’s reprieve from those red eyes. “It’s… very kind of you, since I know you must be busy with your hero duties.”

Mrs. Kojima harumphed behind you, and you took a deep breath to steady yourself before you straightened up.

Dynamight’s crimson gaze had lost none of its intensity, but he finally seemed to notice Tadashi and his grandmother over your shoulder, and when he spoke, he’s tone was a fraction of a degree softer.

“Yeah, well… it’s the least the agency can do,” he said evenly, like he’d memorized a script.

You wondered if Kirishima had said something to him after they left. Or maybe the PR manager the red-haired hero had mentioned?

Suddenly, you heard someone clear their throat behind you, and you winced.

“Sorry, this is Mrs. Kojima and her grandson, Tadashi,” you said, motioning to them. “They’re some of my customers who just wanted to see me off.”

“Customers,” Dynamight echoed as his red eyes raked over the pair. “For your stitching shop?”

Something about his tone seemed off, but you couldn’t place it.

“Alterations shop,” you corrected with a frown. “But yes.”

“Is that all?” he asked as his eyes locked with yours, and you felt your insides liquify.

Fuck. There was no way he could know that Mrs. Kojima and Tadashi had been “patients” of yours before. Right? Even if he knew about your quirk, that was a leap to make.

Then again, it did sound kind of weird for two random customers to take an interest in their seamstress’ personal life. You’d set yourself up for that one.

You opened your mouth, ready to clumsily explain, but Mrs. Kojima beat you to it.

“I knew her grandparents long before you were a thought in your daddy’s brain boy,” the old lady huffed as she hobbled forward to stand beside you, Tadashi stumbling after her. “So I check on her from time to time, especially when she’s meeting and going off with some no-good delinquent at night. Is that alright with you?”

“Mrs. Kojima—” you started as your eyes widened.

“Grandma!” Tadashi hissed, his face flushing with mortification.

Dynamight, for his part, actually smirked at the old lady’s attitude, amusement dancing in his red eyes as he finally shifted them off you.

“Well, Stitches here is gonna be fine,” he said with a sharp smile. “She’ll be staying in our finest suite, being waited on hand and foot for the next few weeks.”

Stitches? What the hell was that? Did he forget your name?

“Is that so?” Mrs. Kojima narrowed her dark eyes on the blond, and her expression said she didn’t trust the pro hero as far as she could throw him.

“Lucky,” Tadashi muttered under his breath.

“If you don’t believe me, you can call her tomorrow and check for yourself,” Dynamight said before he turned to face you completely, effectively cutting off any rebuttal from the Kojimas. “Are you ready? It’s cold, and the car’s running.”

“Y-Yes,” you stammered, shifting the strap of your duffle bag higher up on your shoulder. “J-Just a second.”

You turned back to Mrs. Kojima, who was blatantly glaring daggers at Dynamight, but her expression softened as she shuffled in to hug you.

“Watch out for him,” she whispered in your ear. “And take care of yourself. If something’s wrong, call me, no matter what. You can stay with me, okay?”

“Thank you, but I’ll be fine,” you murmured as you pulled away. “I’ll call you when I know more about the shop’s repairs. Tadashi, take care of your grandma for me.”

“Bah!” Mrs. Kojima scoffed, shooing you back with her cane. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know.” You smiled as you grabbed the handle of your small rolling suitcase beside you. “Have a good night.”

You turned back to Dynamight to find him suddenly beside you, the scent of burnt sugar enveloping you a moment later. You inhaled so fast it whistled through your teeth, but the pro hero didn’t even look at you as he slipped his finger through your duffle bag’s strap and pulled it off your shoulder. He slung it on his back in one fluid movement, and then he was reaching for your suitcase, too.

“I-I got this one!” you said, a little too loudly, as you stumbled back a step and dragged the suitcase with you. “Thank you, but, um, I’ve got it.”

Dynamight pursed his lips at you, his eyes narrowing into crimson slits, but then his gaze jumped over your shoulder.

“Got something you want to say, kid?” he grunted, and he looked a little ridiculous with your pink and purple patterned duffle peeking out from over his shoulder.

“M-Me?” Tadashi gaped and glanced around quickly like there was anyone else within half a block, but when he realized Dynamight was still staring at him expectantly, the boy began to ramble. “I-I just, uh, I just wanted to say I think you’re the coolest hero there is. Even more than Deku! Man, I wish I could have seen the fight the other night. You probably wiped the floor with that villain! When I grow up, I hope I’m a hero half as cool as you.”

Dynamight actually seemed surprised by the boy’s adoring word vomit. The blond blinked as the suspicion and defensiveness drained from his face and posture, and then an easy smirk stretched across his lips.

“You got a quirk, kid?” he asked.

Mrs. Kojima made a face beside you like she was going to cut in, but you put a hand on her arm and gestured to Tadashi’s beaming face, and the old lady sighed and relented. She knew what this meant for her grandson.

“Yeah, I do!” Tadashi grinned and puffed out his chest before he shifted the bag of food in his grasp and held out his right hand. His brow buckled in concentration, but a moment later a flame exploded to life in his palm. The flame grew, flickering upwards as it twisted and twined, changing shape as it went. In the blink of an eye, the teenager held the hilt of a fiery dagger, which he twirled around his knuckles. “I can make different objects with flames, and they act solid when I concentrate hard enough.”

“That’s a pretty cool power,” Dynamight said as he eyed the flaming blade. “Bet you kick ass in your hero course.”

“I-I do alright,” Tadashi said as he extinguished the dagger, trying to go for a nonchalant shrug, but the effect was ruined by his mile-wide grin and heart eyes. “You really think it’s cool?”

“It’s only cool if you’re the best, so don’t slack off,” the blond scoffed. “Only losers half-ass their way through school.”

Mrs. Kojima’s face was silently scandalized, but Tadashi’s grew determined.

“Yes, sir!” the boy said as he bowed at the waist. “I’ll work hard to be the best of the best.”

“Good.” Dynamight smirked. “Then, when you graduate, you can come prove how strong you are by taking me on. Who knows? If you’re actually strong, we might hire a new side-kick.”

Tadashi looked like his eyes were going to pop out of his head as he straightened up, but the pro hero only snickered as he spun on heel and began to stride away.

“You comin’, Stitches?” he called over his shoulder.

“C-Coming!” you called back before you flashed the Kojimas one last smile. “Have a good night and be safe going home!”

Then you took off down the sidewalk, your rolling suitcase clattering over the broken concrete behind you.

Dynamight’s legs were twice as long as yours and quickly ate up the distance to his car still parked on the corner, and you only caught up to him as he was tossing your duffle in the trunk.

You stood on the curb panting for a moment, just staring at him, and then the blond looked up and caught your eye.

“What?” he grunted.

“N-Nothing.” You cleared your throat and moved to pick up your suitcase, but he beat you to it, bending down and hefting the thing up in one fluid movement. The trunk slammed shut with a resounding thud, and the two of you were left staring at each other in silence.

“Get in,” Dynamight finally said, jerking his chin at the passenger door. Then he walked around to the driver’s side, yanked open the door, and slid inside without another word.

You could still feel the Kojimas’ eyes on your back, and you didn’t want to give them cause to worry, so you took a deep breath and got into the car.

Even though your heart was trying to break free of your ribcage.

The car itself was sleek and fancy, both inside and out. The seats were a supple red leather with ebony stitching, the dashboard shiny and inlaid with the newest gadgets, and you curled into the seat, afraid to even touch anything. This car was probably worth more money than you’d ever made in your entire life, and you had worked odd jobs since you were sixteen.

The engine rumbled to life as Dynamight cranked the ignition, warm air blasting out of the vents and thawing your red nose and cheeks. The dash said it was only eighteen degrees Celsius, but the wind had been brisk.

“Seatbelt,” the pro hero said as he yanked his own across his thick chest.

You swallowed tightly before you did as you were bidden, and the second you were secured, the blond was throwing the car in gear and peeling away from the curb. Your barricaded street disappeared in a blur, and suddenly you were on your way.

With Dynamight. Alone. In his car.

The luxurious interior of the vehicle began to close in on you, feeling more like the walls of a coffin, and you braced yourself for Dynamight’s interrogation.

Except… it never came.

Minutes passed by in silence, and all the while, the blond’s red eyes stayed focused on the road ahead. One of his hands casually gripped the steering wheel, the other wrapped around the gear shift, and every one of the hero’s movements was fluid, precise.

You tried not to, but you couldn’t help but study him out of the corner of your eye. His blank face gave nothing away, and neither did his slumped body language. He was covered in a dark hoodie and jeans again, so you couldn’t see much skin besides his hands and neck, but he looked… fine.

One would have never guessed that he nearly bled to death beneath your hands two days ago.

The memory of his blood, warm and tacky on your skin, made you clench your hands in your lap, and when you glanced over at the blond again, you nearly jumped out of your seat when you met red eyes.

“Now you got somethin’ you want to say, Stitches?” he asked as he shifted gears, smoothly pulling around another car.

“M-My name’s not Stitches,” you replied without thinking, but maybe this was a good thing. Thinking always got you in trouble.

“Yeah, no shit,” the blond snorted, darting a quick look at you again before turning back to the road. “But you keep starin’ at me, so spit it out.”

You fumbled for something to say, still thinking of his ashen face splattered with blood. “T-That was nice, what you said back there to Tadashi. He, um, really idolizes you, so you probably made his whole year.”

“Tch.” Dynamight clicked his tongue as he looked in the rearview mirror. “Chances are, kid probably won’t end up as much.”

You frowned. “But you said—”

“I know what I said,” he cut you off, eyes meeting yours again. “And I meant it. Slacking off is for losers. Still, the brat will probably end up as a B-lister at most, more likely just an extra. That’s just the damn odds.”

His words were harsh, but you knew they were true. There was no shortage of people signing up to be “heroes” in the world, but very few actually achieved the fame and notoriety of, say, All Might. Even years after his retirement, the Old Symbol of Peace was still talked about.

“Well… thank you for not saying that to Tadashi,” you murmured as you averted your eyes out the window.

“Someone will have to eventually,” Dynamight grunted. “But, if he proves me wrong, then he might actually have some potential.”

“Mmm,” you hummed noncommittally. You didn’t want to talk about Tadashi anymore. Hell, you didn’t want to talk about anything.

But you knew it was coming. You could feel the pro hero building up to it, the air in the car becoming more tense and charged by the second, like the calm before the storm.

Part of you wished Dynamight would just rip the bandaid off already.

The other part of you wondered if you would survive opening the car door and jumping from the moving vehicle, but at the speed the blond was driving, chances were slim.

You were just thinking to pull out your phone and subtly look at the agency on the map to see how far away you were, but then Dynamight cleared his throat, and you felt all the saliva dry up in your mouth.

This was it.

“So,” the pro hero started as he pulled up to a stoplight, and his eyes found yours again. The red light reflected off his face and made it hard to tell where his irises began, everything washed out in crimson.

But before he could get another word out, a loud growl split the interior of the car.

Dynamight blinked at you before his gaze fell to your stomach, and you felt your face flare with heat.

“Sorry,” you muttered as you clenched your abdomen, trying to shut it up, but it only growled louder in defiance. “I, um, forgot to eat dinner since I was busy packing.”

And because your stomach had been in knots all day, but you didn’t need to tell him that.

“Wasn’t that kid holding a whole bag of food back there?” Dynamight asked, frowning at you.

“Y-Yeah.” You blushed even harder. Nothing escaped the pro’s notice, did it? “Mrs. Kojima had brought some stuff, but I didn’t know if there would be a place to store it in, um, whatever room I’m staying in. Plus, Tadashi is always hungry because of his hero course training, so it’s not like any of it will go to waste.”

“You’ll starve yourself so some brat can stuff extras in his face?” the blond scoffed, and he looked at you like you were speaking another language.

“I won’t starve,” you argued, a nervous laugh huffing out of you. “I-It’s one meal, and I ate a big lunch.”

That was a lie, but maybe you could get away with a little one.

Dynamight studied you for a long, silent moment, his face unreadable. Then the light turned green, and he clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes.

“Tch.” He flicked on his blinker and turned left, weaving down a set of smaller streets leading away from the city’s center, where you knew his agency was located.

“Where… are we going?” you asked as you glanced out the window. “Is this a short cut to the agency?”

“We’re not goin’ to the agency,” he said.

Your heart skipped a beat, and some of your unease must have shown on your face, because the pro hero scoffed again.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist. We’re stopping to get food first.”

You blinked in surprise. Food? He was buying you dinner?

“Y-You don’t have to do that,” you stuttered, awkwardly waving your hands in front of you. “Really, I’m fine.”

“Well, I’m fuckin’ hungry, so I’m getting food. That alright with you, Stitches?” His red eyes flicked to the side and pinned you to your seat, and all you could do was nod.

The car descended into silence again as Dynamight navigated through the streets, and a few minutes later, he was pulling up to a curb. The street around you was definitely in a better part of town than you were used to, but it didn’t look too fancy. A number of small restaurants dotted the road, interspersed by a couple bars, and a few dozen people roamed the sidewalks, laughing and stumbling and obviously having a good time.

Dynamight stared out at the crowd through the windshield, a small sneer of disgust curling his upper lip, before he turned to you.

“Stay here,” he said. No, ordered. “I’ll be right back, so don’t go anywhere.”

“O-Okay,” you replied with a nod.

He narrowed his eyes at you, as if trying to discern whether or not you were lying, but he must have been satisfied with what he found because he reached for the sunglasses that were casually thrown atop the dash. He slid them on before opening the car door and slipping out, but he paused before he closed it, bending down and poking his head back inside.

“Any allergies?” he asked bluntly. “I don’t need you choking and dying on my leather seats.”

“No allergies.” You shook your head. “Anything is fine.”

A part of you still wanted to argue about him buying you food, but something told you that you would both lose the argument and succeed in pissing the blond off, which you were trying your best to avoid.

Dynamight grunted in acknowledgement before he straightened, pulled up his hood, and slammed the car door. He took several strides away before he gestured back to the vehicle, and it was only when the locks engaged that you realized he’d taken the keys out of the ignition at some point.

He really didn’t want you going anywhere.

You exhaled shakily as you unclenched and clenched your fingers in your lap, trying to get some feeling back into them. Your thoughts kept threatening to spiral off down dark avenues, so you focused on watching the people outside the car. The windows were pretty tinted, besides the windshield, so you didn’t think people noticed you watching them go about their night. Everyone was happy and smiling, flushed with laughter and drink, and a yawning loneliness suddenly opened up inside you. Even back in America, you’d never had a lot of friends, but you had drinks a few times in college with classmates, and you missed going out to somewhere besides the grocery or craft supply store. You had thought you would have time to make new friends here in Japan, friends that you could try restaurants and bars with, but it hadn’t happened yet.

And depending on what Dynamight had to say, it might not happen at all.

You stewed in anxious silence for several minutes, but then the locks disengaged with a chirp, and the blond was sliding back into the driver’s seat, shoving a bulging plastic bag into your lap.

“Here, don’t drop it,” he muttered as he jammed the keys back into the ignition.

“I’ll just, um, set it on the floor,” you said as you shifted the bag down to the floorboards, holding it in place with your feet. The aromatic steam wafted out of the bag as you leaned over it, and your stomach snarled at the delicious scent of greasy meat and roasted vegetables. “This smells really good.”

“Of course it does,” Dynamight sneered. “I’m not gonna eat shitty food.”

“Only the best for the best,” you joked awkwardly. You blamed your sudden lightheadedness. When was the last time you ate?

“Damn straight,” the blond huffed, yanking on his seatbelt before shifting the car into gear. “Can you make it five minutes without fainting?”

“Yes?” you questioned more than stated, your brow furrowing.

“Good, then hang on.” With that, the pro hero squealed away from the curb, merging into traffic seamlessly.

Dynamight drove for several more minutes, but you didn’t ask where the two of you were going this time. The blond probably wouldn’t answer, and if he did, it would just be some kind of sharp retort, so you settled for staring out the window while making sure the food between your feet didn’t tip over.

You hadn’t explored the city very much since you moved here, so most of what you passed by was foreign to you. But, just judging by the amount of lights and traffic around, you estimated that Dynamight was skirting the edge of the downtown area instead of going into it. You knew the general location of his agency, since you panic-Googled it earlier this afternoon, and while it was closer, the pro hero didn’t seem to be driving toward it.

Eventually, Dynamight pulled up to the curb on an empty street and parked in the shadow of a tall office building. There was no sign on the façade to indicate a company, and only the dim emergency lights shone through the darkened windows, so it was obvious everyone had gone home for the day. Next door to the building seemed to be a small park, concrete and steel giving way to green grass and shadowed trees, but there was no one walking on this particular street.

“Where are we?” you asked as you frowned out the tinted window.

“Dunno,” Dynamight said before he opened his door, sliding out of the car without any more explanation.

You blinked in confusion as he wrenched open your door a moment later, but he still didn’t say anything as he bent down to pick up the bag of food at your feet.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” you asked. “You drove us here.”

“By the time I answer all your questions, the food is gonna be cold,” the pro hero grunted, and he glared down at you still buckled into your seat. “Get out.”

“We’re not eating in the car?” You didn’t mean to ask this many questions, you could tell it was irritating the blond, but you were just so… confused as to how you got to this point in your life.

“I’m not about to let you ruin my damn leather seats,” Dynamight growled, stepping back to give you room. “Now get out of the damn car… please.”

The last word sounded like it was dragged out of the hero against his will, painfully, and you wondered again if he was trying to be nicer because of all the negative media coverage. You didn’t think the blond gave a shit what the media thought, but Red Riot and their agency did, so maybe Dynamight was being forced to make an effort.

“Are you seriously just going to gape at me like an idiot? Do your legs not work?”

Well, what was that saying? You could lead a horse to water, but you couldn’t force it to drink.

“S-Sorry,” you stuttered as you fumbled with your seatbelt, and you nearly twisted your ankle falling out of the car.

“Fuckin’ hell, you’re as clumsy as shitty Deku,” Dynamight grumbled as he easily caught your elbow and kept you from faceplanting.

This close, you could smell the caramelizing sugar scent that you finally realized emanated from the blond, and even through the sleeve of your sweater, you could feel the strength in the pro hero’s calloused fingers.

Your face flushed with heat, but you were pretty sure he was tired of your stammered apologies, so you just stepped up onto the curb as he slammed the passenger door and locked the car.

Then he turned to the tall office building and froze before a scowl twisted his features once again.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, and his red eyes snapped to you. “You’re not afraid of heights are you?”

“I… don’t think so,” you said with a frown. “I mean, I’ve been on roller coasters before, and I obviously flew here from America—”

“Perfect,” the blond cut you off, shoving the bag of food at you again. “Take this.”

“O-Okayyyy?” You tentatively wrapped your fingers around the plastic handles of the bag as you drew the food close to your chest.

“Now, hop on,” he said as he turned around and crouched, his fingers starting to crackle with light and flares of heat.

“Wh… what?!” Your whole body felt hot this time, not just your face. “Y-You want me… to get on your back?”

“Again with the damn questions,” he growled, glaring over his shoulder at you. “If it will get you to move your ass faster, we’re eating on that roof, and unless you have wings under that sweater, I’m the only one who can get us up there, and I need my damn hands to use my quirk. So. Hop. On.”

You gaped at the blond for a millisecond, a thousand more questions racing through your mind. Why the hell were you eating on a roof of a random building? Was this allowed? Why couldn’t you just go back to the agency?

But you knew by the look on the blond’s face that he’d reached his limit with questions, so you could do nothing but comply.

Just don’t think about it. Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think.

You kept up this mantra in your head as you hesitantly approached the hero’s back. He had turned to look forward again, so at least his crimson eyes weren’t burning a hole into you as you carefully slid one hand onto his shoulder while you used the other to cradle the food against your stomach.

You were just debating the best way to finish this embarrassing endeavor when you felt strong hands slide over the backs of your knees and pull you forward, startling a yelp out of you.

“Jump,” Dynamight grunted, and you only had time to mindlessly obey as he straightened to his full height in one fluid motion.

“Shit!” you couldn’t help but curse in English, hoping he couldn’t understand you. His hands helped to guide your legs around his waist, and you dug your left hand into his shoulder so you didn’t fall backward or crush the food that was nestled between the hero’s spine and your navel.

A beat passed in silence as the two of you found your balance again.

“I-I’m not too heavy, am I?” you murmured into the hero’s blond hair. Your throat felt tight with embarrassment, but when you went to swallow, your mouth was as dry as a desert.

“Tch.” Dynamight clicked his tongue as he shifted your weight a little, his hands burning the backs of your thighs even through the thick denim of your jeans. “I could carry two of you without breaking a sweat. Don’t call me weak.”

“I wasn’t!” you rushed to assure him. “I just meant—”

“I know what you meant, shut up,” the blond cut you off, turning his head a fraction so his red eyes sliced into you. At this distance, his burnt sugar scent was almost overwhelming. “Do you have a good grip on me? And the food?”

“Y-Yes,” you said as your heart began to pound against your sternum. You hoped he couldn’t feel it.

“Make sure,” he growled, fingers digging into the backs of your thighs before he suddenly let go.

A small gasp was ripped from you as you clenched your legs around his waist, and your left arm went from clutching his shoulder to wrapping around his neck.

“Ack! Don’t choke me!” he huffed as he stretched his throat out of the way.

Your right hand scrambled down a few inches, and you fisted the front of his hoodie, anchoring yourself across his chest as you sucked in your gut, leaned more into his spine, and tried not to crush the bag of food that was steadily making you sweat.

“I-Is that okay?” you asked, your voice no more than a timid whisper.

“Fine,” Dynamight said as he dropped his hands down by his hips, his palms crackling with energy once again. “Don’t fucking let go.”

“I wo—OHHHH!” Your sentence trailed off into a startled scream as the hero suddenly exploded off the ground.

