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hollyhomburg · 4 years

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Reasons Wretched and Divine (Pt. 7)

(Hybrid au) (YoonMinJoon x Reader) (Mafia au)

Summary: After years of abuse, you’ve all finally found each other. But for one of you- the fear still lingers, hidden in the shadows. Yoongi doesn’t want much, just a few more weeks, but he only has until the end of the summer.

Parings: Snake hybrid! Yoongi x Dog hybrid! Jimin x Dog hybrid! Namjoon x Pregnant! Reader, Platonic Vmin, allusions to 2seok,

Genre: Hybrid au, Polyamory au, Hurt/Comfort, Recovery, Pregnancy, Mafia au

Tags: Domestic abuse, references to sexual abuse- and choosing to have sex even though you’ve been through sa, physical abuse, polyamory negotiations, Post-traumatic stress disorder, mute characters, brief gore at the end, pregnant m/c, frottage, marking kink, fingering, oral f. receiving, Voyeurism, exhibitionism, implied death but dont worry I do not write MCD!!!!

A/n: just for posterity's sake! i was drunk when i posted this! enjoy! full gangbang comes in (y/n) next chapter! (oh god im going to hell).

W/c: 10.5k

Song Rec: Like Real People do ~ Hozier

~ Series Masterlist ~

2 Years Earlier

- If Jeon Jungkook where so esoterically inclined, he would write a book on how he had become the most dangerous man in the underworld. It would be a short book though; because Jungkook had only 2 rules for himself. The first was to always get up after he’d been hit during a fight (even if it took him a second) and the second was to know when to mind his own business.

- Jungkook was always able to get up after being hit, Even when he’d been a street kid, with not a penny to his name and a whole lot of anger in his mouth. ready to spit vitriol at anyone who would pause and listen. He’d always been able to get up. The pain giving him a kind of sick clarity that he eventually sought out instead of tried to escape. Jungkook could never think as clearly as he did during a fight; or when he was in pain. And that was probably because of his father.

- But whatever. That man was 6 feet under, (his mother on the other hand- no- that bitch certainly had more than one dept to pay still). He didn’t have a lot of time or energy to put into dealing with that particular trauma (why he honestly felt like sometimes- he liked being hit). Most of his energy went into staying alive. Even now- when living and surviving teetered on the same edge. Jungkook had more pressing matters to tend to than dealing with his own fragile mind.

- The way he would get up and hop around for a second to soak in the clarity after being hit during a scuffle was one of the reasons why he’d been given his street name: The Playboy Bunny; further set in stone with his tattoo of the same moniker under his left eye. A cheekbone he’d tap and say “you want to hit me? why don’t you try your luck and see how well it turns out for you.”

- He was doing reconnaissance, Sneaking around the back alley with his hood up and his glasses on- disguising his black eye that was sure to get more than a few looks from passers-by. The ears of the playboy bunny tattoo peeking out over the top of his mask.

- He keeps his eyes on the crowd waiting for some sort of handoff- to see anything at all. But he’d lost his target through the crowd and has no drive to find them in the dizzying rush of people and umbrellas. Not yet. Not when the hum of addiction lurks in his veins.

- Jungkook pauses lighting a cigarette, when a commotion to the side hidden around a corner- blurs his concentration. The world snapping back into focus when he sinks his fingernails into his palm. Terse voices. A couple fighting in the alleyway perpendicular to his.

- Minding his own business was a particular skill of his- it took one kind of person to know when to step in, and another to know which problems weren't worth the headache. And unless it involved the acquisition money or some step therein, it wasn’t a problem worth getting into in Jungkook’s opinion.

- But Jungkook can’t stop his ears from hearing snippets of conversation, a low and angry male voice. The sound of a smack. “You just had to embarrass me like that, didn’t you? First, you come out dressed like a slob and then you act like a fucking whore- I swear if I see you give eyes to another man this week I'll beat you five ways to Sunday”

- The sound of a soft female voice, so quiet- almost indistinguishable from the pouring rain, “I wasn’t-” another smack.

- Jungkook has been hit so many times he knows the sound of it, the ragged gasp the woman lets out, also quite- like even the pain takes up too much space.

- His body starts to move before his mind thinks it through as he gives up position in favor of investigating the noise. There he sees it, ivy growing up the wall next to the back exit of some restaurant. A woman, small crouching in front of a grotesque man. A baggy coat buttoned tight around her small form. hair swept back in a tight bun. Red lipstick smudged. Though you check your hands and think its blood for a moment before you remember you’re wearing it.

- Jungkook waits for a moment before he watches you stand on shaky legs. you get up.

- The rest of the underworld might be old grudges and blood feuds but Jungkook was only here to be a businessman. He didn’t have time for ego and arrogance, let alone time for altruism...

- Usually.

- He looks on for a moment, too sluggish without nicotine, but Jungkook’s lingering stare almost seems to spur the man on. He’s wearing a jacket with a military patch, a badge; some sort of congratulation for service done no doubt. and Jungkook feels his distaste for the man deepen.

- “What you looking at punk?” he slurs. Stalking forward as if to shove Jungkook. He almost wants to tut- that would be an expensive action. Jungkook wonders if the man is maybe high or drunk or both. He’s has had his fair share of experience with junkies and he knows one when he sees one.

- “Nothing, just a pig beating his girlfriend.” The man settles for shoving Jungkook back. And Jungkook lets him. You don’t look up, don’t do anything but lean to the side, like the brick wall is the only thing keeping you up. Jungkook sees the back of your hand, black and blue, the other bruises on your neck. You only make eye contact with him once. Just slightly. Barely in passing.

