in which adrien & marinette attend a wedding reception and marinette notices how adrien looks at the bride and groom wishfully.
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//sorry for the lack of art lately! i’ve been swamped with work but i’ve been thinking about my whole wedding au and the events leading up to it….including proposal *stuffs my face in a pillow and screams while thinking about their proposal scene*
@khorazir prompted: The boys watch some episodes of The X-Files
looked up from the microscope, blinked. John looked back at him, his face
he’d been speaking. Clearly, a response of some kind was required.
course,“ he tried.
raised his brows, looked both pleased and surprised. This—this did not bode
well. Perhaps he should have asked John to repeat himself, but he did so loathe
on, then,” John said. He stepped over towards the fridge, perused the
menus with a little frown of concentration.
hesitated. Go on?
by John’s preoccupation with the menus, he thought perhaps he may have agreed
to dinner plans. Except, if that was all, then what was he meant to go on with?
stood up from the table, took a cautious step towards the sitting room. John
had left the telly on. It was cycling through a DVD menu of some kind, eerie
whistling music backed by piano. He frowned, looked back.
glanced up from the menus, made a shooing motion with his hand. Ah. It appeared
that he’d committed to watching a film or—he paused, looked at the screen—a television
sighed, aimed a longing glance in the direction of his abandoned microscope, and
settled himself on the sofa. He took up a bit more space than entirely
menu looped, started again. Piano. Whistling.
paced around the kitchen, phone to his ear, ordering the takeaway. Sherlock
glanced at the menus, now rearranged on the front of the fridge. Chinese.
looked back at the television. Opened his mouth to speak.
betting you missed this entirely, yeah?“ John said, sitting down on the
sofa next to him. The cushions dipped, and Sherlock found himself wanting to
lean closer, to blame the motion on his shifted balance—but no, best not.
X-Files.“ John said with a nod at the screen. "FBI agents,
government conspiracies, aliens…? Kind of a big deal in the 90s. Ringing any
bells at all?”
scoffed, looked away. “I had other things on my mind in the 90s.”
cleared his throat, looked down.
menu continued to loop.
John said, after a long moment. He reached for the remote. "Food will be
here in about twenty minutes.”
you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?“ asked the man on the
screen. He was being altogether too dramatic about the whole thing, in
I would have to say no,” his recently-assigned partner countered.
picked up the remote, pressed pause. Stared at him.
mind,“ Sherlock said.
can’t just disappear,” said the woman on the screen. “It’s a
it isn’t,“ Sherlock said.
she read physics at university, she would know that—"
some reason, the woman had decided to bathe by candlelight. She had only just
begun to disrobe when something frightened her and sent her rushing through the
rain into the arms of her male coworker.
sighed, rolled his eyes. Looked back towards the kitchen, where his microscope
watch,” John said, through a mouthful of lo mein.
scene did not play out the way he’d expected.
he said when it was over.
really?” John’s voice was incredulous.
wrestled the remote out of John’s hand.
really not that easy to break into a secret government base.“
John said. “Yes, actually, it is. We’ve done it.”
had the proper credentials.“
It wasn’t as simple as ducking under a chain link fence for God’s sake.“
chuckled, leaned back against the sofa cushions. At some point he had migrated
closer, his arm warm where it brushed against Sherlock’s.
he’s gone and gotten himself drugged,” Sherlock protested, looking away.
“That didn’t happen to me.”
it happened to me,“ John said, and swatted at him. "Arsehole.”
he said, when it was over.
expected to believe that this man sleeps in a nest of newspapers and bile and
emerges precisely every thirty years to consume five human livers?”
not really so much believing as it is suspension of disbelief, yeah?“
Sherlock said. “The dichotomy between the two main characters—”
talking about them,“ John said. His voice had grown sleepy. "Was
talking about us.”
precisely, are we meant to be suspending disbelief over?“
livers,” John said, gesturing vaguely towards the screen. “The
lack of a romantic entanglement in spite of the clear attraction and the fact
that both main characters clearly have no one else in their lives of similar
too,” John said. A faint smile flickered on his face.
I need to go to sleep.”
Sherlock said, distracted. He slid over on the couch to give John more room.
The loss of John’s warm comfortable weight against his side was jarring.
reached over, snatched up the throw pillow from the coffee table. Held it up
for a moment, weighing his options. He thought about the warmth of John’s arm,
pressed against his own, the way his chest rose and fell with each measured
set the pillow in his lap. Waited.
hesitated for a long moment, studying him, his face difficult to read in the
blueish light from the television screen. Then he carefully, slowly arranged
himself so that his head was on the pillow, resting on Sherlock’s lap. He held
himself quite stiffly, his shoulders tense, his movements unsure.
of disbelief,” Sherlock said. He spoke in a low, quiet voice, dipping his
head down. John’s face was very close, in the dark.
exactly, are you trying to say?“ John asked. His voice was little more
than a whisper. He shifted, the leather squeaking under his frame.
of romantic entanglement in spite of clear attraction. And—” he stopped,
swallowed. Could no longer bear to look at John’s profile in the dark. Turned
his head towards the window. “No one else in my life of similar
attraction?“ John asked, his voice sleepy, fond.
Sherlock said, his throat suddenly dry. “Yes?”
chuckled, shifted again, rolling over onto his side. He reached up a hand,
cupped Sherlock’s cheek.
could not say with any certainty who moved in first. But his lips were pressed
against John’s, warm and soft and utterly thrilling, sending electric shocks of
sensation down his spine. His eyes slipped shut and he sighed, breath puffing
against John’s face.
right?“ John asked, quiet, pulling back. He no longer looked drowsy.
stared at him, at his eyes, gleaming bright in the television glow. At his
face, expressive and endearing and so very dear to him. How?
he wondered, and not for the first time. How had this
John asked again, his voice low, careful. He left his hand cradled against
smiled. “Another,” he said, and leaned in.