His quirk made your ears ring, but you didn’t even have time to process that before you were thirty feet in the air. Every muscle in your body locked up in terror, and you were sure Dynamight was going to have bruises on his ribs from your legs clamping down around him like a vise. The wind tore at your hair and clothes, stinging the exposed skin of your face and neck, and you ducked your head against the hero’s blond hair as you clenched your eyes shut.

Don’t let go, don’t let go, you chanted in your mind.

Then, as suddenly as it began, it was over, and you heard Dynamight extinguish his quirk an instant before his boots slammed into concrete.

The two of you stood there for a moment as you panted against the back of his neck, your hammering heart still lodged in your throat, before the blond patted the side of your thigh.

“You can get down now,” he said. “But don’t drop the damn food.”

You peeled open your eyes with a shaky exhale, and you could feel your entire body trembling as you slowly slid down from the hero’s back. The crinkling bag drew your attention, and you had a split-second worry that you had crushed the food in your terror, but a quick inspection showed that while the containers were a little crumpled, no food was leaking out.

“Come on, I’m hungry,” Dynamight muttered before his boots started to crunch away from you.

You snapped your head up and blindly followed after the blond, your eyes darting to the ground to make sure you didn’t trip over anything and then up to your surroundings to try and figure out where the hero was leading you.

The answer, apparently, was to the very edge of the roof, and you wondered if the hero was going to make you hop on the Dynamight Express again, but instead he came to a stop beside a large electrical box. To your shock, he opened a small door on the tall metal rectangle and produced a thick, dark colored blanket, which he then threw down on the roof’s gravel.

“Sit,” he grunted before he flopped to the ground, sighing as he stretched his legs out in front of him.

There was about four or five feet between the electrical box and the edge of the roof, but the soles of Dynamight’s boots nearly brushed against the roof’s wall.

Or they would have, if a three-foot section of the cement wall wasn’t missing right in front of him. The edges of the concrete partition looked suspiciously charred black, and you frowned at the sight.

“Did you… blast a chunk out of this wall?” you asked as you slowly sank to your knees beside the blond. You were painfully aware of the void of protection in front of you, and you knew you were at least ten to fifteen stories above the street. But at least it wasn’t so cold up here, tucked into this little nook with the six-foot tall hero’s body heat helping to warm the air.

“It was in the way,” Dynamight sneered, leaning over and snatching the plastic bag from where you had set it between the two of you. “And wipe that look off your face. I’m not gonna push you through the hole, and you’re not gonna fall with me here.”

He didn’t look at you as he said this, too busy pulling out several food containers and spreading them out on the blanket, but the absolute surety, the confidence, in his voice actually eased some of the tension from your shoulders, and you sighed as you shifted onto your butt and leaned back against the electrical box.

Now that you were seated in front of the hole, you realized this building gave you the perfect vantage point to the east. Most of the other structures were shorter than the one you currently sat on, so the streets stretched out before you like a map. The night sky was clear above you, devoid of clouds, nothing but a dark purple canvas sprinkled here and there with stars. But the moon was nearly full over your head, and its pale light was just enough to see by. You could see cars several blocks away cruising through the pools of lamplight, people waiting at bus stops or walking down the road to their next destination, and a realization came over you.

“Oh, I see,” you murmured, still staring out at the view. “You must use this building as a perch during your hero patrols, right? You can see a lot from here.”

“No shit.” Dynamight rolled his eyes as he opened one of the take-out containers. The smell of a well-made yakisoba hit your nostrils, and you watched as the blond ripped open a pair of chopsticks. He must have felt your gaze, though, because his red eyes snapped up and narrowed on you with a glare. “Quit starin’ at me and eat something. I didn’t go through all this damn trouble for nothing.”

“R-Right.” You cleared your throat as you glanced between the other take-out boxes. “Was there something for me in particular, or…”

“Just pick something!” he snapped before he shoved a bite of noodles into his scowling mouth.

You pursed your lips as you reached for the closest container, flipping up the lid to find nearly a dozen yakitori skewers. Your stomach snarled and cramped as the roasted scent of the chicken filled your nose, and you could feel saliva pooling in your mouth.

Grease immediately began to stain your fingers as you picked up one of the skewers, but you didn’t even care as you brought the kebab to your lips. You took a tentative bite to find the meat still pleasantly warm, but then a groan rumbled in the back of your throat as the flavor exploded across your tongue.

“Mmmm, that is so good!” you mumbled around a mouthful as you ravenously tore off another bite. “It’s seasoned perfectly, and I like the bit of spice it has.”

“Told you I don’t eat shitty food,” the blond scoffed before he reached over and snagged a piece of yakitori for himself.

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of your mouth, but you quickly covered it up by taking another bite of chicken.

“Thank you for the meal, Dynamight,” you said once you finished the skewer, reaching for one of the other containers. This one turned out to be another plate of yakisoba, and you eagerly pulled it into your lap.

Silence settled between the two of you for a minute, punctuated by the sounds of you both quietly chewing, before Dynamight broke it again.

“Katsuki.”

“Hmm?” you asked around a mouthful of noodles. When you lifted your head, your eyes clashed with glaring red ones barely two feet away, and you swallowed quickly so you wouldn’t choke. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“My name,” he grunted before ripping into another skewer, white teeth flashing in the pale moonlight. “It’s not Dynamight. It’s Katsuki Bakugo.”

Another hot flash broke out across your body as his scarlet eyes bored into you, and you dropped your gaze to your lap. The blond was too close, his burnt sugar scent still strong beneath the aroma of food, and your brain struggled to come up with a response.

“Katsuki Bakugo,” you murmured because you couldn’t help yourself, testing out the syllables on your tongue.

You thought you saw the hero twitch out of the corner of your eye, but he might have just been taking another bite.

“Yeah, and you better remember it,” the blond said after a moment, his tone adamant, commanding.

Like there was any way you could forget his name. Japan’s Number Two Hero wasn’t exactly forgettable.

You found it a little funny, though, that he was so weird about his own name after refusing to call you anything but “Stitches” so far.

“I will,” you murmured, darting a glance at Dynamight—Katsuki? No, that felt too familiar. Bakugo, then—to find him still staring at you.

The blond’s crimson gaze was piercing, pinning you to the spot, and you couldn’t look away. You thought he was going to say something, but his eyes only roamed over your face silently, like he was searching your features for an answer to a question he hadn’t voiced. His scrutiny unnerved you, made you fidget, and you played with your chopsticks to try and quell some of your nervous energy.

Still, he didn’t say a word, but his red eyes began to narrow bit by bit.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore, and you opened your mouth to say something, anything, before he beat you to it.

“You have a healing quirk.”

The words hit you like a sledgehammer.

Your heart slammed to a stop in your chest, and you inhaled so fast it was almost a scream. A million thoughts, excuses, and lies scrambled through your head, but the hero didn’t even give you time to grasp at any of them.

“Don’t deny it,” he said, face twisting into his usual scowl. “Fuckin’ hate liars. I know you have a healing quirk.”

The blunt confirmation, after so long worrying, felt almost like a relief, but it was quickly followed by a deluge of dread.

He knew, he knew, he knew. The truth blared through your head like a siren. There really was no running from it now.

“Well?” Dynamight—Bakugo—demanded as he glared at you. “Are you going to answer?”

“You didn’t ask me a question.” The words fell from your mouth without your permission, and you winced as the blond’s expression darkened.

“Fine,” he growled. “Do you have a healing quirk or not?”

“…yes.” There was nothing else for you to say, so you just stared at the pro hero as the noose tightened around your neck.

“I knew it.” A wild smirk stretched across Bakugo’s mouth, triumphant and proud.

“How?” you couldn’t help but ask as you clenched your hands in your lap, the food long since forgotten. Your stomach was churning itself into knots anyway, but a morbid part of you just had to know what was the final nail in the coffin that had sealed your fate.

“How what? Did I figure it out?” the blond asked as he lazily picked up another skewer and took a bite, like he didn’t have a care in the world. Like he didn’t hold your whole world in the palm of his calloused hand. “Because I’m not a blind idiot.”

“I’m serious,” you said with a frown, digging your nails into your palms.

“So am I,” Bakugo scoffed, and his red eyes found yours again. “If you’re going to lie, at least do it right. That night in your apartment, you said I wasn’t really hurt, didn’t bleed that much, but your hands and my clothes were soaked with it. Way too much for the stupid paper cuts or whatever you blamed it on. The burns on my left arm were better off than they should have been, too, but I knew you were lying before I even noticed any of that shit. I knew the second you opened your mouth.”

You cringed with guilt, dropping your gaze to your fidgeting fingers. So, all your lies had been futile from the start. “Was it something in my tone or…?”

“Well, stuttering over your words with your guilty ass face didn’t do you any favors, but no,” the blond grunted. “It wasn’t your tone, it was…”

Here, the pro hero trailed off, and he was quiet for so long that you chanced a glance at him.

Bakugo was frowning off into the distance, staring out over the city without seeing. You could tell he was struggling with something, and since you were obviously a masochist, you pressed him about it.

“It was…?” you led and then had to stifle a gasp as the blond snapped his head around to glare at you.

“You can’t say shit about this,” he snarled and bared his teeth like a cornered animal, and you distantly noted that his canines were more pointed and pronounced than what was usual. Then his next words stabbed into you, sharp and serrated, and dragged you back to the conversation. “Do you hear me, Stitches? You don’t say shit to anyone. If you do, I’ll kill you.”

You blanched at the seriousness of his tone, the sharpness of his eyes, and a nervous laugh was startled out of you.

“I’m obviously not in a position to say anything against you, Dyna—er, Bakugo,” you said, adding the “-sama” honorific after his name as a show of deference. “You could have me arrested or even deported for using my quirk on you without permission or a license.”

“Damn right I could,” he huffed as he narrowed his eyes at you, but some of the tension and anger left the lines of his face. “But I’m not gonna do any of that shit because I need—you are going to help me.”

“Help you?” you echoed in an incredulous tone. “What could I possibly help you with?”

Bakugo glared at you as the muscle in his jaw worked, like he was chewing over his words, before he finally spat them out.

“My ears. The reason I knew you were lying immediately was because I could hear you.”

Your frown deepened as you processed his words. “You remember losing your hearing?”

“Remember it?” The blond scowled at you. “What the fuck are you talking about? Of course I remember being fuckin’ deaf!”

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammered, waving your hands in front of you. “I just—right after you crashed through my window, you woke up for a second, but you were disoriented. I was trying to tell you that you beat the villain before I saw the blood coming out of your ears and realized you must have blown your eardrums. Then you passed out, and when you woke up again, a-after I… healed you, you asked about the villain a second time, so I just assumed you didn’t remember waking up the first time.”

Bakugo frowned at you, pale eyebrows furrowing over crimson eyes. “I woke up more than once? Yeah, I don’t remember that shit.”

“Wait…” You blinked and pursed your lips as you tried to understand what he was saying. “If you don’t remember that, how do you remember losing your hearing?”

“Because my hearing was shot to shit before I even ran into that damn villain,” Bakugo growled, and his face tightened again as he turned away from you. “Couldn’t even hear my quirk activate anymore.”

He held up his hand to demonstrate, and flashes of light crackled to life in his palm like mini fireworks. The hero’s expression grew strange as he stared at the visual manifestation of his quirk, but then he clenched his fist and extinguished the sparks.

Meanwhile, you felt your jaw gape open as your eyes widened. “You… how long has your hearing been in decline?”

The blond ground his jaw so hard you could hear the scrape of his teeth, and he glared off into the middle distance for so long that you just assumed he wasn’t going to answer you.

Then…

“Fuckin’ years, I dunno,” he muttered as he pulled one of his long legs up, balancing his forearm against his knee and pressing his mouth into the back of his wrist. “Didn’t notice it at first, but it probably started at UA, once I was able to use my quirk more regularly.”

Ohhh, of course. Your eyes dropped to the clenched fist in his lap, and you remembered the boom that made your ears ring as the hero flew you both up here. It had been so loud, and to think of experiencing that multiple times a day, at close range, for years apparently since you knew UA was a famous high school here in Japan…

“Did you see a doctor?” You frowned, glancing up at the blond as his gaze snapped back to yours.

“Tch, doctors,” Bakugo sneered, disgust glinting in his crimson eyes. “Fuckin’ useless pieces of shit. I left a good-for-nothing white coat’s office the afternoon I ran into that asphalt villain. Idiot doctor said most of my hearing was just gone, I was going to lose the rest, and there was shit all he could do. Then, few hours later, you patched me up in fuckin’ seconds, so I know that bastard was full of shit.”

All you could do was blink rapidly at the pro hero as you tried to process all this information. Japan’s Number Two Hero had been going deaf for years, and no one had noticed? You knew that would have definitely made the news, let alone the gossip magazines. What’s more, a doctor said his hearing was a lost cause, and yet…

“How well can you hear now?” you asked, curiosity getting the best of you. You hadn’t even intended to heal his ears that night, it had just been a side effect of you dumping your energy into his body in order to keep him breathing.

“Dunno, haven’t exactly done a hearing test,” the blond scoffed and rolled his eyes. “But I can hear you just fine, my phone, too, and my quirk. I’d say that’s good enough.”

You pursed your lips in thought, studying the hero like he’d been studying you all night, and then you remembered what had started this whole conversation.

“Okay…” you said slowly. “Well, if you’re hearing is… fine now, what am I supposed to help you with?”

“Keeping it that way, obviously.” He glared at you. “You’re gonna be stuck at the agency for the next few weeks anyway, so you need to make sure my ears stay working.”

You gaped at the pro-hero, wondering if you were suddenly losing your hearing.

“M-Me?” you stammered as your heart crawled up your throat. “B-But I… I’m not a doctor.”

“No shit,” he said, apparently a favorite phrase of his, and he looked at you like you were a particularly dumb child. “I don’t need a doctor, I told you they’re fuckin’ useless. I just need your quirk.”

“But…” you trailed off in disbelief. Out of all the outcomes you’d envisioned for this night, this had never even crossed your mind as anything in the realm of possibility. “I’m… not a hero. I don’t have a license to use my quirk.”

Bakugo stared at you in silence for an endless moment before his upper lip curled into a snarl.

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” he hissed. “I know all that!”

“W-Well, I don’t know what you want then!” you said, your voice rising in pitch and volume to match his.

The echoes of your words ricocheted around you before they faded off into the night, and the blond clenched his jaw as he glared at you.

“I want you to use your quirk anyway,” he said, the low growl of his tone vibrating through you. You opened your mouth to argue, but he cut you off mid inhale. “And don’t start bitching about rules. You’ve been using your quirk illegally already. That kid and his old hag of a grandma are patients of yours, aren’t they?”

Your jaw snapped closed with an audible click, and a smirk bloomed across the blond’s pale lips.

“Hah,” he snorted. “Knew it.”

“I didn’t say anything,” you gritted out, and your breathing grew shallow.

“You didn’t have to,” he said, his smirk taking on a taunting edge. “You really gotta work on your poker face, Stitches.”

Your vision started to tunnel, interspersed with flashes of Tadashi and Ayano’s faces. “The Kojimas have nothing to do—”

“Oh, calm the fuck down,” he cut you off as he rolled his eyes again. “I’m not gonna turn a grandma and a kid into the cops. Especially not for doing the same shit we’re going to do.”

A knot of tension unraveled beside your heart, but your insides still felt more tangled up than a yarn ball being batted around by a crazed kitten.

“Thank you,” you murmured with a sigh, dropping your eyes to where your fingers were picking at the frayed hem of your sweater.

“I don’t need your gratitude,” he scoffed. “I just need—”

“My quirk.” You were the one to cut him off this time, and you lifted your gaze to his again.

“Yeah,” he said as he narrowed those scarlet eyes at you like a predator zeroing in on its prey. “So, is that your way of saying you’ll do it?”

You bit your lip as you considered your options, but really, you didn’t have any. Dynamight was a famous, rich pro hero with all the leverage. He could ruin your life… but he wasn’t. He was instead providing a trade.

His silence for your quirk.

The Kojimas flashed through your mind again, as did your other “patients,” as the blond called them. You thought of your parents, too, and your grandparents. If you agreed to the hero’s proposition, you wouldn’t have to return to America as a failure, and after a few weeks, you could reopen your family’s legacy shop.

And, in the meantime, you still got to use your quirk. You could heal, actually be useful. Even more than that, Japan’s Number Two Hero was relying on you.

You didn’t know if you were up to the task, having never used your quirk beyond minor instances that were usually days or weeks in between each other.

But…

“Yes,” you finally said as you looked up into Katsuki Bakugo’s face. “I’ll help you.”

You just hoped you didn’t hang yourself in the process.

125 notes · View notes

yandere-daze · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! I was wondering if you can do headcannons for yandere Izumi :') I'm interested in how he'll switch his interest from Makoto to someone else

oooh of course! Thank you for the request ^^ This is my first time writing for Izumi so I hope I got his character right! It was quite interesting for me to write too so please enjoy!

Yandere! Izumi switching his target to you!

To say that Izumi was fond of Makoto was an understatement and it´s something that practically everyone knew at this point.

As the producer for Knights, you had told everyone to meet up to practise for an upcoming live show. After a bit of arguing you had all agreed on a time and place to meet and everyone had arrived. Well everyone but one missing person. It was strange to see that Izumi of all people was running late when he normally would scold others for their tardiness. Something must have happened so ever the dutiful producer, you had set out to find him and ask what was wrong

You were walking around aimlessly for about half an hour now, already regretting your decision as you had no clue where the missing idol could be at the moment. Just as you were about to turn around, you heard a tell-tale voice yell out.

“Yuu-kun~”

Ah, so that was it. And sure enough you saw the grey-haired man bother poor Makoto again. The boy looked nervous and as if hw ould rather be somewhere else right now. You couldn´t blame him, the way Izumi gazed at him was downright unsettling.

“It´s been so long since we´ve seen eachother, surely us meeting now must be fate! Why won´t you go on a date with me?”, you could hear him ask. Oh boy.

“Izumi-san, as I´ve said I´m not interested in you like that so- I´d really rather you stop with that. I´m sorry....”

Seeing Izumi´s crestfallen face was a sight you didn´t think you would get to see today. It was kind of heartbreaking to see but you knew this needed to happen. Makoto didn´t share the same feelings as him so he would have to give up one day. Before you could blink, Makoto excused himself and fled the scene.

After some deliberation, you had made up your mind and approached the shaken-up Izumi. He looked quite vexxed to see you but you tried your best to comfort him in his time of need either way. The way he had felt for Makoto was not healthy, you had tried to tell him that as gently as you could- of course he had vehemently refused- but you had made your point clear. Seeing that Izumi had slowly started calming down after about half an hour of you trying to cheer him up you decided to add:

“I´m sure you´ll eventually find someone better suited for you, someone that loves and supports you.”

After saying that, Izumi turned his head to look at you. Really look at you for the first time, his eyes lightly widening. And then he smiled. A genuine smile. He was mubling something you couldn`t quite understand “..already fou-....” before thanking you

Asking him if he felt good enough to practice now, he agreed and you walked side by side. Of course you were immediately met by complaints from Leo for having to wait so long and a snoring Ritsu in the background. Welcomed by this, Izumi quickly regained his usal demeanor and started scolding them, saying that they could have just started without him and not have wasted so much time. You couldn´t help but laugh, glad at the fact that everything was back to how it used to be.

Oh how wrong you were

Very soon, you started to feel changes in Izumi´s behavior, nothing too major though. the shift only happening gradually over time so you wouldn´t notice it too much for it to be worrying. Oh but you should have been worried, you had every right to be; scared even with the beast you had unknowingly released. For you had commited a grave mistake that would end up changing your life forever.

Deep down, Izumi had known all along, he had deluded himself to believe that Makoto would one day reciprocate his affection. The boy had been avoiding him for days yet he kept telling himself it was meant to be. He was met with nothing but rejection but he had still carried on. That one day had changed everything, it had shattered the mirror of illusion Izumi had projected himself to all this time. Makoto didn´t think of him that way, he didn´t want him. He had quite possibly never felt this bad before and his heart had been utterly crushed. Until you came along. You had picked up the broken pieces of his heart and made him whole again.

All this time, he hadn´t spent that much thought on you, his mind focused on work and Makoto after all. But now he had realized. All this time, you had been right by his side, supporting him even when he was being harsh in his criticism, always being able to understand what lied beyond his sometimes cruel words. And your words had made him realize a second truth as well. He would find someone else, you had said. And he had indeed found someone else: You.

After all, who else had supported him as much as you have? Surely you must have some kind of feelings for him to try and look past his rather cold exterior. And you encouraging him to give up on Makoto must mean something too, right? Ahhh y/n~

He now knew what you wanted from him, how could he have been so bling all this time? But that didn´t matter now, he would make up the lost time no matter what it took. He would keep his modeling jobs limited to ones in this country so he could see you more and try to rid you off some unneeded....distractions. That Suou brat had been taking up a lot of your time recently, hadn´t he? Asking for extra advice to improve his work as an idol. Ironically enough it´s something that Izumi would normally encourage but in this situation? With his producer? He couldn´t accept it. An ugly feeling was bubbling up deep inside him every time Tsukasa would take you to the side for a moment during practice, saying something that Izumi wasn´t quite able to hear. How dare he, did he not know that he was wasting your precious time? Izumi wasn´t shy to call him back too and assign him some extra work, something he would need to do if he wanted to become the leader of Knights, as he had explained.

One distraction gone, another silent but quite pesky one remained. The way Kuma-kun was hanging off on you, falling asleep on your lap time and time again.

“Don´t you know you´re wrinkling their clothes? How are they supposed to stand besides me, wearing something like that? Get off of them and do your work for once!”

Afterwards, Izumi was then fussing over your clothes, trying to smoothen them while lecturing you. You couldn´t just let someone else´s filthy hands touch you, right? You had to understand that. You were the one that gave him hope after he was at his lowest point and now he wouldn´t let you go. Not after a past love of his already ran away from him. No, you wouldn´t escape his grasp, you would be his and his alone. Just as ir was meant to be. Fate had lead you to find him that day so there was no turning back now.

