listen // mlb fanfic - complete

(17) / ℘ơῳɛŗ ơvɛŗ ყơųŗ ơῳŋ ɖɛąɬɧ

i personally think that the song above depicts this story/adrien's feelings perfectly.

so i'm thinking of giving marinette a brain? also, this story may seem like it had a lot of ladynoir, but actually it won't have much.

annnd, i actually already wrote the last two chapters, but now i just need to finish the chapters leading up to it. so the story is almost done, i guess - edited.

MARINETTE:

"You know, Marinette, maybe you should give Chat a chance," Tikki suggested.

"What'd you mean?" I asked in confusion.

She sighed in exasperation. "Chat—Likes—You." She said each word carefully and with emphasis.

I turned to the floating kwami in confusion. "What?" I could've sworn she was about to face palm right then and there. "Tikki, you heard him: it was a mistake," I said, but it seemed like I was trying to convince myself more than her.

She crossed her arms in frustration. "If you accidentally confessed to Adrien that you loved him and would love him no matter what, what would you do? Marinette, he gave you - admittedly, indirectly - a love poem, he continuously flirts with you. On Valentine Day, your kiss made him snap out of his spell."

I paused, thinking over it. You're personalities just seemed to spin together in one web. Maybe it was because it was just one web.

"But ... Adrien—" I tried, but Tikki cut me off, which was very unlike her.

"Adrien is a nice kid, but he hardly notices you as more than a friend!" Tikki told me, and I knew she was just trying to help, but it still crushed me.

"But maybe..." I said weakly.

She sighed. "I don't want to hurt you, Marinette, but the chances of you and Adrien — they're slim."

I nodded solemnly. "You're right, Tikki. And Chat ... what about him?"

Tikki giggled. "Sometimes your even more oblivious than Adrien. He's head over heals for you."

I thought about the recent flutters in my chest and my heart beating faster whenever Chat was being a dork with all his puns and attempts at flirting.

I looked down at my hands. If that was true ... if I - liked Chat, why did it feel so wrong to think about it?

ADRIEN:

(Swearing, abuse.)

"—a worthless, stupid, pathetic piece of f**king s**t!"

My sobs resonated through out the room. I remember our old living room, before mother died in a fire. Laughter would be the main dish, served everyday. Having fun was a rule and I was just free.

It hurt to think about it, even more so than Father's vile and cruel beatings that he handed to me on a silver tray everyday.

Another punch to my stomach. Stand up for yourself, you piece of s**t. But I can't. Because I'm a pathetic and sad excuse of a person. This was my destiny. I deserved this; Father said so, and just like he was right about me being a selfish and pathetic waste of breathe, he was right about me deserving every little drop of pain I got.

He kept shouting, his words hitting me hard, his blows harder, and then finally he grabs my hair and throws me to the stairs. I fall to the ground, my head hitting the floor, my cries unheard.

(End)

I limp upstairs, feeling desolate and empty and broken and tired. So god damned tired.

I flopped on bed, my head spinning, my heart crying, my torn body aching. My eye lids slowly fluttered down, and my brain slowly showed me to realm of dreams.

"Mommy, can I go on the jumping castle?" A seven year old Adrien asked, green eyes shining with excitement.

"You've just been on the other one!" She laughed as he sent her a toothy grin.

"Please? We'll go home after this one, I promise!" He said excitedly. 

"Fine. Just be careful, pumpkin, okay?" She called out, worry seeping silently into her voice.

"Don't worry, Mama!"

He walked out a few seconds later, now thirteen years old, with his body bruised. "Mom, Dad's in there. He's angry," he said monotonously.

Mom just rushed forward to help him, "Pumpkin, what happened?"

"Dad was really angry, Mom. I made him angry." Thirteen teen year old Adrien said.

She hugged him. "Where is he now?"

They looked over in the distance, only to be met with with the slender-man-like silhouette of Father, holding a match.

"Sorry, Naomi," Father said, throwing it on the grass as all the playing kids screamed. Fire engulfed the outside festival, and I was burning. (a/n: cuz they never gave her a name so i just made one up for her)

I awoke crying. My body shook with deep sobs. What was that? I remember the jumping castle incident. We had a good time. Nothing like this happened. Father used to be kind before Mom died. And she died when I was fourteen, not thirteen.

Did nightmares have to ruin even the few perfect memories I had with her that I actually remembered? I sat up, pulling up my hoodie sleeves and taking off the badly-wrapped gauze, glaring at the self-inflicted cuts. My eyes still shed tears, yet my heart burned with anger. Why had Father started doing this? Didn't he realize that we both were affected by Mother's death? I needed his support, and he handed me a tray of s**t mixed with a whole bowl full of depression.

The older cuts began to scar, and as sick as this sounds, I smirked in satisfaction when I saw them. It gave me a good feeling, knowing I was in control this time, that it was me who did this to myself, not Father. He didn't control me. I could hurt myself too. I could double the pain! I could kill myself ... my thoughts slowly reeled down.

You have the power over your own life. How will you use it?

I stiffened. I could literally just kill myself right then and there. My headache grew as I thought about it. I lay in bed, too afraid to go back to sleep, yet so tired to the point of lightheadedness.

a/n: today was the last day of school! cue the sigh of relief.