How long would his silent yearning continue, how long would his obsession keep growing until he would suddenly snap and take you for himself? Until you would lay in his arms, locked away in his room where no one could steal you away.

Ahhh he just couldn´t wait!

If anyone was near him that night, they would think he became possessed for only one word would leave his lips that night for hours on end like a heavy prayer.

“Y/n....y/n......y/n....y/n~”

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ask70sunit · 4 years ago

Note

M: Stuck? Can't you just get in the TARDIS and-

10: Ah. Not really, no. I was working on it though, and by the time I had it fixed I had quite a few reasons to stick around. Namely, the people on the other side of this device.

D: So they had to put up with you for how long? I feel sorry for them already, Spaceman.

10: Hey!

Brigadier: *Chuckles.* I'm glad someone thinks so, D. Although I wouldn't trade him for anything, of course.

Jo: *Elbows the Doctor.* I thought that was the reason why you stick around.

Doctor: Yes, well... *Clears throat.* There are worse Humans than you all to willingly stick around with.

Brigadier: I'm relieved to know you think so highly of us.

#classic who #Third Doctor #Jo Grant #Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart

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atgranger · 5 years ago

Note

Drarry or wolfstar (your choice) on a dinner date (of your choice)

(This turned out to be super long, but here we go. I hope you like it, I had a lot of fun)

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

Harry was late. Who is late to a first date?

Draco checked his watch for the seventh time that evening. Potter was supposed to meet him in the Atrium 4 minutes ago. He could AT LEAST send a quick note saying he´d run late. Well, that’s what you get for agreeing to this. It had been quite the surprise when Potter had asked him out, but Draco couldn´t say he hadn´t been pleased. The flirty looks the auror had sent him whenever they met, had slowly driven him mental.

His brooding was interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat.

“I´m sorry?”, said that someone, who turned out to be Harry. A quick glance at his pocket watch confirmed that Potter was precisely 5 minutes and 23 seconds late. He closed the watch and let it slip into his vest pocket.

“You do realize that this was your idea, right?”, voice perfectly cold, mouth turned into a sneer, not showing the nervousness.

“I´m sorry! Kingsley kept me longer than I wanted and I only escaped by literally running off. And then it was running late or showing up in my uniform”

It was then, Draco ran his eyes over his date. The git actually had the decency to show up in something resembling formal wear. Dress pants with a muggle dressshirt and a modern take on wizarding robes. All of them in subdued earthy tones complementing his skintone. Impressive as well as promising to the rest of the night.

“I appreciate the effort and may overlook your tardiness. Now where are you taking me?”

Thats another thing that had surprised Draco: Potter had been adamant about not revealing the location, he had just promised that it would be��‘worth their time’.

“Right”, the dark haired man offered his arm to him and apparated them away. They found themselves outside of “Starlight and Moonshine”, a place Draco had never heard of. It looked cozy and empty. Harry confidently opened the door and beckoned Draco to go in.

The interior was kept in shades of dark blue and black with occasional details in cream white. The absolute best part was the ceiling though, thousand little stars glittered and made it seem as if they were underneath a clear night sky. Draco even recognized some constellations.

The soft “Draco” pulled him back into reality and he focussed on the man in front of him, standing by a small table. The ONLY table in this whole restaurant. What was going on? They sat down and moments later a waitress appeared.

“Welcome to Starlight and Moonshine. What drinks may I offer you?”, she said, handing them both a drink menu. “I´d recommend a red wine. The pinot noir is especially fitting for your main course.”

That meant Potter had already chosen food when arranging this. Interesting.

“I´ll take the pinot noir then. Thank you.” he said. Potter ordered the same.

Once the waitress disappeared, promising to bring their entrée shortly, the blonde turned to him: “Okay I´ll bite. Where did you get this robe? Where are we? And what´s going on? Why are we the only ones here? Even you couldn´t-.. Okay you could but you wouldn´t.”

Now was Harrys turn to look smug. “Oh, but I did. And sorry for already ordering, I wanted something very specific and the planning got a bit out of hand. I was promised that you´ll love it, if it makes you feel any better.”

“I´m not worried about the food. If the wine selection is anything to go by, the food will be adequate enough. Doesn´t answer my question though. Where are we? Why don´t I know this place?”

“Just outside of Diagon Alley. And you might not know it as it isn´t officially open yet. They open next friday. And before you think I threw around my name: I didn´t. I just happen to know the owners.”

Before he can answer, they are interrupted by the waitress bringing their entree. “Chestnut soup with port wine and chocolate, bon apetit.”

They start eating and the conversation drifts off.

“You´ve got to be kidding me!”, Harry laughs.

“No I´m serious! The asshole was so mad at me getting more recognition than him, he acutally threw a temper tantrum. With stomping and flinging himself to the floor and all!”

They had finished the main course and Draco was in high spirits. The food was excellent, Harry was surprisingly easy to talk to and on top of that easy on the eye. Against all expectations he really enjoyed himself.

The waitress appeared once again, switching their empty plates with the dessert, a mini chocolate cake and some ice cream on each plate. The cake was still warm and chocolate poured out once Draco took a spoonfull. The ice cream turned out to be a raspberry sorbet and some high quality vanilla ice. The mixture of the rich dark chocolate cake with the sweet and fruity ice was heavenly. Hadn´t he just had a wonderful full meal, he could have eaten multiple plates of this.

Once they´d finished the dessert as well, the waitress reappeared and cleaned their table. A swish of her wand send dishes flying and another transfigured the table into a much smaller one, only holding their drinks. Harry thanked her and said he could take it from here. She gave a slight bow and disappeared.

“If you could stand up for a moment”, Harry adressed him nervously. Confused, Draco got up. Now Harry had his wand out and summoned a picnic blanket. Then he transfigured their chairs into a bunch of pillows. Shaking hands laid the wand onto the small table and he sat down onto the blanket, motioning for Draco to do the same.

They transferred from sitting to lying at some point during their conversation, because now Draco lay inches away from Harry, looking up into the nightsky somehow visible on the ceiling. His eyes flittering to Harrys form next to him every few seconds. Their conversation had ebbed out and they were simply laying there.

“I-.... Thank you, Harry. This was - is - a wonderful date.” he couldn´t supress the sigh escaping his lips.

“I´m sensing there´s a but coming?”, Harry asked, raising himself onto is elbows to look im in the eyes.

“But I still don´t know why you did it. This is far too elaborate to be a prank and -” the git had the audacity to laugh. His face coming nearer.

“Is it really so hard to believe that I just like you?” he asked, voice hushed.

Before Draco could answer, there were lips on his. Maybe it wasn´t that hard to believe.

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

(Yes, the restaurant is owned by wolfstar. I didn´t plan for it, but when needing a name it just happened. Also, yes the chocolate is Remus fault.)

((Just FYI : this are somehow 1115 words))

#drarry #draco lucius malfoy #harry potter #my writing #atgrangerwrites #dinner date

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iwouldfuckthemaster · 4 years ago

Text

N/S/F/W Alphabet - Delgado!Master

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He is an absolute sweetheart after sex. It’s not often that he even has the true desire to get completely physical, so when he does, he’s whole-heartedly worshipping his partner, and that doesn’t go away after the fact. Clean up, getting something to drink, grabbing blankets, he’s on it.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite part of himself are his eyes, or his voice if that can count. He knows that people get drawn to him because of those two factors, and he can’t help but be proud of the fact.

His favorite part of his partner is probably also their eyes. Between the fact that he can so easily slip into their mind through eye contact (with consent, of course), and the way his partner stares at him with such love, which he’s not at all familiar with, he loves it.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He’s a classy man. He’s not going to want to make a big mess everywhere (unless his partner explicitly wants it). He much prefers to cum inside his partner. Easier to clean up that way, and he gets to claim his territory.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Not that he’d ever admit it (or probably even realize it if his partner didn’t bring it up first), but he’d actually be really good in a Daddy kink scenario. Getting to pamper and spoil his little human, while also getting to exercise complete dominance over them? Right up his alley.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

At this point in The Master’s life, he’s still in the “humans are gross and primitive” stage, so he doesn’t have the most experience. He’s a quick learner, though.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Any position where he can see his partner’s face, so he can make sure he’s doing everything right. He wants to be able to see the second a wince or microexpression signals that something’s wrong.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Unless his partner is actively trying to make it more lighthearted, it’s serious. He’s very much a “make love” person; He wants every ounce of his attention going into making his partner feel perfect.

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Again, he’s a classy bitch. Has it nicely trimmed, but doesn’t really put too much thought into going beyond that unless his partner has a preference.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Just like with ‘G’, he’s a romantic. His goal is never only his own pleasure. He’d sooner just pleasure his partner and get to see them enjoy themselves than worry about himself. His number one priority is making his partner not only feel loved, but absolutely worshipped.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Being Gallifreyan, he doesn’t really have the natural urges that humans do, so he can easily quell any unwanted desires within himself. The only time he really does that is if he’s ordered his partner to pleasure themselves as well. Mutual masturbation sessions are nice.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Being called ‘Master’, not that that one even needs to be stated. Bondage. Discipline. Submission.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He usually prefers to keep his escapades within the walls of his TARDIS, but if he just so happens to gain control of an office with, say, a big swivel chair, or a nice desk, he’s not above having his partner help break in his new workspace.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Willing submission, once again. His partner making it clear to him and others that they are his. Also, his partner getting dominant with other people. Let someone try to snap at him and his partner jump in front and start yelling right back? Oooohohohooooo they’re in for a time when they get back to his ship.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Hitting/hurting his partner beyond some light spanking. He may be cruel and controlling to others, but he would never want his partner to suffer by his hand. He doesn’t want them to see him like the rest of the universe does.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He’s pretty even on preference. On the one hand, he loves being able to put his partner on cloud nine, but on the other hand, his ego can’t help but swell when he sees his partner on their knees with him in their mouth.

As far as skill is concerned, once again. Fast learner.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He prefers to take his time, and he can keep going until his partner is absolutely boneless. However, if they’re on a time crunch, he’s not above slamming his partner against a wall or over a desk and taking care of business.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Just like the above answer, the only time he really likes quickies is if he and his partner need to be somewhere else soon.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

As long as it won’t put his partner in (serious) harm’s way, he’s willing to try most things that his partner suggests. However, the answer on ‘N’ still applies. He doesn’t want to seriously hurt them.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Gallifreyan biology baaaaaybeeee. Like I said before, he can do until his partner is barely on this plane of existence.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Okay, y’all. Welcome to Mod L’s #1 Delgado!Master headcanon. Delgado!Master absolutely adores using toys on his partner. Again, he doesn’t have those biological drives, but he loves watching his partner come undone for him. He’s more than happy to have his partner laid back on the bed, bare to him, and use toys on them while he’s still fully-clothed.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Oh, no. He’s a sweetheart. However, it is so easy to fluster him with teasing. Especially if he’s having to stay super mature because of his current Big Plan, and you slide by and whisper something naughty in his ear? H a . This poor boy will Die™.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Other than gentle words of praise and commands, he's not actually that loud. He tends to breathe very heavily, and soft moans may slip out, but he tries (and fails) to stay in control of himself during time with his partner.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

I headcanon that Delgado!Master is actually borderline asexual/demisexual. He loves to pleasure his partner, whether it be via toys, telepathy, or even his hands/mouth, but the idea of being actually naked and properly having sex with someone isn’t exactly on his list of highest desires.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

A little above average sized, and knows how to use it.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Not particularly high. He can easily survive without sex. The only time he really gets pent up is if he’s had to watch his partner flirt/spend time with someone else without being able to have them.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Gallifreyans only need an hour of sleep a day, so he tends to just stay with his partner, letting them sleep in his arms as he holds them. He’s soft.

#Delgado!Master #Delgado!Master/Reader #Delgado!Master x Reader #The Master/Reader #The Master x Reader #N/S/F/W alphabet #alphabets #lemon #Daddy Kink Cw

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thelittlesttimelord · 5 years ago

Text

The Littlest Timelord: The Death of the Doctor Chapter 29

TITLE: The Littlest Timelord: The Death of the Doctor Chapter 29 PAIRING: No Pairing RATING: T CHAPTER: 29/? SUMMARY: The Doctor’s death is looming on the horizon and Elise is growing every day. What the Doctor doesn’t know is that he has 200 years to teach Elise all he knows. Amy, Rory, and River let Elise in on their secret, because River knows she will keep it. What will Elise do when he’s gone?

Amy, Rory, the Doctor, and Elise stepped out of the TARDIS into what looked to be a hotel.

“Let's go to Ravan-Skala, he says. The people are six hundred feet tall. You have to talk to them in hot air balloons and the Tourist Information Center is made of one of their hats, he says. I'm sorry, but I don't see any huge hats,” Amy told him.

“Amy, Beaky, this could be the most exciting thing I have ever seen.”

“You're kidding,” Rory said as the Doctor ran up the staircase.

“How can you be excited about a rubbish hotel on a rubbish bit of Earth?” Amy asked.

“Because, assembled Ponds and Elise, this is not Earth. This has just been made to look like Earth. The craftsmanship involved. Can you imagine?”

Elise loved her father, but she had to admit he had some weird interests.

They made their way back to the reception area where the TARDIS parked.

“What? Then where are we?” Amy asked.

“I don't know,” the Doctor said, “Something must have yanked us off course. Look at the detail on that cheese plant!” He walked over to the plant and sniffed the leaf.

“Right, but who would mock up an Earth hotel?” Rory asked.

The Doctor picked an apple from a bowl sitting on a table and tossed it in the air. “Colonists maybe, recreating a bit of home, like when ex-pats open English pubs in Majorca.” The Doctor took a bite of the apple.

“Thought you didn’t like apples?” Elise asked him, a smirk on her face.

“Oi. Hush you! Whoever did this, I am shaking his/her hand/tentacle.”

Rory walked over to a wall of pictures. “Have you seen these? Look at the labels underneath. Commander Halke, defeat. Tim Heath, having his photo taken. Lady Silver-Tear, Daleks.”

Amy joined him. “Bruce Barnes, other people's socks. Tim Nelson, balloons. Novice Prin, sabrewolves. Royston Luke Gold, Plymouth? Lucy Hayward, that brutal gorilla. Doctor, what does it mean?”

“I don't know. Let's find out.” He rang the bell on the desk and three people appeared.

One was a woman holding a chair leg, another was a man holding a lamp, and the third was some type of alien holding a white flag.

“Blimey, that was a bit quick,” the Doctor said.

“We surrender!” the alien said.

“No, it's okay, we're not…” Rory told him.

“We surrender!”

“We're nice.”

“She's threatening me with a chair leg!” the Doctor said, pointing at the woman in scrubs.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Oh god, we're back in reception,” the man said.

“We surrender!” the alien repeated.

“I've never been threatened with a chair leg before. No, hang on, I tell a lie,” the Doctor told them.

“Did you just say, it's okay, we're nice?” Amy asked Rory.

“Okay, I need everyone to shut up, now,” the woman said.

“Rita, be careful, yeah?” the man said.

“Their pupils are dilated. They're as surprised as we are. Besides which, if it's a trick, it'll tell us something,” Rita rattled off.

The Doctor smiled. “Oh, you're good. Oh, she's good. Amy, with regret, you're fired.”

“What?” Amy snapped.

“I'm kidding.” He turned to Rita and made a telephone gesture, mouthing, “We'll talk.” The Doctor turned to the alien. “I take it from the pathological compulsion to surrender, you're from Tivoli.”

“Yes. The most invaded planet in the galaxy. Our anthem is called Glory To Insert Name Here. I’m Gibbis, by the way.”

“You with the face, Howie, you said you were surprised to be back in reception.”

“The walls move. Everything changes,” Howie explained.

“You, clever one. What's he talking about?”

“The corridors twist and stretch. Rooms vanish and pop up somewhere else. It's like the hotel's alive,” Rita told him.

The Doctor walked over to the radio and turned the music off. “That's quite enough of that.”

“Yeah, and it's huge, with, like, no way out,” Howie said.

“Have you tried the front door?” Rory asked.

“No. In two days it never occurred to us to try the front door. Thank God you're here,” Rita deadpanned, causing Amy to laugh.

The Doctor soniced the doors before opening them. “They're not doors, they're walls. Walls that look like doors. Door-walls, if you like, or dwalls. Woors even, though you'd probably got it when you said they're not doors. I mean, the windows are…” He pulled back the curtain to reveal more bricks. “Right, big day if you're a fan of walls.”

“It's not just that. The rooms have…things in them,” Rita said.

“Things? Hello! What kind of things?” the Doctor asked, “Interesting things? I love things, ask anyone.”

“Bad dreams.”

“Well, that killed the mood. How did you get here?”

“I don't know. I'd just started my shift. I must have passed out, because suddenly I was here.”

“I was blogging. Next thing, this,” Howie said.

“Oh, I was at work. I'm in Town Planning. We're lining all the highways with trees so invading forces can march in the shade,” Gibbis explained, “Which is nice for them.”

“So, what have we got? People snatched from their lives and dropped into an endless, shifting maze that looks like a 1980s hotel with bad dreams in the bedrooms.” The Doctor took a Rubik’s cube from his pocket and tossed it. “Well, apart from anything else, that's just rude.”

They made their back down to the first floor landing.

“We'll pop back to the TARDIS, I'll do a planet-wide diagnostic sweep, and then we'll have a sing song,” the Doctor told them.

They stopped when they realized the TARDIS was gone.

“Where's the TARDIS? You parked it there, didn't you?” Amy asked.

“What's a TARDIS?” Howie asked.

“Our way out. And it's gone,” Rory said.

Elise opened her mouth to say something, but the Doctor hushed her again.

Suddenly, the radio started up again.

“Okay, this is bad. At the moment, I don't know how bad, but certainly we're three buses, a long walk and eight quid in a taxi from good,” the Doctor said pacing, “Are there any more of you?”

“Joe. But he's tied up right now,” Rita said.

“Doing what?”

“No, I mean he's tied up right now.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Rita, Gibbs, and Howie led them to the restaurant.

The man in question, Joe, was tied to a chair. The room was filled with dummies that stopped laughing as soon as they entered the room. Their heads turned towards the group and Elise grabbed onto to Rory’s arm.

“It’s okay,” he told her.

The Doctor walked up to Joe. “Hello. I'm the Doctor.”

“We're going to die here.”

“Well, they certainly didn't mention that in the brochure. Is Joe there? Can I have a quick word?” The Doctor grabbed an empty chair and sat down in it at Joe’s table.

“Oh, it's still me, Doctor, but I've seen the light. I lived a blasphemous life, but he has forgiven my inconstancy, and soon he shall feast.”

“Well, you've been here two days. What's he waiting for?”

“We weren't ready. We were still raw.”

“But now you're what? Cooked?”

“If you like. Soon you will be, too. Be patient. First, find your room.”

“My room.”

“There's a room here for everyone, Doctor. Even you.”

“You said you'd seen the light now.”

“Nothing else matters anymore. Only him. It's like these things. I used to hate them. They make me laugh now.” Joe started laughing. “Gottle o' geer. Gottle o' geer!”

The dummies joined Joe in laughing.

“You should go. He'll be here soon,” Joe told him.

“I think you should come with me.” He grabbed a luggage trolley and used it to wheel Joe back to the reception area. “Why you four? That's what I don't understand. Aside from all the other things I don't understand,” the Doctor said. He turned off the radio again.

“What does it matter? Sooner or later, someone will come along and rescue us. Or enslave us,” Gibbis said.

Elise thought the alien was rather pathetic. Living your life in constant fear? No thanks, she’d already done that in her first few years of life.

“First, we find the TARDIS. Quick thing before we go. If you feel drawn to a particular room, do not go in, and make sure someone else can see you at all times,” the Doctor told them.

“Joe said, he will feast. Is there something here with us?” Rita asked.

Joe started laughing again.

“Something to add, Joe?” the Doctor asked him.

“Here comes a candle to light you to bed. Here comes a chopper to chop off your head. Chop, chop, chop, chop.”

“Can we do something about him?” Howie asked.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Soon, they were wandering around the hotel.

Gibbis was wheeling Joe, who had his mouth taped shut. “Personally, I think you've got the right idea. Times like this, I think of my old school motto. Resistance Is Exhausting,” Gibbis said.

A man in his underwear with a whistle around his neck stepped out of room 158.

“Hello,” the Doctor said.

“Have you forgotten your PE kit again? Right, that's it, you're doing it in your pants!” the teacher yelled and then went back inside the room.

Behind them, Howie was staring at a door.

“Hey! Don't!” the Doctor yelled, but it was too late.

Howie opened the door to reveal several girls.

“Oh, look, girls, it's H-H-H-Howie!” the blonde said.

“What's loser in K-K-K-Klingon?” a brunette asked.

“Shut the-the-the d-d-d-the door!” Howie stuttered.

The Doctor closed the door as Howie looked embarrassed.

“This is just some m-m-messed up CIA stuff. I'm…I'm…I'm telling you.”

The Doctor put an arm around his shoulder. “You're right. Keep telling yourself that. It's a CIA thing, nothing more.” They ventured up the staircase to the next floor.

Amy knelt down and picked up a couple of pieces of paper. “Look.”

There was a loud roaring noise.

“Okay, whatever that is, it's not real, yeah?” Amy asked.

“No. No, I'm sure it isn't, but just in case, let's run away and hide anyway. In here,” the Doctor said.

Gibbis, Amy, Elise, Howie and the Doctor ducked into one of the rooms.

“Where’s Rory?” Elise asked.

The Doctor ran out of the room. “Rory, come on!”

“There was a…”

“Come on!”

Elise turned around and gasped.

There were Weeping Angels.

Elise backed away from them, not blinking, until she bumped into her father. Their last encounter had been less than pleasant. At least River at had been there.

“Don't blink,” Amy said.

“What?” Howie asked.

The lights flickered and the angels moved closer.

Elise whimpered. The Doctor could feel her shaking as she tried to press herself closer to him.

“Amy, get back!” the Doctor said, grabbing them.

The lights kept flickering, but the angels didn’t move.

“Why haven't they got us yet?” the Doctor asked. He stepped out behind Elise and walked towards them. He reached out, but his hand went through the angel.

“Amy, Elise, they're not real,” he said.

“What?” Amy asked.

“They should have got us by now. Amy, look at me. Focus on me. It's your bad dream, that's all.”

“I don't even think they're for us,” Rory said.

They all looked and saw Gibbis hiding in the wardrobe as something stomped slowly down the hallway.

The Doctor walked towards the door.

“Doctor, what are you doing?” Amy asked.

“I'm sorry, I just have to see what it is. I just have to see.” He looked through the peep hole. “Oh, look at you. Oh, you are beautiful. Oh, dear. I think it's going after Joe.” The Doctor opened the door and went out into the hallway. “Leave him alone!” He took off running.

Elise started to go after him, but Rory grabbed her. “I have to help him!” she told him.

“We can’t afford to get separated in this place.”

“But…”

“The Doctor will be fine. Just like he always is.”

Rory and older Amy’s words echoed in her head.

The Doctor and his ever faithful daughter.

#eleventh doctor #eleventh doctor imagines #eleventh doctor fanfiction #doctor who #Doctor Who fanfiction #doctor who imagine #amy pond #amy pond imagine #Rory Williams #rory williams imagine #the littlest timelord #the littlest timelord: the death of the doctor

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actionfiguresfanart · 5 years ago

Photo

what if... Ruth!Doctor and Dhawan!Master got a chance to hang out

partly an illustration for recent chapter of my current fic “double agents” (link in replies) because... yes we could imagine a lot of unhappy interactions, but if they were getting along, the banter between the two of them could be pretty fun

reblog & follow for more ActionFigures FanArt

bonus pics and doll hobby chatter under the cut >>

height difference (exaggerated by camera angle) and the doctor’s shoes because i was happy to find those

i decided my first dhawan!m doll would be the one to hang out with ruth!doctor because their head sizes are a better match. the second one i made fits more with my 13th doctor. #dollproblems huh?! anyway this one looks pretty excited to be here :D

i’ve reduced this dh!m’s height by about an inch, through shortening the bottoms of his ankles and the torso right above the waist, areas where the ken mtm body is unrealistically tall. i also added some belly while i was at it :) since i had to stick the torso back together with heatmould plastic

was super excited of course to see ruth!doctor, especially because of how similar she seems to Ian’s (@trans-kaidan-alenko) OC dr who that i remembered from several years ago. so of course she had to become a doll as soon as i could figure out which face to use...

it was hard to choose a head for ruth!doctor because, honestly, available dolls and action figures of her demographic are kind of lacking (we know why)... but i finally settled on the darkest skintone curvy mtm that has recently become available as one of the BMR1959 dolls. i was afraid to do much overpainting because the factory paint was very nice, so i just did a very minimal addition of lines on her face because the actress is like 60 and though she doesn’t in any way look like the 2nd oldest dr who ever, she does look middle-aged.

the doll’s original hair was very nice so i cut it off carefully and saved it for someone who does re-rooting (is that you? message me!) and then i rehaired her with homespun yarn to imitate locs. i hope the hair will hold, but if not i can just redo it the same way. basically i used a rerooting tool to push parts of each strand into the existing rooting holes. if it comes out i can just poke it down again in a different hole. it is only one layer because the strands were so thick. since the character wore her locs up in a ponytail, that seemed to be okay.

her suit jacket and scarf are for action figures and her pants are from ken. i used a barbie crop top to make the little bits of her blouse that show. i think her brainy specs are from integrity... i used acetone to take off some sunglasses shading that was on the plastic, but it made it not clear anymore, that’s why they’re not on her face. they are coloured yellow with a highlighter :D because it was handy and it’s not like she’s gonna wear them out in the rain or something... i might try gloss sealer later to see if it makes the plastic clear again

the tardis background used is the one from the 1st doctor

@not-mandip @blacktardis @fastlikealambo i hope it’s ok i tag you

#ruth!doctor #jo martin #dhawan!master #best enemies #thoschei #doctor who #dw spoilers #dw s12 spoilers #wonder what i'd be without you #martin doctor #ruth doctor #dhawan master #natalunasans actionfigures fanart

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terapsina · 6 years ago

Text

5 Times The Doctor Talked About River Song With Graham (+1 Time The Fam Finally Met Her)

--- ao3 --- 1 ---

Graham finds it on the floor of the TARDIS control room.

Everyone else is asleep, emotionally wrung out from their latest trip, he thinks even the Doctor might have gone off for a nap and he’s never actually seen that happen before now.

But Graham can’t sleep. His mind is still painfully stuck on Grace. On having held her in his arms not even a few hours ago, on having lost her all over again. Logically he knows it wasn’t really Grace. Now that it’s over and he’s looking back he even realizes a part of him knew all along.

It doesn’t make the hurt of it lessen.

And it’s not because the illusion was flawed, if anything it’s because it was too perfect. She looked like Grace, sounded like her, fit in his arms like her. She even smelled like Grace, like Shea butter and vanilla, because all the products Grace liked to buy had those ingredients in them. Everything about her was as warm as he remembers, from her smile to the soft touch of her hand. Even her mischief twinkled like the fire from a candle in her eyes.

It was like a dream come alive, a dream he never would have been willing to wake from if not for Ryan.

He’s so angry at himself for almost having abandoned his grandson for an imitation of the woman who was the love of his life. However flawless of an imitation it was.

He’s pacing from one side of the console to the other, mind lost to self-recriminations, when he feels his foot step on something small, kicking it across the room with a light tinkle.

His eyes follow the small golden object as its slide down the floor stops in the middle of TARDIS, and finally focuses on the last thing he’d have ever expected to find here if he’d ever thought to consider it.

It’s a ring.

He walks toward it, bending to pick it up. It turns out to be a simple gold band, moving it to catch better light he notices a small inscription on the inside that he can’t read. The TARDIS isn’t translating it. It’s written in the same circular pattern that he’s seen all over the ship since the start of this strange adventure into time and space.

It’s also, unmistakably, a wedding ring.

Breath catches in Graham’s chest, because in a moment between one heartbeat and the next, he knows. And his heart breaks for his alien friend.

The Doctor was married.

He stands frozen, uncertain if he should go looking for the Doctor now or to wait until later. Picturing her face the last time he saw her, those tight and drawn eyebrows and the dropping shoulders, he comes to a decision. He pockets the ring and goes back to his room.

The Doctor deserves some sleep too, he’ll find her tomorrow morning and return it then.

Tomorrow morning turns into afternoon and then evening before Graham gets his chance. By the time he woke up, both Ryan and Yaz were awake too, and the Doctor was already busy with finding their next adventure.

And he knows if someone had found Grace’s ring he’d want them to return it in private.

He loves his grandson and Yaz. But they are so young, their curiosity would have gotten the best of them and Graham doesn’t want to put Doc on the spot like that.

So he waits until Yaz and Ryan have gone off exploring the dizzying number of rooms of Doc’s ship, or whatever else it is they like to do when they’re not running toward death defying adventures with grins on their faces, before he pulls the Doctor away from tinkering with the mechanisms of her time machine.

“You have a moment?”

She slides out from underneath the opening into the console, her sonic screwdriver between her teeth. The humming of the TARDIS engines grows softer as if in response.

“What’s up Graham?” She asks, after taking the screwdriver out of her mouth and as she’s pushing her goggles up to her hairline, making her hair go in all kinds of interesting directions. She looks like the mad scientist he might have found on the screen of one of Grace’s science fiction shows.

In a way he supposes that’s a pretty accurate picture of the Doctor, and any other time Graham might have smiled in amusement at his thought. Today he flinches at the smile she sends him, knowing he’d be taking it away with his next words.

“I found something yesterday. I think it’s yours, Doc.” He says, and pulls out the object that’s been burning in his pocket the whole day.

The Doctor’s eyes slide to his arm and once they narrow in on the ring laying in the palm of his hand, her face transforms from the carefree adventurer he’s gotten to know in the past few months, to something painful and lost and hurting. It’s a look that’s far too old for that face. And so very familiar Graham can’t help but look away.

“Where did you find it?” the Doctor asks, voice a breathless whisper, her hand hovering over the ring, seeming unable to cross that final little bit of air to touch it.

“It was here on the ground. I don’t know how it got there.” He says with a nervous shrug.

“I do.” The Doctor says, eyes momentarily glaring toward the center of the room. She doesn’t explain, instead finally taking the ring from him in one quick movement and pulling it to her chest, squeezing it in a fist against her.

“I’m very sorry Doc.” Graham says. The words are inadequate but sometimes they really are the only ones available.

“I know.” She says, eyes looking to a point in empty air behind him.

He nods and pats her lightly on her shoulder, before turning around to leave her to whatever memories have washed over her with the return of that wedding band.

“Her name was River Song.” She says once he’s already taken a few steps. He stops, turning around, giving her the opportunity to continue or not as she needs. “She was an archaeologist. And a professor. And a criminal. And she was brilliant and absolutely mad.”

“She must have been. Married you didn’t she?” Graham jokes before he can help himself.

But Doc just grins like she agrees and laughs to herself.

Something uncoils in Graham’s chest at seeing Doc’s face regaining its natural brightness, however tinged with grief. The grief isn’t new either, he’s seen shadows of it in her all along but this is the first moment she doesn’t seem to be trying to hide it. Or maybe the first time she’s not trying to hide from it.

“She did do that. Married me at every point in history happening all at the same time. And a few times after.” The Doctor tells him, leaning forward like she’s revealing a secret instead of saying something that makes no sense at all.

“Sounds like quite a woman.”

“She was.” The Doctor says, eyes now down on the hand hiding the precious metal band within its hold.

There’s an extended moment of silence and then; “Graham?”

“Yeah, Doc?”

“Thank you.” She says, a serious and infinitely grateful look overtaking her face.

He nods at her and turns around, knows the conversation has come to a close and he should leave his friend to a moment that’s something meant between her and the specter of her wife.

In the privacy of his own mind he wonders why the Solitract never took on the form of this River Song. Whatever the reason, he finds himself grateful, he wouldn’t wish that cruelty on his worst enemy. And he certainly wouldn’t wish it on Doc.

--- 2 ---

“She used to leave me coordinates and jump out of the most impossible places, waiting for me to catch her. I always did.” The Doctor says out of nowhere, both of them chained to the stone wall of the dungeons of the Victorian castle, waiting to get executed, or getting saved by Yaz and Ryan. Whichever comes first.

Personally, Graham’s hoping for the second one.

“What?” He asks, lost.

“River,” the Doctor explains. “She once defaced the oldest cliff-face in the universe. And before that she left me a recording inside a Home Box so I’d come catch her jumping out of a space ship into vacuum. It was the day her mother met her. Well, that face anyway.”

“That must have been frightening.” Graham says, uncertain. He’s not sure he wants to touch the bit about the mother. Sometimes he thinks she likes to confuse them on purpose.

"Oh no, she was absolutely fearless. Hell in high heels and it's the devils who ran." The Doctor says either misinterpreting his words or choosing to misunderstand on purpose, her voice full of spousal pride and a face painted with smitten adoration. It’s so unexpected, so unlike the Doctor’s usual disposition, that Graham needs to clear his throat to get past the sudden awkwardness of it.

"Sounds like she was made for you, Doc." He finally says, trying to picture this impossible woman who married the Doctor, and falling short. The only impression he can summon up is someone dangerous and larger than life.

He’s so busy with his mental portrait it takes him a moment to notice the Doctor has fallen silent, once he looks at her though his breath stutters. Her face is so pained it’s as if he’d landed a physical hit with his last words. She looks almost... ashamed.

He curses himself for whatever it was he said that put that expression there.

“You okay, Doc?” He asks, voice as gentle as he can make it, trying not to startle her into pulling back into herself.

The Doctor flinches and blinks rapidly like waking from a bad dream, then her face transforms into her usual bright but slightly removed facade, and she’s back to trying to reassure him.

“I’m always alright.” She lies and changes the subject. “I wonder what’s keeping Yaz and Ryan, they should really have gotten past the sleeping guards by now.”

He doesn’t call her on it and moves his mind back to the problem at hand. The problem at hand of course being; the part where they’re chained to a prison wall for trying to assassinate Queen Victoria. The fact Queen Victoria has been replaced by a homicidal alien copy asks for some worrying too and Graham is more than willing to oblige.

In the end it turns out there’s no need for either worry, Yaz and his grandson find them twenty minutes later and they’re away from 1882, London within an hour.

The real Queen back on her rightful throne, though still yelling threats to the Doctor’s back even as they’re being whisked away by the little blue box.

--- 3 ---

They’ve split into pairs again. Usually he prefers to watch his grandson’s back when that happens but today is March 18 - or would have been if they weren’t jumping all over time and space, - and Ryan had been snapping at him since morning.

He knows Ryan well enough to know that if he doesn’t give him some space before trying to talk to him about it, they won’t talk at all.

“Everything okay with Ryan?” The Doctor asks as they’re traveling through the apparently semi-sentient crystal tunnels of the newest planet she’s brought them to, trying to find and stop whoever it is that’s been attempting to mine it.

Grace would have loved it here. The sapphire-like stone itself is the familiar blue of what he’s pretty sure is Doc’s favorite color but it’s mixed with golden strands that run through the fault-lines and leave the strange impression of blood vessels, veins running through the body of the living crystal.

“It would have been Grace’s birthday today.” Graham says, heart clenching in his chest at saying it aloud. In a perfect universe he would be home right now, standing over her favorite cake - red velvet with cherry frosting, - and singing a ‘Happy Birthday’ with their grandson.

In a perfect universe she would be here beside him, just as in awe of their surroundings as he is.

“Oh.” The Doctor says and grows quiet.

“It’ll be alright tomorrow. It’s just… today is hard. For both of us.” He hopes he’s not lying. Hopes Ryan will let Graham find him once they’re back in the TARDIS so they can spend the evening talking and laughing and crying about Grace. So they can pick themselves up tomorrow and continue living in her honor like she’d have wanted them to.

They spend a few minutes just walking when the silence finally becomes too much for Graham.

“How long were you married?” It’s the first time he’s initiated the subject of the Doctor’s wife himself, the two previous times it was her who opened up first, so he’s not entirely sure how she’ll respond. But he’s ready to fall back into silence and not press if it looks like she doesn’t want to talk about it.

“I don’t know.” She says, still steps ahead and with her back to him.

“How can you not know?” Graham asks, mind heavy with confusion.

“If I count only all the days we were together; then two, maybe three centuries. If I count all my days from our first wedding to the last time I saw her, then almost half my life.” She says with a forcefully easy tone.

Graham stops in his tracks as the implication hits. “Centuries?”

She turns around and looks at him like she’s measuring the words she’s planning to say, or if she’ll say them at all. After a moment her face clears and she seems to come to some sort of decision.

“I’m more than two thousand years old, Graham. I’ve loved River Song through four of my faces and had more than twice as many before that, most of them male. I’m not human.”

Graham had known that, that the Doc wasn’t human, that she had two hearts and enough lives to make a cat jealous. In an abstract way that they were a man before they were a woman, because she’s dropped enough comments to that effect by now. But he hadn’t realized the differences between them were quite so vast as two millennia.

“Was she?” He asks and immediately thinks better. “Wait, no, you said three centuries, she couldn’t have been.”

“What?”

“Your wife.” He doesn’t know why he’s asking that, except maybe because he knows Grace would have, and so especially today of all days he has to in her place. Or maybe it’s just that pesky human curiosity.

“She wasn’t. And she was.” She says after a moment and turns back around to continue walking. “She was the daughter of my two best friends. And the daughter of TARDIS.”

She doesn’t explain further than that, so he’s left puzzling over the new contradiction on his own for the rest of the way through the alien tunnels with his strange alien friend as his company, a silent one now.

He turns his head back toward the faintly glowing walls and once he looks more carefully notices the slightly irregular pulsing of the golden veins. Fascinated he again thinks about how much Grace would have loved to see this.

‘Happy birthday!’ He thinks toward her, hoping she’s seeing this from wherever it is she’s watching over him and Ryan.

--- 4 ---

They’re back in Sheffield the next time the subject of River Song comes up.

Yaz is off spending some time with her family and Ryan is meeting his father for dinner. Graham is trying really hard not to stress himself into growing ulcers over that last one.

It’s not that he thinks he’s going to lose to Aaron the bond he’s finally building with his grandson. He understands Ryan’s wish to repair the relationship between him and his father. It’s just that despite Graham’s belief in Aaron’s genuine regret, he can’t help worry that Ryan will get his heart broken again.

He doesn’t think he could stand seeing Ryan disappointed like that again.

Which leaves him at home. Worrying. With the Doctor as company.

“He’ll be fine, Graham.” The Doctor says, not for the first time this hour.

“I know that.” Graham says back, eyes still on the door.

“Oh, do frowns and scrunched up foreheads not mean what they used to mean in you humans?” The Doctor’s voice sounds amused so he can’t help but glare at her a bit.

“Hilarious.” He mutters under his breath.

“I am, aren’t I?” She says.

He huffs loudly and goes back to staring at the door. Waiting for Ryan to come home.

“Do you want to talk about something else then?” She offers. “Might distract you.”

“Be my guest.”

“The first time River met me she shot the TARDIS, tried to kill Hitler and poisoned me with a kiss.” The Doctor drops, and to give credit where it’s due, distracts Graham absolutely.

“What?” He doesn’t even know which part to touch first.

“Poisoned lipstick. So glad she switched to hallucinogenic ones later.” She almost sounds dreamy. Graham feels his brain beginning to hurt.

“She poisoned you?” Honestly, he doesn’t even know why he’s shocked, it’s the Doc after all. But still, how do you marry someone who poisoned you in their first interaction?

“Only a little bit. And she saved me right after.”

“And that makes it okay?” Graham says, furious on her behalf.

“There were... reasons. She didn’t know me yet but she knew about me and- well, there were reasons.” The Doctor explains. Even though Graham doesn’t really think it explains all that much at all. Something about her expression though tells him to leave it alone, there’s that guilty, haunted look in her eyes again and Graham isn’t sure he wants to know what’s behind it.

So maybe it’s a good thing that before he has a chance to put his foot in his mouth there comes the sound of a key turning in the lock and the front door slamming open.

“Hey, gramps.” Ryan says walking in, a wide smile on his young face.

Graham exhales, the knot of worry loosening for now and smiles back, hiding the stress he’d been struggling with for the past few hours. “Hello, son. How did it go?”

“Good.” Ryan says, a slightly shy happiness dancing like starlight in his eyes.

--- 5 ---

It’s almost three months since Graham found the ring and gave it back to the Doctor before a moment comes where he feels like it might finally be the right time to touch on the one thing that’s been implied but never addressed in their conversations about the Doctor’s wife.

The day isn’t particularly different from any of the previous ones.

It’s late and Graham can’t sleep so he walks to the kitchen for a cup of tea when he finds the Doctor already there, eating custard cream biscuits.

He nods tiredly in her direction, grabbing two blue cups from a shelf and going through the motions of making both of them the peppermint tea he finds on the counter-top - he’s pretty sure it wasn’t there a moment ago but he’s also gotten used to not questioning things like that while aboard the TARDIS.

“Sugar?” He asks, because he’s noticed she never puts the same amount in any of her cups. He thinks it might depend on her mood.

“Two and a half teaspoons, please.” She tells him and he tries not to grimace as he follows her instructions.

“Here.” He says and passes her the cup once he’s done. Pulling his own cup - no sugar - with him to the other side of the table.

She gives him a few biscuits in exchange and for a few minutes they share their midnight snack in peace. And then the thought that has been ruminating unvoiced for a long time now surfaces in his mind again, and for the first time he doesn’t push it back down.

“How did you lose her?” He asks.

The biscuit halts halfway to her mouth and then lands heavily back on the plate. For a long time she just stares into her tea and Graham thinks she’ll choose not to answer.

But then she looks up into his eyes and breathes out very slowly.

“She died the day I met her.” She says.

“I thought you said you were the one who almost died when you met.” Graham says, confused again.

“When she met me. This was before that- well, from my point of view at least. We never met in the right order. She was a time traveler too, had a vortex manipulator, I think she might have stolen it from an old friend of mine actually, not that she ever actually admitted where she got it.” She says, growing more animate as she switches gears mid-tangent. “Our timelines went in opposite directions. Not entirely of course, there were loops and twists and exceptions but for the most part the older I got, the more often the River I ran into was a younger and younger version of her.”

“So the day you met her...” He says not finishing the thought, horrified as he realizes what she’s saying.

“She died saving four thousand and twenty-two people.” She finishes for him with a shrug that belies the pain he knows she must be feeling at saying it.

“That couldn’t have been easy, knowing the entire time what would happen to her.”

“I spent centuries running away from the last date we’d have before she went to the Library.” She snaps. “So, no, not easy.”

“Did you ever try to-”

“What? Change it? Save her? Go back and make sure she never died there? Take her place?” She glares at him and for a fraction of a moment she looks her age, millennia old and furious and terrifying beyond reason, and for that one moment Graham is almost scared of her. And then she blinks, her gaze losing it’s terrible intensity, and he’s not even sure that he didn’t imagine it. “She would never have forgiven me. And- and her timeline is complicated, even if I tried to- there’s a very good chance if I did it that I’d be erasing her from the universe entirely.”

He stares at her, heart full of grief for the pain she must have lived through. He tries to imagine having known the entire time about the day he’d lose Grace to that fall and almost breaks with it. He doesn’t think he could have survived that.

“You’re like a Greek tragedy, Doc.” He breathes past the knot in his throat.

“Always preferred the Romans.” She says and goes back to eating her biscuits, eyes skittering away from meeting his.

He knows the conversation is over and by the way she’s starting to fidget with that chain around her neck, - the one that wasn’t there three months ago but which she hasn’t taken off since, - and by the way she is decisively avoiding his gaze. He knows she wants to be left alone.

Respecting her wish for privacy he finishes the last of his tea and gets up to leave. “Goodnight, Doctor.”

She doesn’t answer but by the time he’s reached the door he does hear her say something. Something he’s pretty certain isn’t addressed at him. Both because he doesn’t understand it and because he’s pretty sure she’s already forgotten that he’s still in the room at all.

“Not those times, not one line. I promise.”

--- +1 ---

It ends the way it began. With Graham noticing something small in the control room of the TARDIS. Though this time it’s not the middle of the night and he’s not there all by himself.

It’s mid-afternoon and the Doctor is laying on her stomach, playing with the insides of the ship, sparks flying around her whenever she touches a wire with her sonic and once in a while being interrupted by what sounds like the irritated humming of the TARDIS itself. Yaz and Ryan are on either side of her trying to figure out exactly what she’s doing, though Graham is not at all sure even Doc knows what that is.

And then something catches his eye.

“There’s a blinking button, Doctor.” He says and goes over to it for a closer look.

“Red or green?” She asks, not moving from her place halfway into the console.

“Blue.”

“Oh, someone’s left a voicemail. Put it on speaker, will you?” She says louder, in answer to the sudden shudder that runs through the ship and makes Graham catch the console for balance.

“Sure. How do I do that?” He asks, eyes running over the large number of doodads in front of him.

“Flip the first switch to the right down, and then press the blinking button.”

He follows her instructions and as soon as he’s done so, a low female voice with a Southern British accent rings across the room, a playful lilt to her tone.

“Hello Sweetie, be a dear and come pick me up, please?” There’s the sound of an explosion from the other side of the call echoed by the unmistakable clang of someone hitting their head against metal from under the TARDIS console. Before Graham can do more than lean over to check that they’re all okay, the Doctor is already up and pushing him out of her way. “I’ve sent you the coordinates.”

“Who was that?” Yaz asks with obvious concern as soon as she and Ryan join them.

Graham has a feeling he already knows.

“River.” The Doctor exhales more than says, Graham notices her hands shaking as she pulls up the mentioned coordinates.

“Doctor?” Ryan asks, looking just as worried as Yaz.

“My wife.” The Doctor says and starts running around them, flicking switches all around the control table even quicker than Graham’s already used to seeing from her.

“Your what?” Yaz exclaims in tandem with Ryan’s: “What?”

The Doctor ignores them both, halting with her hand atop the lever that will make them take off and turns her head to face Graham. She’s paler than normal, eyes blown wide from terror and tears starting to visibly gather in the corners. Graham has never seen her scared, not truly, but right now she looks on the edge of breaking.

“I can’t go through this again. I’ve already lost her three times I can’t- not again.”

Graham stands frozen, for a moment absolutely uncertain about what he could possibly say to help her. And then the answer hits him and it is so very simple.

“It sounds like she’s in trouble, Doc.” He says, remembering one of the things she’d told him.”You said you always showed up to catch her.”

The Doctor lets out a shuddering breath and seems to steel herself. She pulls the lever and they all grab for the nearest steady surface to stay on their feet as TARDIS takes off with an almost exhilarated sounding wheeze.

“Is someone going to explain what is going on? Where are we going?” Yaz yells again, this time directing the question at Graham.

“It’s not my place to say.” He says, holding on to the table for dear life but upon noticing Yaz’s frustrated expression expands on his words. “But I’m pretty sure you’re about to find out.”

When they come to a halt a moment later the Doctor is already running toward the Police Box door, flinging it open with a snap of her fingers before she’s even halfway there and then crashing to the ground as a woman lands sprawling on top of her.

“Well hello there,” River Song purrs for all of them to hear. “That’s new.”

“River!” The Doctor says, like all the breath has been knocked out of her. To be fair, Graham’s pretty sure that’s literally the case.

“Yes, Sweetie?”

“What were you doing breaking onto the Museum Planet. They execute their thieves.” The Doctor says from underneath her wife, looking all too happy to stay where she is even as her voice turns chiding. “Also it’s boring down there.”

“Yes, well, it’s not my fault that I’m so infamous that when I’m presumed dead all my personal possessions suddenly turn into priceless artifacts they want to put on display. They were practically begging me to steal them back.” The Doctor’s wife says with a smirk Graham can hear even without seeing her face.

“Presumed dead?” The Doctor asks, voice turning small again.

“Oh, honestly, Doctor! Did you expect me to spend all of my eternity in that data core? It took me a while, I’ll give you that, but at the end of the day it was just another Stormcage.”

Graham is starting to feel like he might not have gotten anywhere near the entire story himself here. But he’s also beginning to get the feeling that the Doctor might be getting her wife back from the dead after all.

“You’ve been to the Library.” The Doctor says, starting to struggle to be let up and Graham finally catches a glimpse of her face. She looks overwhelmed, but where just minutes ago it was with fear of having to say goodbye again, right now there’s a dawning realization of something akin to bliss.

Graham feels his own heart tremble in his chest. It hurts. River Song is alive and Grace is still dead and no matter how happy he is for the Doctor, there’s sudden gnawing envy trying to swallow the heart that he’d only barely started to mend.

He has just enough time to see the Doctor pull River into her arms, crushing her mouth against her wife’s, before his eyes turn away and land on the shocked faces of Ryan and Yaz.

He walks over to the two of them and turns them around by their shoulders to steer them out of the control room and into the deeper hallways of the TARDIS.

“Come on son, Yasmin, we should give them some privacy to catch up. I think they haven’t seen each other for a very long time.”

#drfic #space wives #thirteenth doctor #graham o'brien #river song #the doctor #river x 13 #13 x river #river x doctor #thirteen x river #river x thirteen #doctor who #dw fic #space wives fic #fanfic #otp: hello sweetie

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elialys · 5 years ago

Text

Ten(too?) x Rose - How to Baby Proof Your TARDIS

This is a gift for @lastbluetardis as part of the Secret Santa (@dwsecretsanta) exchange ^^ The title pretty much says it all. Don't expect anything from this except cavity inducing domestic pregnancy fluff.

Writing this, I could literally not decide if this was Ten x Rose, or Tentoo x Rose in their new TARDIS a few years down the line. Whatever works for you, I guess :D

Happy holidays ♥

[READ IT ON AO3]

HOW TO BABY PROOF YOUR TARDIS

The straw that finally breaks Rose’s aching back happens that night, when she tries using the loo adjacent to their room, and the lid simply refused to be lifted.

No matter how much she pulls, huffs or puffs (with an increasing amount of loud cursing), the bloody thing will not budge, for reasons unknown to her. From what she can see, there is no obvious mechanism that she can snap off, and no Doctor around to tell her what he’s done – and more importantly, how to undo what he’s done.

The thing about being thirty-five weeks pregnant is that she needs to pee.

Often.

It also means that if she doesn’t get to do it in the proper place in the appropriate amount of time, there will come a point when her body will go ‘tough!’ and pretty much make her pee no matter what.

Which is why Rose waddles away from their bedroom, making her way to the next available bathroom as swiftly as she can manage in her state…only to find the toilet just as inaccessible.

Now, the other thing about being thirty-five weeks pregnant is that if she gets remotely upset (and the prospect of peeing herself in the next two minutes is definitely upsetting) she will respond in one of two ways: wrath, or tears.

That night, she does both.

The way she hollers his name is quite terrifying, even to her own irrational ears. For one thing, she sounds exactly like her Mum does on a bad day. She also sounds like someone about to commit a murder.

Wherever he’s been, the Doctor hears her call well enough. Unfortunately, she’s too livid and desperate by then to be impressed in any way by how quickly he reappears, nothing short of tripping over his own feet as he staggers into the small room.

His panicked expression only worsens when he takes her in, tearstained face and all.

“What is it? Contractions? Spotting? Vitamin deficiency?”

“I need to pee!” she barks at him, pointing at the closed lid. “Open that bloody thing up!”

“Oh,” he says, having the nerves to just stand there and blink for a moment, until her nostrils flare and she fixes him with a glare so intense that he startles back into action at once. “Oh! Of course, just a tick!”

“I don’t have a tick,” she snaps back, miserable, as big, fat tears stream down her face, along with an impressive amount of mucus from her nose.

His screwdriver is already out and buzzing away at the lid, soon leading to an audible CLICK.

“There you go!” he exclaims, bravely beaming at her, although there is unmistakable terror in his eyes, well aware that he’s mucked this up.

She points at the door, sniffling and swallowing down more gunk in the process. “Out,” she whispers, and that soft, furious word seems to terrify him more than any shouting.

He does not argue, swiftly leaving the room, having the decency to close the door behind him, allowing Rose to do her business on time – and in the right place.

“I’m sorry.”

His voice comes muffled through the door, and she has no problem whatsoever picturing him as he must be, pretty much splayed all over the wood, already self-flagellating for upsetting her.

Now that her desperate urge to urinate has been dealt with, she feels immensely better, and a lot more rational – as well as a tad embarrassed. How much crying, snotting and peeing can someone manage in a day, exactly?

“We’ve talked about this,” Rose reminds him thickly, blowing her nose with toilet paper.

“I know.”

“It’ll be months before she’s big enough to move around on her own, let alone find herself near a loo.”

“I know.”

Rose sighs, finishing cleaning herself up. She takes some time at the sink to splash cold water on her blotchy face, looking as blotted and uncomfortable as she feels.

When she opens the door, he’s moved, leaning back against the opposite wall. He looks like a puppy who’s just been kicked.

“Is that really what you’ve been up to all night?” she asks him, more softly. “Baby proofing the TARDIS?”

The Doctor doesn’t answer, but the way he ruffles the hair at the back of his head is telling enough.

To be fair, he’s been good for a long time. Months, even.

He’s been protective of her, obviously, and the way he’s been insisting on doting on her from the moment they found out she was pregnant has been both endearing and frustrating. She regularly gets annoyed with the way he seems to think she cannot perform simple task by herself anymore (including wrapping a towel around her own body after showering), but she cannot stay mad at him for long when he keeps on looking at her as if she was the most mesmerising being in the universe.

Unfortunately, he’s become more than protective and attentive, these past few days.

He’s become paranoid.

She’s partly to blame for it, as she’s the one who suggested they tried out one of those Lamaze classes her Mum kept badgering her about…which had not been a success.

They’d both felt terribly out of place amongst those cooing couples, especially after the Doctor told one of them that their birth plans involved taking Rose to the soothing waters of Lusthion III in the Tresush Cluster, known for their naturally numbing properties, at which point they all started looking at them the way most regular people did.

Awkward social interactions aside, the instructor made the mistake of reminding everybody that it was never too early to start making a checklist of their home, in order to determine what could be a possible hazard for their child.

The Doctor obviously took it as a challenge.

“Did you know there are three-thousand-six-hundred-and-forty-nine ways for a child to get harmed on this TARDIS?” he’d asked her a couple of days ago, once he was done with his thorough inventory.

He’d looked slightly crazed by then, having obviously imagined in great details how their offspring could get hurt in every single one of these ways.

“Is at all?” she’d antagonised him instead of thinking up something sensible to say that would have calmed him down. “Thought it would be more, to be honest, seeing how children can literally hurt themselves just by walking from one end of a room to the other.”

That stupid remark had put a fire under his arse, for lack of better word.

They both know from his constant blabbering of facts that Rose should have entered the nesting phase of her pregnancy by now. And yet, while she sometimes feels compelled to work on the nursery some more, the Doctor is the one who’s been reorganising the entire TARDIS for the last two days.

It hasn’t been all bad, as he did get rid or fixed some implements that had been a danger to them both for years – including loose wires and other exposed mechanical hazards.

Rose began losing patience a few hours ago, when he started putting carpet all over the floors.

“Carpet?” she’d asked. “Carpet?”

“It’ll be softer on her little hands and knees when she starts to crawl.”

How he could be so endearing and infuriating at the same time was beyond her.

“She’s still getting oxygen through an umbilical cord,” Rose pointlessly reminded him. “It’ll be a while before she crawls.”

“Well it’ll be softer on your toes, then. You’re the one who’s always complaining about having sore feet.”

That’s when Rose had gone to bed, too achy and uncomfortable to attempt to reason with him again, aware that there was nothing much she could do or say when he was in that mood.

She’s drawing the line at toilet lids, though.

She walks to him, now, reaching up to cup his face. “Doctor,” she tells him calmly, her own bout of hysteria having receded for the time being. “I need you to get it together. You can’t expect me to be the only sane person on this ship. ‘m way too hormonal to pull it off.”

He scowls at her. “I am fine.”

“Yeah?” she asks with a scoff. “How did you lock all those toilet lids, exactly?”

“Magnetism,” he explains at once. “I gave both the lid and the seat strong magnetic properties by tinkering with the spin of their electrons.”

She blinks at him.

“Ah,” he concedes, tilting his head. “I get how that could be seen as me being somewhat irrational.”

“Somewhat?”

“Fine. Unreasonably irrational, then.”

She trails her fingers from his cheek to his hair, shaking her head a little. “Look, ‘m not against you being protective and taking precautions. I love that you’re thinking about all that stuff, when all I can think about lately is how many fried pickles I can eat before it makes me wanna spew. But I almost peed my pants tonight.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, swallowing hard.

She caresses his hair. “I know,” she says, before giving him a soft kiss, her protuberant belly pressing against his chest. “Can we wait until she’s born and mobile before we turn every toilet into giant magnets, though?”

“Sounds fair,” he says, briefly nuzzling her nose with his.

“You can make it up to me by feeding me,” she informs him.

“Ah,” he says again, tugging at his ear, before he starts wriggling out of her embrace. “Why don’t you…get changed first, eh? It’s a tad chilly tonight, I’d say you need another layer.”

As he spoke, he managed to escape her hold, slowly moving away from her.

“What have you done to the kitchen?” she asks.

Surely he knows better than to mess with her food.

“Nothing!” he splutters. “Much.”

She glares at him.

“Five minutes,” he tells her. “That’s all I need.”

“Fine,” she says. “But if I find out you’ve done anything to my pickles, ‘m moving out.”

She’s barely done talking that he’s dashing out of the corridor.

Rose follows with a waddle.

#doctor who #ten x rose #tentoo x rose #dwsecretsanta #ficandchips #fic of mine

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the-11-doctor · 5 years ago

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holmestheheart said: “Dad, will you read me a story? The decompression nook is too quiet without you.” Let them Have This.

The Doctor was in the process of being morbidly taken aback by S O M E reading he was audibly translating from the heart of The TARDIS, but the use of the stethoscope only provided him with Lizzy’s voice echoing through -- very loudly. No wonder Rory’s hearing was TIZZY sometimes.

He jumped at the deafeningly rising volume, and they fell out before he could w h a c k them away from him (although he flailed as he still t r i e d) - as though they were an alien species that fed through the e a r and had revealed themselves in some horrible, icky TENDRIL manner. Once they fell to the glass floor with a loud c l a c k, he settled, and smiled over at Lizzy.

“A story?” The Doctor’s tone was softer than expected, and w a r m. From the sudden fright, he’d entirely relaxed - why? Because this was his Space Daughter, and he l o v e d telling stories; he had so many (two thousand years worth) - A N D he got to spend some quiet down time with her. He needed it more than he let on, too. “Of course. Did you collect snacks or should we make a detour to the kitchen? I have something to pick up from the library on the way anyway.”

#ic.#holmestheheart #im cryin already fuc

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i-got-that-fandom-kinda-love · 6 years ago

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A to Z favourite TV show challenge! Or # to Z?

# - 30 Rock (Liz Lemmon! This is just all kinds of hilarity).

A - Ally McBeal (there's not enough of this on Tumblr btw. I loved it before I understood it - my brother watched and I followed. And then I watched again and I loved it more) / Arrow (so years ago I started watching this because of Tumblr. You guys were obsessed with Olicity and I was too even though I hadn't watched the show. So I watched it. Thank you for ruining my life btw) / Accidentally in Love (Asian Series, sup, @netflix - thanks for getting me addicted to Asian series - I liked them before but now it's just there and begging to be watched AND I CAN'T HELP MYSELF - YOU'VE ADDICTED MY MOTHER TOO).

B - Brooklyn Nine Nine (best thing to happen to me, thank you Tumblr - the nine nine fandom. Also started it a couple years ago and fell in love hard. This show makes me laugh no matter what and it's pure and I love it so much. It's really a show I needed because when I watch series I get really emotionally involved and certain shows leave me so stressed that I have to take a break and all I can watch is comedies for a few weeks. Or months. Depends on how big my heart break was. B99 always makes me laugh and feel lighter). / Buffy the Vampire Slayer (another one from my childhood, you know when you're too young to really understand but old enough to remember it? So yeah, my brother got me hooked at a young age and the addiction stuck. Because I've never been able to forget Buffy. And I've recently been rewatching it with my mother - she too is a bit addicted).

C - Charmed (Original series, not reboot - I haven't even watched the reboot. But yes, Charmed. I remember being up til 10PM on a Monday while I was in primary (middle) school just to watch it. Halliwell sisters are another drug I never could kick - Leo was one of my first ever crushes - my very first crush was Shahrukh Khan and if we're ever talking Bollywood movies he'll be all over that post).

D - Doctor Who (Okay! I only started watching from season 5, again cos NETFLIX - the Doctor and Amy Pond - man, just lock me up in the TARDIS and take me away already. ALSO one of the series that broke my heart enough that rendered me incapable of watching any other series except comedy).

E - Ek Hazaroon Mein Meri Behna Hai (Hindi series; my sister is one in a thousand - I assume it's the name because that sounds better in Hindi than one in a million or billion. There's something about Hindi series that sucks you in and tortures you until you're on the brick of exploding from suspense - the build up is both infuriating and renders you unable to tear your eyes away).

F - Friends ('Cause it's been there for me and how can I not? Again, childhood. Also. Heroes get remembered but legends never die. And I've watched every episode like a gazillion times and laugh just the same - I think even more 'cause I know what's gonna happen. I'm one of those people). / Fairy Tail (Anime. Magic. Friendship. Friendship. Friendship. It's one of those rare shows that has a lot of characters and manages to make you love each one of them. I found it after high school but I love it to bits).

G - Gilmore Girls (I remember the first time I watched this as a kid, Rory and Lorelei were sitting at Luke's diner and chatting about something and I though they were sisters. I was at my cousin's house and I just couldn't stop watching them. Loved it ever since. And it's strange how a randomly watching TV can just change your life - 'cause you know, I obsess) / Gossip Girl (at first, I'd watched it because Kristen Bell was the voice of Gossip Girl. And I needed anything related to anything Veronica Mars. And then I naturally loved it like everybody else. Also disappointed at who GG really was. So yeah.)

H - How I Met Your Mother (At first I really, really loved it, now though it's not so high on my favourite list but it does still make me laugh - cos Barney. The final episode was so disappointing). / Hannah Montana (because if I was 13 or 16 this would have made the list. And I still love the show. My heart swells everytime my bestie sings True Friend to me. I still love Hannah Montana music okay).

I - iZombie (Rob Thomas. He's the reason I tried it out. Liv is the reason I stayed. Also Ravi. And also Major. Okay, dude, characters and plot is right on point) / Iss Pyaar Ko Kya Naam Doon (Hindi series; what name do I give to this love? Its unnecessarily complicated but gosh those complications kept me on edge, staring at the screen, waiting for those idiots to realise the truth. Opposites attract. Hate to love to hate to love. They did it so well).

J - Joan of Arcadia (okay so I remember really loving this when I was younger - I haven't rewatched it as an adult but I feel like I'll still love it. I mean, come on, what if God was one of us?)

K - Kim Possible (Call me, beep me, if you wanna reach me? Ultimate cartoon. Hands down. Second best is The Life and Times of Juniper Lee - she's basically the cartoon Buffy - the Chosen One - though it's hereditary instead of random? And also more fun and less heartache 'cause it's a cartoon).

L - Lucifer (Man, Lucifer. You got the guy telling everyone he's the devil and they think he's talking in metaphors? It's just hilarious to me. Detective. Romance. Snark. Supernatural. Also, Hello, Adult Tom Welling - can I even describe how excited I was to see him? Smallville, man).

M - Miraculous Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir (One of the few new cartoons that I watch and love. This is just so cute and the love square is just so cute and everything is just so cute. And like we need cute stuff in our lives. Frustrating cos how oblivious can one be but also why you so cute Marinette Dupain Chang and Adrian Agreste aka Ladybug and Cat Noir)/ Malcolm in the Middle (Childhood. Childhood. Childhood. I'm not the middle child but I relate).

N - Naruto (Anime. Okay, childhood yes, also teenagehood and adulthood. Guy's been with me through everything, believe it. This show just means so much to me and I'm thankful that I got to grow up with him. Thank you, Kishimoto).

O - One Day At a Time (THANK YOU, NETFLIX! This is just one of the greatest shows on right now. I love comedy. I didn't expect it to be so emotional too. But damn it gets you right in the feels. My brother claims I'm exactly like Elena and our nephew is like Alex. I honestly don't mind. Elena is badass and strong as hell.)

P - Psych (It's just awesome? It's clever, it's funny, Shawn and Gus. The dramatics in extremely serious situations will never not make grin like a mad woman. Also private investigation shows seem to a weakness of mine. ) / Parks and Recreation (okay I never thought I'd like a mockumentary kind of series but this happened and proved me wrong and I just love this show and it's characters). / Pyaar Ka Dard Hai Meetha Meetha Pyara Pyara (Hindi Series; the pain of love is sweet and loveable. When your parents set you up with someone and you're like no way in hell and they're like okay but they you become best friends and fall in love and yeah. The name says it all, really). / Pinocchio (Asian series - one of the more complicated ones but I simply just loved these characters and actors to bits after watching it).

Q - Quantico (it's not really one of my favourites but I couldn't think of anything else and I do enjoy it. Priyanka Chopra has always been a fav since forever - Bollywood was life before I was even old enough to understand English - but it's because of this that I can understand Hindi without needing subtitles).

R - Rizzoli & Isles (who wouldn't love a show with two best friends kicking ass in the work place). / Revenge (I watched it cos I liked Emily from Everwood but the story was so intriguing and I just got addicted. It wasn't like anything I've ever seen). / Refresh Man (Asian series - officially my favourite Asian series of all time - again, thank you Netflix. Also ever since I've loved both Aaron Yan and Joanna Tseng and I'm on a mission to watch everything they've ever acted in - do you see my obsessing tenancies?).

S - Supergirl / Supernatural / Suits / Smallville (Okay! There's too many shows that start with an S. Smallville was my gateway into the superhero show - movie - comic obsession. And also I'm getting tired of commenting on everything).

T - The Good Place / The Office (US) / The Flash/ Teen Wolf (also too many with a T!)

U - Ugly Betty

V - Veronica Mars (of all time!! Man, again, random TV viewing = life changing TV show that sticks with you forever and Veronica Mars has definitely affected me way more than any other show. I couldn't get it out of my head ever since 2007! I waited for every Thursday just to watch it and naturally Thursday became my favourite day of the week - not Friday like normal scholars - nope. I think it's the way that it ended that contributed to my obsession - so much questions left unanswered and to a 12 year old girl the most important thing is of course that LoVe hadn't officially gotten back together. My mind wrote and rewrote endings and scenarios. Then I discovered fanfiction. And then I started writing. Veronica Mars made me a junkie but also helped me discover my passion. It's not just the show that makes it my #1 but the journey it's taken me on while it was on air and especially when it was off air. ALSO THE SHOW IS SIMPLY AMAZING EVEN WITHOUT ALL MY EMOTIONAL ATTACHMENT - also one of the shows that I started watching and then my brother got hooked onto it).

W - What's Wrong With Secretary Kim? / Weightlifting Fairy Kim Bok Joo/ W: two worlds apart (all Asian series - OKAY, NETFLIX IS BLAMED FOR ALL OF THIS)

X - Is there anything but X-Men? I wouldn't really put the series on my favourite list but I do watch the X-Men cartoons and I have enjoyed it so imma let it be.

Y - Young Sheldon (Too smart for his own good Cooper.) / Yankee-kun to Megane-chan (Asian series - okay, this one can't be put on Netflix. It's the first Asian drama series I'd watched because of a manga that I loved).

Z - Zoey101 ('Cause there's nothing else I can think off and I enjoyed it when I was younger. I remember putting 101 after all of my usernames for everything).

So when I thought of this I thought I'd put one name for each alphabet but it didn't work out that way 'cause I obsess over everything.

I would love to get to know more about everyone's favourite shows. I'm tagging based on the Tumblr likes thing (also on my @marshmallowatheart account) and also urls I remember seeing often on the activity cos I wanted to tag as much people as possible. I'd have been cool if I could have went with the a - z for tagging but it's not working out like I wanted so next best. (Also if I didn't tag you and you wanna do it, please go for it, I'm really into this).

Anyone who wants to do this can and whoever doesn't want to it's cool! It takes time to think especially when you have to pick between things so if you want to, add as many as you like. You don't have to add comments on it if you don't want to, I just got carried away! And then got tired.

@poppy-in-the-woods @risssaar @stephaniecatlover @ihaveathingformeninwaistcoats @write-to-feel @mediocre-mee @jenilyn2000 @lalacristina18 @cainc3 @mrskissytaylor @anilcadz91 @elliebear75 @troublescout @hanitjemars @susanmichelin @cheshirecatstrut @firedragonmon

#a to z tv show challenge #get to know you meme #okay apparently theres a 30 tag limit so okay #about me #tv shows #favourite tv shows #explanations no one asked for #tag me id really love to read all your favs

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agrestenoir · 7 years ago

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first sight (we love without reason)

Summary: Marinette knows she’s meant to be with Adrien Agreste because their timers say so. But that doesn’t mean she loves him.

Their shared zeroes blink in unison, but there’s no click that all soulmates are supposed to feel. Their relationship is a learning curve where she forces herself to fall, even though she’s desperately in love with her partner, Chat Noir.

(Or: the Soulmate Timers say Marinette and Adrien are soulmates, but Marinette isn’t in love with Adrien. It makes sense though: you can’t love half a person. But she doesn’t know that. Neither of them do.)

Dark clouds hang heavy in the sky outside, a thick sheet of raining pouring down hard as thunder and lightning shake the world like an explosion. Marinette places a hand on the cold metal of the door, eyes tracing the path of rain droplets down the glass until they fall on her wrist. The 0000 d 00 h 00 m 00 s blinks steadily against the pale backdrop of her skin in the dim hallway of the school.

Another hand rests atop hers, breaking her silent musings to pull her attention elsewhere. Beside her, Adrien simply smiles and squeezes her fingers tightly between his own. “Forget your umbrella again?” he asks, even though he knows full well she did.

It’s not the first time this has happened.

Cocking her head, Marinette smiles sheepishly. “I was running late this morning.” She throws in a shrug for good measure, not that she has anyone to convince.

“Don’t you mean every morning? Why are you even late all the time, anyways?” Adrien retorts as he slips a black umbrella from his bag, pressing it into her open hand. Marinette can only smile sheepishly; he doesn’t need to know why she’s always late. “But don’t worry, that’s what you got me for.”

With a quick peck on his cheek, Marinette takes the umbrella. “Thanks. I’ve gotta head home, so I can’t come over tonight. Homework and all that, you know how it is.”

Adrien laughs in response, and it feels like a rock has sunk into her stomach. She hates lying to him. “I understand. I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Of course.” Soft eyes settle on him as she smiles. “I love you.” The words feel like paper on her tongue though. There’s no substance to them, just a forced and familiar phrase that falls like a dead leaf from a tree. She doesn’t mean them, and she wonders if she ever will.

“I love you too,” Adrien says. It’s as lackluster as the first time he said it.

He raises his hand in a small wave, and she sees his timer, his own 0000 d 00 h 00 m 00 s looking innocently back. If he notices her stare, he doesn’t care. Marinette turns back to the door, pushing it open where the cool afternoon breeze kisses her cheeks, but she stops suddenly when she catches sight of her wrist again.

0000 d 00 h 00 m 00 s

Pressing her umbrella into her other hand, Marinette slowly pulls the sleeve of her jacket over the timer.

It doesn’t do well to dwell on things you can’t change.

Outside, the rain pours harder.

Marinette walks home, footsteps slow and sluggish. The heavy pitter-patter against her umbrella has turned into a mindless drone in the back of her head, distracting her from every thought she doesn’t want to have. They’re the hard ones, the things she doesn’t dare touch as doing so might wreck everything. Might force her to accept some truths that are better off being believable lies.

She tightens her grip on the umbrella handle, and her jacket sleeve slips down, revealing her blinking timer.

0000 d 00 h 00 m 00 s is her bible, a book of truth she can’t burn.

Running a thumb over the black numbers, she tries to remember the excitement that brewed when they first zeroed out, but the feeling has long ago run tepid. Now, in a time of shared umbrellas and quick kisses, emotions are fleeting things that must be smoked out before they gather any real substance. If she forces herself to feel even a little, she knows she’ll do something she’ll regrets.

Overhead, there’s a flash of back against the gray sky as Chat Noir leaps across the Paris rooftops.

Marinette itches to join him.

Their first meeting isn’t like what you’d find in the movies.

Most people recall the slow burn that bubbles in your chest when you first set eyes on your soulmate. It feels like fate click s into place, a puzzle piece you didn’t even know was missing, and then suddenly it’s you and them, and you’re together, and now you can be happy.

“We were head over heels from the first moment,” Marinette likes to tell people, and while yes Marinette and Adrien’s first moment did involve some head over heels, it wasn’t in the way that most expect.

It’s the first day of school, and Marinette is running late per usual, a box of macarons held tight against her side as she bolts down the street. Heart pounding out of her chest, she turns a corner, trying to keep up with her feet when she collides with a stranger. The box of macarons slips out of her hand, tumbling across the sidewalk as she falls in a heap against the nearest building.

“I’m so sorry!” the stranger, and Marinette glances up, seeing his furrowed brow and kind eyes. There’s a soft beeping that flits through the air, but she just sees the pastries on the sidewalk and a ticking clock in her head.

She pushes herself up on trembling knees, gathering up the box and her bag. “It’s fine, I’m fine. Don’t worry about it. Sorry!” She takes off with her cargo, eager to beat the tardy bell, and gives the stranger no room to speak.

“ Wait —!” he calls out, but Marinette is already gone.

Something tugs at the back of her mind, screaming at her to turn around and look back . Instead, she keeps on running.

If she’d look down, just for a split second, at the timer on her wrist, she’d see the flashing zeroes—the same ones that are mirrored on the pale skin of the stranger she’d collided with.

Marinette just keeps running.

The stranger, Adrien Agreste, tries to follow because he, unlike her, has noticed that his timer has zeroed out. Eventually, he loses sight of her and spots Nathalie and Gorilla further down the street, so he gives up the chase and darts through the park to beat them to the school.

Marinette finally notices later that day after her first time in the Ladybug mask, when she throws the earrings back in the box and shoves it in her dresser drawer, trying to pretend the Miraculous never existed. The blinking zeroes on her wrist startle her. For the rest of the night, she buries herself under a mound of blankets and cries herself to sleep because of her failure—to her city, to Tikki, and to her soulmate.

When she thinks through the events of her day, the only remarkable new thing in her life is Chat Noir. A part of her wonders if he’s her soulmate. Someone strong and confident, a protector and partner— the perfect soulmate , she thinks, I could get used to that —and now she regrets denying the Miraculous. But then Adrien Agreste comes to school the next day where she finds him hunched over her seat with wet chewing gum.

“Hey, what’re you doing?” she asks, stalking into the classroom with Alya at her heels, as the blonde boy is startled and left sputtering to form a proper response. Behind her, Chloe and Sabrina’s laughter echoes like a siren, and anger bubbles in the pit of her stomach. “Okay, I get it. Good job, you three. Very funny.”

She’s already let down Paris. She’s already lost her soulmate. She’s not going to let this petty, prissy blonde model ruin what dignity she has left.

“No, no.” The blonde pushes himself to his feet, green eyes wide in panic and frustration. “I was just trying to take this off—” And then he stops, mouth open in surprise.

She elects to ignore him. “Oh really?” she snaps instead, putting a handkerchief over the gum, too messy and sticky to try to peel off. “You’re friends with Chloe, right?”

When she turns back to face him, he’s still staring at her.

“It’s you ,” he says in a breathless whisper. “It’s you .”

Suddenly, the world turns quiet, still in its orbit.

He thrusts his hand out wards her, palm facing up with his timer bared to the world. Shaky fingers cover a zeroed wrist, tracing the skin around the numbers, before he starts tapping the timer face urgently. “You collided with me… o-on the street corner, remember?”

The timer reads 0000 d 00 h 00 m 00 s —zeroes all the way down to the seconds.

Suddenly, Marinette’s world has changed.

All there is him and her and their zeroed timers.

“I-I thought I lost you.” Adrien’s voice is raw. “I thought I’d never see you again, but it’s you.”

Marinette studies his bared wrist and takes in her own, before she inhales deeply, heart throbbing painfully in her chest. Across the room, Chloe is growling lowly, the rest of the class silent as they watch the first meeting of two supposed soulmates, Alya waiting with baited breath. In front of her, Adrien’s wide green eyes stare at her as his smile grows.

Her ears burn where the Miraculous once hung, and it’s heavy with their ghost. The weight of what she’s given up, what she’s lost, what she’s gained settles heavy on her shoulders. She’s not a good hero, she’s not a good partner, and the person she thought could fix everything never belonged to her in the first place. Chat Noir was never hers.

But here is Adrien Agreste, a boy who is looking at her like she hangs the stars, like she’s the one he’s been waiting for—the same boy who put gum on her seat, who’s probably just like Chloe Bourgeois, who’s only goal in life is to make other people miserable.

“I thought I lost you,” Adrien says again, and his face is glowing. “I can’t believe I found you. You’re my soulmate.”

“Yeah,” she whispers softly, keeping her eyes trained on her feet as the reality crashes down.

“I…” Adrien is speechless. Raising a hand, he reaches towards her—desperate for a touch, anything at all—but she flinches back.

Brows furrowed, nose wrinkled in distaste, Marinette’s eyes burn with unshed tears as she fixes Adrien with a burning glare.

“Lucky me,” she spits, “That my soulmate’s a jerk .”

It’s raining outside, and Marinette’s forgotten her umbrella.

She holds a hand up to the stormy sky, water droplets dripping from her cold fingers. The sigh that escapes her is long and tired. Though that’s mainly because it really has been a long and tiring day. Becoming Ladybug, accepting the mantle of becoming Paris’s superhero, meeting her soulmate, finding out said soulmate was a massive jerk … It’s almost too much for her to handle.

Marinette leans against the brick entrance of the school, wondering how long it would take her to dash home in the rain, when the sound of the front door opening startles her. She goes to greet the person, a warm smile already stretching across her face, but it freezes when she catches sight of Adrien Agreste.

Her timer burns against her skin. She ignores it.

Turning back to the rain, she hopes the storm will wash him away. Instead, he shifts his weight and opens his black umbrella. “Hey,” he says with a small wave.

Ducking her head, Marinette lets out a loud hurrumph! .

“I just wanted you to know that I was only trying to take the chewing gum off your seat, I swear.” A small smile curls the corners of his lips, something so soft and fragile that if Marinette reached out, she could probably break it without any real effort at all. “I’ve never been to school before. I’ve never had friends. It’s all sort of… new to me.”

There’s a short moment of silence between them, the span a single heartbeat, and then Adrien is handing his umbrella to her. “What’s this?” she can’t help but ask.

“An apology,” he offers. “Look, you’re… my soulmate, and we’ve already gotten off on the foot, and… I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m really, really sorry.”

Marinette stares at him, blue and green eyes locked, and for a moment, time stands still. “I…” Hesitantly, she reaches out and grasps the handle of the umbrella as Adrien presses it into her hand, the warmth of his skin lighting a buzz against hers. “…Thank you.”

( He looks so much like Chat Noir, her mind whispers.)

“I… I’d love a second chance,” he says. “We’re soulmates, and we’re not supposed to hate each other, and I’ll do anything I can to change—”

“I don’t hate you,” Marinette interrupts. “And… I’d love… a second chance with you.” After all, Chat Noir and Paris gave her a second chance today, why can’t she do the same for her soulmate?

“So… a second chance then?” Adrien asks.

Marinette nods with a soft smile. “Yeah.”

“Well, then, my lady. My name is Adrien Agreste, I’m fifteen years old, and I’m your soulmate.”

Marinette laughs helplessly. “My name’s Marinette Dupain-Cheng, I’m fifteen, and I’m your soulmate.”

(They’re meant to be.)

(They just don’t know it yet.)

So Adrien Agreste is her soulmate.

But sometimes, she still hopes—that the boy in the faux-leather cat suit with the kind green eyes is her soulmate.

It makes the most sense for why she’s in love with him.

Ladybug has some preconceived notions for what being a hero entails.

In the beginning, the mission is what’s most important. The people you save, defeating Hawkmoth, protecting the city—it’s all that matters in the grand scheme of things. Nothing else will ever come close.

After that first day, when she denied the Ladybug mask, Marinette has determined that failure will never even be an option again and tries long and hard to make sure it stays that way. Some Parisians call her cold in the beginning, but after a while, she melts under the public eye because being a hero means being approachable, being welcoming, being an inspiration—a hope.

In battle, she’s still calculating and confident, doing everything in her power to succeed, and to turn things around when Chat Noir is messy. Her battle strategies are strict and professional, leaving no time to gamble or take risks like her partner has a flare for doing. Sometimes she yells at him, snipes on the bad days. She never said she was a perfect partner, but Chat Noir never tells her she’s being hard on him, even though she knows it to be true. Nonetheless, she tries to put distance between them, but like everything else, he changes too.

Somehow, he worms his way past her defenses. He’s full of bad puns, a blinding charisma, and a textbook of smiles that settles over her like a soft blanket, comfortable and familiar. Her partner’s presence soothes an ache she doesn’t know she has. They wear masks for the world and for each other, and while it’s her decision to keep their identities a secret (and he accepts that), it doesn’t mean she’s happy with the outcome.

Safety isn’t always the first thing on her mind anymore.

There are days she wants nothing more than to know who he is underneath the leather cat suit, know his name and his story, know everything about him and be a part of his life. Chat Noir isn’t just her superhero partner. He’s become her friend, and it hurts to hide from the one person who means the world to her.

She wants to be a part of his world.

She doesn’t say the same about Adrien.

(A part of her wishes Adrien was more like Chat Noir.)

It’s not always bad.

Adrien isn’t a bad guy at all —his second chance proves that. He treats her right, which is something her Papa has always wanted for her, and he’s charming and kind, which is something important for her Mama. But he isn’t someone she’s interested in spending her forever with, even if the timers say they’re meant to be.

Adrien is too effacing.

In the months since they started their relationship, since they’ve grown close, Marinette still feels like she’s talking to Adrien Agreste, world-famous model, instead of her soulmate. It doesn’t matter what they’re doing or talking about, perfection leaks—practically oozes —from every pore.

Perfection is a key ingredient in the recipe of Adrien Agreste, a habit he can’t seem to break (even though she tries to pierce the shell). His words are precise and clinical, lacking any real substance, and sometimes Marinette feels like she’s talking to a marble statue than an actual human being. His appearance is always pristine with not a wrinkle in his shirt or a hair out of place, shoes never scuffed or worn. Napkins remain unstained, plates in a café after eating as clean as before the food came. He has a clean image to portray, even to her.

Adrien has a systematic way of doing things—how to talk and socialize, how to eat and sleep, how to be a soulmate.

Every morning he greets her with a kiss on the cheek, gives her a ride to school, and they clasp hands before walking to class. During the day, he offers her notes if she misses them, they study together in the library between periods, share lunch together in the quad. After school, he gives her a ride home, and some days they’ll camp out at one another’s houses, doing homework or playing video games to pass the time.

Most people would say they have the perfect relationship, but that’s the problem for Marinette. Things are perfect, and it’s too much.

Any error in appearance is a trick of light, a hallucination she’s desperately imagined, because she searches for a crack in his façade every moment she can, but it’s been four months, and she still knows next to nothing about what makes her soulmate tick. Basically, she doesn’t know who her soulmate is .

In the four months since they’ve been soulmates, Marinette still hasn’t fallen in love with Adrien. You can’t fall in love with a stranger, after all.

(Instead, she’s fallen in love with Chat Noir.)

As Ladybug, Marinette knows Paris like the back of her hand.

On her solo patrols, she ventures into the night with a plan in mind. She knows where the Seine twists and turns, knows that the Eiffel Tower has the best vantage points, knows Hawkmoth sticks to the heart of the city (because she’s never seen an akuma farther south than the Le Mauritius café on Rue Ernest Cresson, and it makes since he needs to be where the heroes are).

Her patrol route is strictly routine, a straight shot down the Seine before she shoots towards the Notre Dame, coming around the Eiffel Tower and sweeping up to the Arc de Triomphe, before she circles back towards the south. The whole route takes all night on foot—a few hours by yo-yo. Like a waltz without music she dances to by memory, she can slip out and into the late evening without a second thought, the route becoming habit, everything around her becoming familiar.

Somewhere along the line, being Ladybug teaches her how to fall in love with her city.

The Paris night settles around her, and she’s immersed in the feeling of home . The hum and buzz of traffic in the streets and the creaking of metal balconies as civilians meander about under the moonlight. The taste of the boulangeries on the tip of her tongue and the cool breeze that brings the faint scent of flowers from the florist across the block. The cracked cement of rooftop foundation beneath her gloved fingertips and the touch of brick from the chimneys she sometimes rests upon.

Everything is peaceful, beautiful, perfect—it’s just her and the city lights, with no soulmate or real life to bother her. This is the time when she throws herself to the wind and tries to forget about Adrien Agreste.

Sometimes though, Chat Noir joins her even on his nights off.

Marinette thinks she should be angry. For someone who values her privacy and quiet time, having her partner with her on her solo patrol nights should bother her. But it doesn’t. It never has.

Beside her, Chat Noir makes god awful puns and eggs her on with flirty, witty banter, his smile contagious and bright, eyes sharp and soft at the same time. Metal flashes under streetlights and moonlights as his baton plants and extends, catapulting him over the city, as he follows her like a ghost, a shadow at her heels, her other half.

There’s something about these patrols that changes things for her. Nighttime brings down barriers between them, leaving room for them to get to know one another, to ask questions they’d otherwise be afraid of asking.

It’s where he learns she loves to sketch, how she wants to be a fashion designer someday, and is bisexual. She could live off snickerdoodles if allowed, comes from a small family, and can’t cook at all. It’s how she learns that he’s allergic to feathers, speaks fluent Chinese, and loves Thai food. He adores this family-owned bakery by his school where he always buys strawberry tarts, his shoes smell like Camembert cheese from where he hides food in them for his kwami, and his favorite color is blue.

(It’s everything she wishes she knew about Adrien. It’s everything he probably doesn’t know about her.)

It’s also where Marinette finds out Chat Noir has a zeroed timer.

His claw taps the fabric-covered wrist with a wry smile. “Zeroed out a few months ago, actually.” His shoulders hang heavy, head bowed low.

“You don’t look too happy about it,” she observes from beside him as they sit on the Eiffel Tower. Leaning close, she peers at his wrist as if she could see through his suit, as if she could change the numbers, change fate. “Wasn’t who you wanted or something?”

Chat Noir shrugs half-heartedly and lets out a soft chuckle. “There was a… misunderstanding when we first met. She thought I was a jerk, and I don’t think she’s forgiven me for it yet.”

Marinette’s heart bangs against her ribcage like a wild animal trying to escape. “Well, that doesn’t seem right. Soulmates are supposed to be perfect, right? You meet them, and you get a happy ending and everything. That’s how the timers work.”

“I wish that’s how real life worked, bug.” He shakes his head.

“Don’t be silly, kitty. I’m sure things will work out.”

“Something tells me it’s not gonna be that easy.”

“It should be though,” Ladybug protests. She puts a hand over his wrist, intertwining her fingers with his. “My soulmate…”

Chat Noir’s expression dims. “You got a soulmate too, Ladybug?”

She nods hesitantly. “Yeah, we met a while ago, but…” And suddenly, it strikes her just how cruel the world could be. “He’s not who I thought he’d be.”

“Maybe it just takes time,” Chat Noir says, and his voice trails off, like he’s not even sure if he believes those words himself.

It’s not fair , Marinette thinks to herself, he should be happy . If there’s one thing Chat Noir deserves, it’s a soulmate who loves him. Of all the people she knows—herself included—it’s her partner who is entitled to the fairytale happy ending the most.

She’d give up Adrien if it meant Chat Noir could be happy.

(And this , Marinette suddenly realizes, is what it means to be in love.)

Maybe Chat Noir is right.

If time is what it takes, then Marinette is going to make the most of it.

As Adrien is nothing but perfect in every way she needs him to be, she decides that perhaps she should show him the same. She can be the perfect soulmate if she tries hard enough.

When he greets her in the morning, she kisses him first, pressing a quick peck to his cheek, his forehead, his jawline—wherever she can reach (because perhaps he's become tired of always taking the lead on their relationship). Some days she brings breakfast to school for him, an assortment of croissants and rolls, whatever she managed to sneak from the bakery that morning. (She still doesn't know what his favorite pastry is.) She always makes sure to ask how his day is going, how his family is, gives him first choice for movies or cafes. Honestly, Marinette is doing all she can to be perfect, but the more she tries, the more Adrien seems to pull away.

(It's like he's wearing a mask, and she can't lift it no matter how hard she's trying. Maybe, much like Chat Noir's, she simply isn't meant to.)

Sometimes, there's mistakes.

For his birthday, she spends weeks knitting him a lovely scarf in a blue, plush fabric that would compliment his complexion, and when she gives it to him, his eyes go soft and his smile grows wide. It's the first time Marinette can honestly say that she's seen a true smile from Adrien Agreste, so similar to the smile he gave her when the first realized they were soulmates. But the next day, he barely says a word, too overcome with some inner turmoil, and it isn't until she pulls the answer out of Nino that she realizes he was having problems with his father. (I'm supposed to be your soulmate, she thinks bitterly, but I had to pull that answer from your best friend instead of you talking to me about it.)

The worst part: she never sees him wear the scarf she painstakingly crafted for him.

When Gabriel Agreste hosts a design competition for a bowler hat, Marinette spends hours between an akuma and Chloe Bourgeois to make the perfect hat, complete with beautiful hand-stitching and feathers, only for Adrien to be absent from school for two days while he tries to combat his feather allergies after modeling her winning design. (Another thing, she tells herself, that he should've told her.)

The more she tries, the worse things become. Their interactions become habits, a dance they've memorized the steps too with none of the passion. Marinette doesn't know what else to do. In the months they've been together, she knows nothing about Adrien Agreste that she couldn't find from a magazine.

What's the point of being a soulmate when your other half won't share their soul with you?

But then there's Chat Noir, and she feels like she knows him better than her closest friends. They’ve mastered the language between them. He can tell from a glance what she's thinking, from the curl of her lips what she's going to do, from the tone of her voice what she means.

Marinette knows Chat Noir has zeroes on his wrist, and she knows that he knows about hers.

...But that doesn't stop her from wanting, wishing, hoping that things will change. Like one day, her timer will blink back into existence, and the numbers will be a countdown until their next shared patrol. There are times they fly through the city streets, and he'll leap ahead, and she'll pause on a street light and just watch him, so carefree and alive, and hold her timer close to her heart, willing it to make a sound.

It never happens though.

Marinette wonders if he wishes the same thing. Chat Noir is a typical teenage boy, edged with flirty one-liners and witty banter, godawful puns, and an Eiffel Tower charisma, but sometimes there's a look in his eyes. Marinette's been around her parents her whole life, and she knows what it looks like when someone's in love.

More than anything, she hopes Chat Noir knows her true feelings and wants to reciprocate them... But they can't . Each has a soulmate already, and things won't change. If there's one thing Marinette's learned in her time as Ladybug, it's that you can't fight fate. Once it's made a decision, it's your best bet to go along with destiny.

She has a duty as Ladybug—to her city, to her partner... and to Adrien, her soulmate. Falling in love with someone other than your soulmate: the idea's impossible to fathom.

So Ladybug and Chat Noir don’t talk about it.

(It doesn't stop the longing in her heart though.

Marinette doesn't think it will ever go away.)

Adrien and Marinette don’t talk either.

She can’t say she’s disappointed.

Marinette is hurt.

Her parents often joke with family or friends about the infamous Dupain-Cheng temper, one that few will ever survive if faced with its full wrath. In a single glance or with simple words, she can tear a person down and burn the world. At rest, it's a boulder, nearly impossible to move, so it's rare to see Marinette angry. But once lit, it's a dynamite, and you only have a few seconds to take cover before the everything explodes.

Stone and dynamite have one thing in common though: they aren't always strong enough.

Chloe Bourgeois throws a party, and Marinette is invited (or rather Adrien is, and she's his "plus one"). It's a casual get-together with many their classmates and a bunch of others she doesn't know in one of the upper suites of the hotel, where there's punch that has a bitter alcoholic taste, and the music is so loud that she can feel the base deep within her, jarring her cold, damp bones with the beat. It's not exactly a scene she'd frequent, but at this point in her life, she's fifteen, almost sixteen, and has stopped caring.

She almost gets caught in the center of the suite which is full of people bumping and grinding and dancing to the music, but Adrien leads her over to the appetizers on the tables that line the wall and away from the crowd. His hand is on her lower back, leading her to safety, like a knight in shining armor escorting the princess through dangerous territory. Just like she hasn’t learned anything about Adrien in the months they’ve been together, he’s learned nothing about her.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng is no damsel, and she doesn’t need rescuing.

It takes three cups of punch before her heart is racing, the lights are brighter, and the colors are fuzzy and just out of focus. But like most things in their relationship, it’s enough. It’s perfect.

Her words are slippery, dripping from her lips as easy and fluid as a waterfall, as she pushes against Adrien. “I wanna dance,” she tells him, pressing him closer to the crowd. “Come on.”

Adrien goes stiff beside her. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says instead, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’ve had too much to drink.”

He’s pulling at her arms, back to the safety of the wall and meandering couples, but she’s not going anywhere with him. “No,” she says again, tugging at his arms. “Let’s dance and have some fun.”

“No, really. Let’s just stay here… and talk.”

“We never talk,” Marinette snaps. Her eyes are burning, full of the same fire she stares down akumas with. “Don’t start trying now. I want to dance, and if you won’t dance with me, I’ll find someone else who will.”

(It’s everything she wishes she could tell him: if you won’t be my soulmate, I’ll find someone else who wants to be. )

With a sigh, Adrien caves in himself. “Fine, let’s go, but not too close to the center, I don’t like crowds.”

Hands on her hips, her arms slung around his neck, they rock side to side with the music, the sweaty bodies beside them brushing close. Adrien gulps quietly, and she can tell he’s uncomfortable, so she pulls him close with a feather-light kiss on his jawline.

“Eyes on me,” she says, fixing her gaze with his own. “I’m the only one here.”

(She thinks: I’m the only one who should matter .)

“You’re… different,” he says after a while of dancing, when the movement and music had been enough to fill the silence. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so…”

“Tipsy?”

“…Raw,” Adrien supplies instead. “Or flawed.”

Marinette cocks her head in confusion. “What d’you mean?”

Adrien’s nose wrinkles as he searches for the right words. “I mean, it’s always like you’re trying too hard. I’ve never seen you so loose and in the moment, I guess, if that makes sense?”

Something churns in the pit of her stomach, and it’s not excitement or joy, like the bubbly taste of champagne on her tongue, but rather the slow simmer of a boil before it erupts. It starts low, frothing up until it nearly overflows, and suddenly… Marinette’s done.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” she asks, and she wishes she hadn’t.

They’ve stopped dancing by now, standing still in the middle of moving bodies.

Adrien shakes his head. “Nothing.”

He untangles himself from her, stepping away and back towards the tables. Face hot, from the alcohol or the anger, Marinette isn’t sure. “No, no.” She chases after him, one hand gripping his wrist to keep him from leaving, fingers covering his timer. “Tell me what you meant.”

“It’s nothing.”

“It sure didn’t sound like nothing.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Adrien tells her, eyes narrowed in frustration. It’s the first real emotion she’s seen from him, the first crack in the mask. “I didn’t mean to say anything.”

“Well, you did, so let’s talk about it.” Marinette crosses her arms against her chest, refusing to budge.

Beside her, Adrien almost flinches at the words, but then a shadow crosses his face. “I thought you said you didn’t want to talk.”

She’s angry now. Truly, positively angry. “You know what,” she says, hands clasping into tight fists at her side. “I have been trying to get you to talk for months , but you never listen, and I absolutely hate it!” She’s almost screaming by now, but she can’t seem to stop. “I’ve tried everything to get close to you, but no matter what I do, it’s like you’re wearing this… this mask! I don’t know who you are, and I’m your soulmate. We’re supposed to tell each other everything!”

“What more do you want from me? I’m trying so hard to be what you want!” Adrien is pressing closer, but the chasm between them feels bigger than it’s ever been.

“That’s the point!” Marinette spits. “I don’t want what you pretend to be. I want you !”

Adrien is silent. Marinette has nothing else to say.

“I’m leaving,” she says lowly, shaking all over. “We can talk tomorrow if you feel like it.”

She goes home and cries.

(It’s how she spends most of her nights anyway. By now, it’s nothing new.)

“You don’t look so hot, bug,” comes a voice from behind her. She doesn’t need to turn around to see who it is. Chat Noir lands on the beam beside her, the click of his baton as it snaps to his belt, as he hunkers down on his haunches. “Rough night?”

“Something like that,” she mumbles from her cocoon, legs pulled to her chest and arms wrapped around the tops of her knees. Her face is buried somewhere in the middle. “We had a fight, and I said some things I shouldn’t have.”

Chat Noir chuckles lowly. “I can relate.”

Ladybug manages a wry smile. “Thought you were having a date night with your soulmate?”

“It didn’t exactly… go as planned.”

“You storm off?”

“She did actually.”

There’s silence between them, the kind that doesn’t need to be filled, and Ladybug simply leans against her partner as the tension slowly drains from her body. There’s definitely something ethereal about a Parisian night. Sitting atop the Eiffel Tower, wind blowing her hair back as they stare out over the city, huddled next to the only person who could ever possibly understand her, Ladybug doesn’t know what to do.

“Do you ever wonder,” she begins, voice almost a whisper, “if fate made the wrong choice?”

“With what?” Chat Noir asks.

“Deciding who your soulmate is.”

“…Sounds like you’ve been doing a lot of thinking, bug,” he murmurs against her suit, lifting his head with a soft sigh. “Things really going that badly between you guys?”

“…I can’t love him,” she tells him honestly.

“It just takes time,” he tells her, an echo of what he’s said before, but Ladybug is already shaking her head in denial.

“No, no,” she says. “I have tried to fall in love with him, but nothing has happened.” And Marinette has tried— she really, truly has—but it’s like trying to catch lightning. It always strikes before you can grab it with you in close enough contact to get hurt. “I don’t think I’m capable of loving him… ever.”

“It can’t be that bad.” Chat Noir places a hand on her shoulder to reassure her.

“I can’t even explain it in a way that makes sense, Chat.” Her voice is raw and choked. “It’s like I’m trying to love half a person when they’re supposed to be my other half .”

There’s silence again. Chat Noir tips his head back to look at the sky, at the moon and the stars that guard it. “I understand that… more than you know.”

A single tear drips down her cheek, slow and thick, like candlewax. “Yeah?”

“…Yeah,” he responds.

And then he lowers his gaze, eyes locked on hers, and they pause. There’s warm hands against her skin, cradling her face like it’s the most precious thing in the world. “Can I try something?” he asks her, and she’s already nodding because she knows what he wants to do.

She wants to do it too.

She kisses him then—kisses him hard. It’s wet, messy, and rough, but she knows they’ve both been waiting a long time for it, so nothing else matters. Chat Noir shifts and tilts his head, slotting his lips against hers and begins to move. There’s teeth and tongue, hot touches against wind-blistered skin, and his claw-tipped thumb rubs against the apple of her cheek.

When they finally pull away, she wonders if the press of his lips is visible like a sunburn or scar, evidence that this happened. In the end, it’s still too short, and she wants more, but she knows she can’t have it. Because even though she loves him and he might love her, they still have other people who are their soulmates, and nothing can happen between them.

“I-I’m sorry,” Chat Noir begins, slipping away from her on the beam. “I shouldn’t have done that. You have a soulmate, and I have a soulmate, and I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be,” she tells him honestly, reaching out to grasp both of his hands and pulling him close. “I… needed that. Thank you.”

There’s a smile on his lips and a soft look in his eyes, and suddenly something clicks . At the very sight of him, Marinette’s heart fills with joy, and she can barely speak. Flustered thoughts, half-finished sentences spill from bloodless lips, cheeks warm from Chat Noir’s heavy gaze. She can’t function right.

Her skin burns where her partner’s claw tips etched feather-light words into it. It’s a book of truth on the back of her palms, a tangle of secrets that lock it shut, like her hidden diary no one must know about.

Black against the dark night, eyes shining like the moon, he stares at her like she’s his North Star and can lead him home.

It’s how her father looks at her mother.

It’s how soulmates look at each other.

“Are you feeling better?”

Morning classes slip slowly by, the clock barely ticking as they settle into their free period, and yet Adrien still feels the need to bring the world to a standstill. Marinette trains her gaze on her notes to avoid Adrien’s quizzical eyes, pencil scratching a random design in the margins of her paper—anything to distract her from the conversation that’s long overdue between them.

“I’m fine.”

Papers shuffle as Adrien shifts in his seat, resting elbows on the table as he props his head up in his hands. “I’m ready to talk now… if you want.”

Around them, the library drones on in a mid-day lullaby to the tune of books sliding off shelves and keyboards clacking on computers. Silver sunlight seeps into the room through the window on the wall, shrouding Adrien in a golden glow like a halo. He looks as perfect as he pretends to be. The library is lively, the light holy, and Adrien’s almost ethereal.

But Marinette longs for the night when she can don a mask, hide in the shadows in the dark city, and be with her partner who is chaos incarnate. Darkness lets her hide, but at the same time, she’s never felt more vulnerable.

“There’s nothing to talk about. I just drank too much and said some stuff I shouldn’t have.” Marinette shrugs, idly turning a page in her notebook. “Sorry, it won’t happen again.”

“Marinette, look at me.” Shifting in his seat, Adrien grabs her by the shoulder. “Please… talk to me.”

“Adrien, I just…” Taking a deep breath, she leans back in her chair and finally looks at him. His eyes are glimmering with emotions she can’t name, can’t understand. She wonders if she looks the same way. “I don’t even know what to say.”

Because her heart is hurting, and she doesn’t understand anything anymore.

Adrien bows, seeming to crumble in on himself. “Okay,” he says, because that’s the kind of boy he is. He won’t press her if she doesn’t want it.

He’s kind, he’s considerate, he’s perfect. Anyone would be lucky to have Adrien Agreste as a soulmate, so why can’t she fall for a boy like him?

There’s silence, and then Adrien slips in: “You know I love you, right?”

It’s him : sweet, short, and simple. It hurts though.

It doesn’t matter to Marinette that their timers zeroed out on a street corner and that fate has decided their meant to be, because fate also made her Ladybug and gave her Chat Noir, so fate obviously has some plans for her that extend beyond the typical soulmate scheme. What matters is that Marinette is even more confused than ever, and she’s hurting two people she cares deeply about, and she just doesn’t know what else to do.

“I know,” she tells Adrien, but she won’t return the sentiment.

She can’t lie anymore.

(She just can’t .)

“What’s your favorite color?” Marinette asks Adrien two days later. It comes out of the blue, a passing fancy that leapt to the forefront of her mind, and suddenly it’s the single most important thing she knows.

Adrien looks up from his spot on her bed, tousled hair falling into his green eyes, reminding her eerily of Chat Noir for a moment. But then he’s shaking his head, and the moment is gone.

“Blue, I guess?” he says, but it comes out like a question. “Why?”

“Just wondering,” she supplies, turning back to her homework.

There’s silence between them, and then Adrien asks, “What’s yours?”

“Pink.” Gesturing to the room around her, full of pink and cream, she can’t stop the soft smile that stretches across her face. “I don’t know if you can tell.”

Adrien’s rolling his eyes, laughter spilling from his mouth. “I never would’ve guessed.”

She laughs too. It’s the most honest conversation they’ve had with one another.

“Favorite food?” she asks.

Instead of answering, Adrien quirks an eyebrow in confusion. “Why the sudden interest in my favorite things?”

Marinette glances at Adrien, her heart thundering in her chest. “I just want to know. Is that a crime?”

“No,” Adrien replies. Brows furrowed like he can’t understand the situation (and neither can she), he props himself up on his elbows, dropping his pencil against his notebook. “You already know these things though?”

“No, I don’t,” she says to him. I don’t know anything about you , is what she doesn’t say.

“I’ve told you all this before—months ago.” Adrien’s voice is growing louder, eyes growing tired. “Or were you not listening to me?”

And oh .

Her mind goes back a week ago to the night at Chloe’s party, where the alcohol was a truth potion she couldn’t afford to take but did, and words were exchanged on both sides of a war where neither knew they were fighting. Marinette remembers her accusations—how they never talk, how Adrien never listens, how she doesn’t know who he is.

It turns out things weren’t as perfect as Adrien liked to pretend they were.

“Do you really want to do this?” she asks.

“You’re the one who wanted to talk,” he supplies, closing his book. “So I’m just giving you the opportunity, like I’ve trying to do all week.”

Shame bubbles in the pit of her stomach. Avoiding people probably wasn’t the best course of action, but she’d made a pact not to lie. Confronting how she feels about Adrien and Chat Noir isn’t something she’s sure she’s ready to deal with; however, like with most things in her life, fate decides for her.

“I’m sorry,” she starts off, but Adrien is already shaking his head.

“You’re always saying that.” He’s sitting up now, running a hand through his hair in irritation. “Stop it.”

“Well what do you want me to say?” she asks.

“What you meant that night at the party, how you feel like you don’t know who I am.” Adrien stares at her for a long moment, trying to organize his thoughts. “Is that really how you feel? Like you don’t know me?”

Marinette looks at him steadily, eyes dark in the half light of soft twilight. “There’s nothing else to say. I don’t know you.”

“But you do ,” he presses.

“But I really don’t ,” she says. “Everything I know about you is something I can find in the back of a magazine, in some article about you. It’s surface stuff, really. I know you speak Chinese and your favorite color is blue, but I don’t know the things that matter . I know nothing about your family, what you want to be when you grow up, or even that you were allergic to feathers… which, I’m still really, really sorry for.”

His expression softens as he waits for her to continue.

“I know it seems stupid, but those things really matter to me,” she tells him, pressing a hand to her chest, right over her heart. It throbs painfully in reply. “When people talk about soulmates, I think about my parents—who know everything about each other, who’re so incredibly happy together, who can pick up on anything, like when they’re happy or sad or upset… And I don’t have that with you.”

There’s a pause. Adrien shifts so that his legs are dangling off the edge of the bed, bumping the beams of the metal ladder. There’s a faraway look his eyes, emotions she can’t discern swimming in their green pools. Inside, she feels hollow.

“Sorry,” she says again, because what else is there to say? They’re both a mess. “I guess… I’m just tired of trying to figure you out.”

“I’m your soulmate,” Adrien tells her. “Isn’t that enough?”

Marinette shakes her head, huffing softly. “There’s so much more to soulmates than just a name. At least, that’s how it is for me, and I just can’t… I don’t know who you are. You’re too perfect, like you’re constantly wearing a mask, and I can’t see behind it.”

“Maybe you’re not meant too.” His voice is easy, his words evasive.

“And I have a problem with that.”

It hurts that Adrien still isn’t being open with her, even in the face of her confession. Bringing their cracks to light is supposed to allow them a chance to fix things—that’s how these things are supposed to work out. Life, however, as she’s quickly realizing, isn’t like the fairytales she grew up hearing about. Though she’s known this for a while, reality still fucking hurts when it finally hits you.

“Well what’re we supposed to do about it?” His face is blank; she can’t read him.

“I don’t know.” If she did, they wouldn’t have ever reached this point.

“I can try… harder,” he offers weakly. “I can be someone that you’re—”

“Don’t you get it yet?” Marinette snaps, eyes burning holes into his, like she’s trying to see inside him and find what makes him tick—what she’s been trying to do for months. “I want you to be you. I don’t want whatever façade you’re trying to show the media, or for you to feel like you need to hide things. My soulmate isn’t Adrien Agreste, some prestigious model for his father’s fashion company. My soulmate is Adrien, the stupid boy who ran into me on a street corner and tried to take chewing gum off my seat.”

“I…” Adrien’s voice trails off.

“What?”

“I always thought you hated me,” he says, but it comes out soft and distraught. “F-For the chewing gum thing. I’ve been trying to make up for it.”

“What’s there to be mad at?” She cocks her, quirking an eyebrow. “You were trying to help me. You were being nice. You’re…. always nice. It’s kind of annoying sometimes, if I’m going to be totally honest here.”

“I’m… too nice ?” Adrien struggles to understand her words, blinking hard. “That’s your problem with me?”

“No, no, that’s not what I said—”

“Well that’s what it sounded like!”

“Damn it, Adrien, that’s not what I meant, and you know it! ” She slams her hand on her bed rail, the metal shaking and piercing like a siren in the empty room.

“You want me to be a jerk, Marinette?” She can only stare at him in a stunned silence as he whirls around, lips curled into a frown and eyes narrowed like he’s in pain. “You don’t want me to be perfect, you don’t want me to be nice, but you don’t want me to be a jerk. This is my problem with you! I don’t understand you!”

Marinette clenches her hands into tight fists. “I don’t want you to be anything , I just told you—”

“Yes, yes, I heard you,” he says, frustration tinging his voice. “That’s the thing though: you always say words, but none of them ever make sense. It’s like a game I can’t win, trying to figure you out. Sometimes you’re so stiff, like you’re trying too hard and just going through the motions. And other times it’s like I see… a new Marinette, someone who isn’t afraid to be herself and have fun and be… happy .”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she responses heatedly, cheeks flushing.

“It means that you say I wear a mask, but you’re no different.” Adrien’s nearly screaming now, but she can’t stop him. It’s already too late. “I know you have your secrets, and I respect that. We don’t have to tell each other everything. But don’t be a hypocrite and say I’m the only person wearing a mask when you do too!”

Marinette wants to say: I’m trying so hard to be perfect because I want you to feel comfortable with me. I just want to get to know you because, from what little I’ve seen, you’re a pretty incredible person.

She wants to say: You’re my soulmate, and that means something to me.

She wants to say: I could love you someday.

She says, “I kissed someone else.”

Adrien stares at her. “What?”

Marinette is breathing hard. “I… I kissed someone else.”

“Why?”

“Because…” And does she even have an answer for him? “Because I love them, and they’re someone I really need right now. I don’t have to pretend with them, not like I have to with you.”

“Oh.” His voice is tired and raw, like he’s already accepted it.

…and what else is there to say? She can tell from the look on his face, eyes red-rimmed and lips pursed in a resolute expression that he’s already made his choice. Whatever might have been between them—any spark that they could’ve kindled into something brighter—it’s gone now, snuffed out like a candle’s fragile flame. Marinette’s done the one thing she didn’t want to do—ruined everything.

“…I kissed someone too,” he says after a while.

She flinches at his words. She doesn’t mean to, doesn’t have the right to. It still hurts though because she’s his soulmate, and he’s hers —just like Chat Noir is her partner.

“Why?”

“Because they understand me, and I think…” His voice trails off, but Marinette doesn’t need to hear the rest. I think I love them .

There’s silence between them. Neither want to be the first to break it.

After a while though, the tension is too much, almost unbearable. “Are you mad at me?” she asks.

“What’s there to be mad about?” he says, an echo of her earlier statement. “I did the same thing.”

There’s silence again until she says, “Do you… ever think that timers made a mistake with us?”

Adrien gnaws on his bottom lip, trying to sort through her question. “I think… That the timers told us who we’re meant to be with, but it’s up to us to make it work.” He looks up after a pause, eyes inquiring. “...And it’s not working with us, is it?”

It’s quiet again, just like every meaningless conversation they have, but it doesn’t feel like there’s as much of a distance between them this time. This confession has been a long time coming— this Marinette knows—but it still leaves her feeling hollow inside. Somehow though, they’ve managed to build a bridge between them with the pieces of their broken relationship, and it’s the closest they’ve ever been.

“Adrien,” she finally says in a soft voice. “Has it ever worked with us?”

Her words are the final hit to break everything between them. It rains down in shattered shards, a glass thunderstorm indoors. Adrien doesn’t respond.

And… that’s that .

The twin spires of Saint Ambroise Church are stark against the black sky when she looks out over the city, the Eiffel Tower glowing further beyond. Ladybug can see for miles from where she stands. She’s on a rooftop miles from the Champ de Mars next to a crumbling brick chimney after a long patrol, the sky dark and dreary above her, clouds hanging heavy on the horizon. It’s something Ladybug never realized she often took for granted. Clear skies are a rarity during the night, but when she’s always needed them most, they’re there —the moon to light the way, the stars to grant wishes.

(She has no more stars to count. No more wishes to cast.)

This time, Ladybug has been avoiding Chat Noir ever since they kissed, ignoring any ping! to her contact, much to Tikki’s frustration. It’s been a few days of peace and quiet, without the usual akumas or other major crime, and Ladybug couldn’t have been more thankful. She doesn’t think she could handle any more stress to her already burdened life right now.

“You’re a hard one to track down when you don’t want to be found,” Chat Noir greets her as he lands on the chimney she’s leaning against. Slipping down so that he’s sitting on the structure, he casts her a wry smile. “And don’t bother lying: I know you’ve been avoiding me.”

Ladybug hunkers lower, shoulders folding forward as if to hide from her partner. It does little though. He’s still here, the warm press of his body against her own, and she can’t run anymore. “Sorry,” is all she can offer.

“Come here, bug.”

There’s hands on her shoulders that turn her around until she’s between his legs in front of the chimney. The tips of his toes bounce against the bones of her hips in tune to her pounding heart, bu-bump bu-bump bu-bump ringing through her ears. Chat Noir loops his arms around her and pull her close, face pressing into the top of her head, and she simply tries to breathe.

“I didn’t mean to,” she murmurs into the crook of his neck.

Chat Noir shakes with low laughter. “I don’t blame you. I’ve been scared too.”

“I just don’t know what to do,” she tells him when he finally releases her, staring up at him with red-rimmed eyes, seeing the same look mirrored back. “Where are we supposed to go from here?”

“I’m not sure, Ladybug.” It’s clear he’s as lost as her.

“Why’d you kiss me?” she suddenly asks, the question striking her out of the blue.

Chat Noir is taken back, mouth falling open as he fumbles for a response. “W-Why’d you kiss back?”

“Because I wanted to know,” Ladybug tells him truthfully. She won’t lie anymore.

His eyes search hers for an answer she’s not willing to part with just quite yet. “What?”

Instead of replying, Ladybug steps closer until their faces are a hair’s breadth away from one another. Her curious hands seek the skin of his throat, fingers slipping through the unzipped-portion of his collar, the street lights glimmering against his gold bell. His eyes dart from her gaze, to her exploring hands, and to her lips. Both linger, a moment of hesitation, poised on a precipice of indecision where neither is ready to take the plunge.

With a sharp breath, Ladybug pulls him towards her, nearly toppling him off the top of the chimney, molding their bodies together until there’s not a breadth of space between them. Lips crash in the middle and they kiss—deeply and fully—until she’s breathing in everything he can give her.

She has a fistful of shirt in one hand, the other sneaking up to tangle in the messy blonde locks at the nape of his neck. It pulls a moan from his mouth, a purr from his chest, and she can’t help but smile into the kiss. Suddenly, though, he’s pulling away, peppering her jawline with short kisses, until she’s shaking her head to disengage.

Both rest their foreheads against each other, harsh breaths tangling between them, visible to the naked eye in the chilly, evening air. It drifts away like smoke to a fire.

“I needed to know…” Ladybug continues, panting against him, “how I felt about you, and… if you… felt the same.”

Chat Noir closes his eyes tightly. “Don’t you know yet, bug?”

She’s shaking her head because how can she? “No, no, how could—”

“Don’t you get it yet?” he asks her. “It’s you . It’s always been you .”

“And your soulmate?”

“It’s hard to be in love with two people,” he tells her. “And I don’t know what to do.” His eyes shimmer under the Paris moonlight. “Please tell me what to do, Ladybug.”

I don’t know how to be in love, she wants to say, but she knows the situation. They’re both lonely and lost and hurting, unsure of what the tremulous feelings inside truly mean. Only acting on what they already know: Ladybug and Chat Noir are partners, and they love each other. Their soulmates are questions they don’t have the answers too yet.

Instead, she kisses him again. Lips press together, hurried and hungry, desperate for a touch that their soulmates can’t give them on their own. It’s confusing and maddening for Ladybug because she still doesn’t understand. How can she love someone the universe has told her isn’t hers?

Nothing makes sense anymore.

Ladybug wonders if maybe she should just stop asking questions.

Marinette will never admit it, but she’s always dreamt of having a soulmate she could love unconditionally and with ease. She’s held onto that dream for as long as she can remember, ever since she knew what a timer meant. Watching her parents love, she sees how simple it is, how easy.

It’s what she’s always wanted.

It’s why it hurts to end it the way she does.

Marinette meets Adrien that following Monday and hands him a brown paper bag. Hesitantly, he takes it and opens it, face going pale when he sees what’s inside. It probably answers a lot of questions he had when she removed it.

“It’s my timer,” she tells him, even though he’s already seen it. “I want you to have it.”

His eyes dart to the scar on her left wrist. It’s covered by a cuff now, so he can’t see it.

“No one has to know,” she says, the months of frustration and pain and denial rolling off her back with every word. “We can keep it strictly between us, or we can pretend it never happened. Really, it’s up to you. It’s our business anyways.”

“You got it removed,” is all he can say. “I was wondering why my timer suddenly went blank.”

She flashes him a sheepish grin. “I’m sorry if I worried you.”

Adrien shakes his head. “No, I ran into Nino and asked about you. He’d just come from the bakery and saw you, so I knew you were fine. I just though the timer had malfunctioned or something.”

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“Stop that,” Adrien admonishes, but there’s nothing hard in his voice this time. “You’re always saying that, but you never need too.”

“I do though,” she protests. “I’ve been hurting you, and you didn’t deserve it.”

“I haven’t been any better.”

“Maybe so,” she says. “I guess we’ve both kind of screwed this up.”

Adrien tightens his grasp on his bag and her timer. “I guess we did.”

Marinette still doesn’t understand. Getting rid of her timer seemed like the best idea at the present time, but she’s still full of regrets and questions that she’ll never get answers too. Adrien isn’t the person that can answer them either—only she can.

The final warning bell rings, and students milling around outside flood the school building. Neither of them make a move to walk to their class though. Instead, they stare at Marinette’s timer, her scarred and cuffed wrist, and they wonder what the next step is.

The silence is what pushes Marinette to act. On trembling legs, she sits down on the stone steps and gestured for Adrien to join her. Shaky fingers pluck her timer from his hands and place it beside them, the white device stark against the ugly brown bag. Without it, she feels lighter, as if she could float away, but her heart, full of her feelings and certainty, has grounded her.

Adrien is warm next to her. His presence is tense, shoulders too stiff and straight, and his eyes are dark and heavy. It’s clear that removing her timer has hurt him. Suddenly, Marinette’s skin feels too tight around her bones, which creak! and crack! every time she moves, like she’s too old and worn to give the wherewithal to live. Her actions have aged her.

Her fingers trace the edge of her cuff. “You do mean a lot to me, you know.”

“Really?” he asks her, voice curious. Inside, something breaks because Marinette had never meant for him to feel like her feelings for him were a lie.

“Of course,” she says, tapping the paper bag between them. “The point is, though, I don’t need a timer to tell me that. I don’t care about you just because you’re my soulmate, and I’m not trying to force myself to care either. This is something I am wholeheartedly choosing on my own —fate has nothing to do with it.”

Adrien fixes her with a puzzled stare. “I guess that’s… good?”

“I think that was my biggest problem with us.” Out loud, the confession shakes her, echoing on in her hollow chest. “I felt like I was supposed to love you, and that something was wrong with me when I couldn’t. The truth was staring me in the face the whole time though: I can’t love someone I don’t know. Just because we’re soulmates doesn’t mean we have to be in love.”

At her words, Adrien turns to the empty street in front of them, gaze distant and lost. “So where does that leave us?”

“I don’t think I’m ready to be your soulmate right now,” she tells him honestly. Cocking her head, she fixes him with an intense stare, eyes searching. “Are you okay with that?”

“I have to be, don’t I?” he says bitterly, nudging the bag with the side of his shoe.

“I’m not saying that I don’t want to be your soulmate,” she corrects. “I’m just saying that I’m not ready. There’s things I want to do, questions I have… People who...” Her words trail off, unsure how to finish that sentence.

“That person you kissed,” he says, “you want to see what that’s about?”

“I...” She doesn’t know what to say to make this better, but she knows she should leave him with something . “He’s really good for me, and I need that right now. We can’t keep pretending like things are okay, Adrien, and we’re just hurting ourselves trying to go through the motions. With everything going on in my life right now, I need someone who I know and who knows me.”

“You’re right,” Adrien tells her. “You’re absolutely right.”

Her heart flutters in response. “Thanks.”

“You know I love you though? Like that’s something I’m certain of.” His eyes are imploring her to understand.

“I know,” she says, clasping his forearms. “And you know I care about you too. That’s one thing that’s never going to change. Even though we’re not together right now, who’s to say that we’re not going to be together in the future? You’re still my soulmate, Adrien, even if I’m choosing something different right now.”

“It sort of feels like you’re choosing someone else,” Adrien confesses, voice soft and fragile, and Marinette hopes she won’t break him. “That you don’t want me as a soulmate.”

“That’s not it at all,” she clarifies. “I’m not choosing him over you—I’m choosing me . I’m choosing to take the time to… learn about myself and what I want. And I’m sorry, but I just can’t do that with you right now.”

“Because I’m still learning myself too,” he tells her without prompt.

Marinette smiles softly. “Yeah, exactly.”

“…And this other guy,” he says, “He’ll help you?”

“Yeah.” Cocking her head, she stares at him with an inquiring expression. “And the girl you kissed? Is there anything…? You didn’t say much about her.”

“I love her too,” he says simply. “I don’t know why, but I do.”

Marinette glances up at the stone and steel gate around the school building, at the trees peering over the top, and the blue sky high above. For the first time in a long time, she feels free. “I want you to get that chance to find out. That’s why I’m giving you this.”

“You’re letting me go,” Adrien says.

And who knows , Marinette thinks to herself, maybe, if we’re really meant to be, we’ll come back to each other someday.

“So where does that leave us then?” Adrien asks.

“I don’t know about you, but I’d love to be your friend, Adrien, and get to know you properly.”

He shakes his head, pressing his lips into a thin line. “I guess we did sort of forget that part when we met. Going from strangers to soulmates probably didn’t help.”

Marinette can only laugh. “Yeah, probably.”

“Well, if that’s the case…” He holds out a hand to her, the same one that holds his timer. “My name’s Adrien Agreste, and I’d like to be your friend.”

“God,” she snorts, laughter shaking her body. It’s sudden and explosive—like a firecracker—and suddenly she feels so alive. Adrien’s never made her feel this way, and it’s funny that it occurs after she’s already burning her bridges. “You’re so corny.”

“I prefer cheesy,” is his only response.

“Why?”

“… I promise this is a very good and genius pun if you understood it.”

“God, fine, okay. If this is how you wanna play it…” She clasps his hand with hers, her cuff heavy on her wrist. “My name’s Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and I’d love to be your friend too, Adrien.”

“No strings attached?”

“What the hell? This isn’t a one-night stand, Adrien.”

“One-lifetime then.”

Things are perfect.

(This time, Marinette won’t argue.)

The evening is quiet.

They sit next to each other on their favorite rooftop, tucked away in an older neighborhood that they’d found once during their joint patrols. In the distance, they can see the dome of the Pantheon and the twin spires of Saint Ambroise Church, the lights of the Eiffel Tower glowing gold against the burning backdrop of the Paris sky, everything so perfect and wonderful. The scene is some idyllic moment one might find in a romcom movie, right before the two lovers share their first and fated kiss.

This isn’t one of those times, but Marinette can’t help but dream.

Chat Noir pulls her close, and she leans back against his torso. Hands fall to her side, trailing over his abdomen and the long, corded muscle beneath the fabric of his suit. Thighs pressing against her knees, arms looped around her waist, warm breath tickling her cheek—it’s the most comfortable she’s felt in a long time.

( It’s funny , she thinks, I feel at home in his arms .)

His lips press a soft kiss behind her ear, laughter spilling into the space between them. She can barely withhold a shiver. It’s not because of the cold.

This isn’t something she’s ever gotten the chance to experience with Adrien. In all the ways Adrien Agreste is reserved and hesitant, Chat Noir is tactile and expressive, familiar with her body in a way her soulmate can never be. It’s not like she ever truly gave him the chance though. Marinette recalls the fight she had with Adrien when she told him about her parents, how they had developed a language between them after years together, and that’s how her and Chat Noir have always been—since the very beginning.

Perhaps that’s why their relationship is so scary. Why is it so much stronger than what she had with Adrien? Why does their partnership transcend soulmates?

Even though her and Adrien have gone their separate ways, she’s still left with many questions. The separation, though, is giving her a chance to find the answers she desperately seeks, and she’s not stupid enough to turn that down. It’s why she ended things in the first place.

Now she gets to explore things—with Chat Noir.

(She hopes she’s made the right decision.)

Pigeons coo a nameless tune somewhere overhead, in the crevices of buildings, tucked away in stone affairs and hidden from view. Sinking deeper into her partner’s warm embrace, they sit and watch the sunset as soft twilight burns away into night, and Ladybug can’t think of anywhere else she’d like to be.

Chat Noir finally breaks the silence, puffing hot breaths against her cool skin as he speaks, “So what’re we doing here, Ladybug?”

She knows what he’s referring to. She’s be stupid not to.

“Whatever we want to,” she tells him, voice low. “I just know I love you, and I want to be with you. I guess it just depends what you want.”

Thumbs stroking her hip bones, Chat Noir sighs into her hair. “I want to be with you too. I just…”

It’s his soulmate, she knows.

He wasn’t exactly forthcoming with what went on between them, but as far as she knows, his soulmate ended things yesterday. Much like Ladybug and Chat Noir, it appears that his soulmate is having trouble accepting the hand that fate dealt her. Marinette can’t exactly blame the poor girl. Chat Noir only tells her that his soulmate needed time to come to terms with a few things. At fifteen, they have their whole lives ahead of them, so much to do and live through. Sometimes they aren’t prepared to confront their future and forever at such a young age. Things don’t always work out the way they’re fated to, but Marinette is quickly learning that that’s alright too.

Soulmates—whether they’re together or not, whether they’re romantic or platonic, whether they’re close or far apart—they’re still important. They still mean something. They still matter.

“How much do you love her?” Ladybug asks him.

Chat Noir is silent for a moment before he replies, “Enough that it hurts to lose her.”

His answer causes her to stop and run shaky fingers over her wrist. She thinks of Adrien’s face when he saw her bare wrist: pale and lost, like he had no idea what was happening. He can’t understand why she removed it—she supposes, if the time comes that they’re ever together again, she’ll put it back.

It’ll always read 0000 d 00 h 00 m 00 s. It still works—there’s just nothing to count down to anymore.

A claw-tipped finger joins hers, tracing over the spot where her timer used to be. She knows he can’t feel anything beneath it. The cuff disappeared with the Miraculous. “It’s okay to hurt,” he tells her suddenly, squeezing her tighter against him, “if you regret it.”

“I don’t regret anything,” she says. “I know I’m where I need to be right now.”

Silver moonlight peeks through the sparse clouds decorating the evening sky, a sliver of light falling over them in an allayed line, like a compass pointing North—to home, to each other. Ladybug closes her eyes and leans back against her partner, feels his heartbeat through the fabric of her suit, and tries to imagine a world where they’re soulmates. Perhaps it would’ve made things easier, perhaps she’d still be in the same boat.

Either way, what matters now is that she’s happy, they’re together, and this is the story where she learns to fall in love.

It’s as simple as that.

“I love you,” he says.

Instead of answering, she shifts her weight until she’s facing Chat Noir and presses her lips to his in a tender kiss. They come together like they’ve fallen into each other’s orbit and can only hold fast in the free fall. Her hands loop around his neck as he pulls her closer, and they sit on that rooftop against the hard brick of the chimney and kiss. Lost in each other, lost between soft lips and the wet slide of tongues, the hard clack of teeth as they take in as much as the other has to offer.

They’re just kissing and kissing and kissing.

Pliant and eager, so willing to fall with her, Chat Noir curves himself around the shape of her body, hands trailing down until they settle at her hips. He holds on tight as if he’s afraid she’ll leave, and the thought causes her to smile into the kiss. They’re so close together, not a sliver of space for any fear or doubt or hesitation—by now, they’ve made their choices, and both are living with the blessings and consequences that come with it.

“I love you too,” Ladybug whispers against his lips, and for the first time since she’s said those words to someone, she actually means them.

In her chest, her heart won’t stop crashing against her ribs, but it doesn’t hurt, so swollen with love and joy and happiness. Chat Noir’s pulse races into her fingers as they come around to cradle his face, tracing his jawline, and she knows he feels it too. It’s this new territory they’re paving a path into, exploring what it means to be with someone of your choosing, learning how to fall in love with someone you know and who knows you in return. Nothing can take this feeling away.

Chat Noir finally pulls back, pressing their foreheads together as they both try to catch their breath, which comes out in harsh gaps, visible in the evening chill like a fog. His green eyes are bright, ears stained red from the cold, cheeks rosy with a warm blush. Ladybug knows she looks the same way.

“So this is it?” he asks. “We’re doing this. We’re seeing where this goes.”

Ladybug nods against him, shoulders still heaving forward as she gulps in air for her burning lungs. “Yes, yes. This is what I want, this is where I want to be. I want you, I just want you .” She’s kissing him again—hard—desperate for more.

Marinette has spent too long yearning. It’s her turn to finally have .

By now, the sun has dipped below the horizon, everything dark and quiet. Paris is beautiful and familiar and comfortable and perfect, and their quaint little rooftop is the only place she wants to be.

At her hip, Chat Noir’s timer blinks out a steady zero. Miles away, her own timer blinks in tandem beside Adrien’s bed, laid lovingly in a wooden box that contains his mother’s jewelry, where everything precious and important to him goes.

Her heart pulses in time with both.

Their shared zeroes tell a story about love and heartache, about secrets and magic, about all the things they can’t quite understand yet.

Only time will tell.

Fate has a funny way of working things out.

#miraculous ladybug #ladynoir #adrinette #ml fic #miraculous #theoncomingcroat #my writing #my fic

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