- You look like Jungkook used to look. He remembers in the savage bite of an open-handed slap- the fear he sees in your eyes. He looks and looks. And it aches so viscerally as Jungkook watches you go, your hurt echoes through him. You look beaten down and broken like Jungkook used too; before he’d decided he was done taking punches from people who were supposed to love him- Were supposed to care.

- (Before he realized life wasn't supposed to hurt)

- He’s never been one to feel things for other people, the empathy sparing him through most of the suffering he’s seen. It’s not that he’s unfeeling; it’s just that Jungkook’s life has forced him to feel concerned only for himself and no one else. His own survival is his first priority; Not others.

- He watches you walk away, And you don’t look back at him. Rushing to keep up with your husband's steps. He waits until you disappear into the crowd before he lifts his phone to his ear and makes a call. “Hey, I need you to flag all of the cars that leave the parking lot, they’re just a couple, should be coming to you soon.”

- Jeon Jungkook had become the most powerful man in the underworld because of two reasons; by being able to take punches, and by knowing when to mind his own business.

- But For this, Jungkook thinks he can make an exception.

- (You won't remember meeting Jeon Jungkook, but Jungkook will always remember you).

~.~

Now

-It comes as no surprise that your little speech fades after a few days and the rest of the hybrids quick to return to treating Yoongi with a mix of disdain and fear. Though mostly- this seems to be caused by Minhyung's group and the other canine hybrids. Namjoon hears them whispering about ‘favoritism’ before they catch on that he’s listening in. And in the days following your impromptu departure from the farm, you find people quiet even further whenever Yoongi's brought up. Staring when Yoongi comes close, afraid to interact with him.

- Even Jimin is greeted mostly with silence from all but a few. The bunny hybrids don’t act so skittish anymore, and the cat hybrids could care less used to sticking to their own group. Taehyung seems to have encouraged the other bear hybrids to make an actual effort and they at least say hello now. It’s better than the derisive comments of the dog hybrids, or the snooty noses stuck high in the air of the dear hybrids and other exotic breeds.

- They know Jimin is close to Yoongi and Namjoon, and now he feels even more like an outsider that before (somehow it doesn't matter as much as before). The only ones who don’t act overtly different are the new hybrids; Hoseok and the small lion hybrid. but They were never around to learn how to hate Yoongi in the first place.

- it's a little cute- the way that Hoseok will always shout Yoongi's name in greeting (though you're unsure if that's just his personality now that he's started to grow into himself). Hoseok is unbothered by Yoongi's reaction; to shy away from anything that will draw more attention to himself. But Hoseok's smile is so bright and elastic that even he has a hard time ignoring the otter hybrid. You hope there will be a friendship there eventually, that yoongi will open up to more than just your group.

- The little lion kit is a new addition too, she's not the only young feline hybrid you have at the farm but she is the friendliest. She gets pretty close to the other cats that work in the kitchen almost instantly. Probably on account of her young age (she's barely 7) and the eldest cat hybrid seems to be particularly fond of the little one.

- She's curious and kind to Yoongi too- excitedly running up to him more than once to show him a little rock or some flower she found- and yoongi will marvel and nod, and if Jimin is near- he'll lean close and tell her how pretty it is.

- She doesn't seem at all deterred by Yoongi's lack of voice. one day she even sees Jimin, her ears perking up excitedly, tail swishing. "Hello Yoonies voice!" it's a little cute- even if it does make yoongi splutter a little. But she's not exactly wrong; Jimin does talk for yoongi more these days.

- She Always comes bounding up to you and giggling happily to be picked up. Her little legs stretching around your waist, small bottom sat atop your baby bump. Making you get the kind of look that makes Namjoon, Yoongi, and Jimin sigh and look impossibly fond. They can only imagine what you’re going to be like once your little one is born. Your due date is barely 2 months away.

- In truth- you’re starting to get a little bit big. You say it one morning with Namjoon. After he asks you why you’re looking into the mirror with such a displeased expression. The sound of your terse voices alerts Yoongi and he comes to the door to your bedroom to witness your spat. Making a flippant hand movement at Namjoon to back off. Namjoon could smell your distress on you when you looked in the mirror, his voice tense but breaking. “Baby just tell me, why you think you’re not beautiful like that? let me understand. Cuz to me- you look more irresistible every day.”

- It’s not that you exactly wanted him to agree with you that you were nearing the size of a whale- but this doesn’t help at all either. His unending insistence- doesn’t he see? when he looks in the mirror doesn’t he see what you do? His instance that everything is alright doesn't help when you’re feeling this self-conscious.

- Yoongi helps you, fiddling with Namjoon’s closet for a second before he pulls out an extra-large white shirt of his and helps you into it- tying it loosely over your baby bump so that it flatters your waist a little more. The attention that Yoongi shows you clearly making you flustered. Then he drags you to the mirror, tugging your hair out of its bun, the tension going out of your shoulders.

- Yoongi doesn’t know it, but Namjoon does. Your late husband used to always be so particular about your hair, yanking on it harshly if it was left down. and An easy way to avoid him yanking on it was to leave it up. And sometimes you still pull it up convinced it’s safer even though he’s dead and gone. It’s scary how simple it is- but the second your hair comes down your whole body relaxes.

- All the while Namjoon watches from your bed. And you take in yourself, the baby hairs free-floating against your forehead; Yoongi curls one gently around his finger and then lets it go. You take in the way that the fabric hangs now, making you look a little more proportional, Yoongi gives you a satisfied smile behind your back and you have to sigh and admit it. “Okay- okay- I’ll give you this- I’m not a whale”

- “And even if you where you’d be a pretty whale.” Yoongi has the good sense to hurl a pillow in Namjoon’s direction, but it makes you laugh all the same- the heaviness in your chest abated a little. Your sleeve brushing Yoongi’s as you head downstairs, Namjoon trailing behind.

- The beach trip was a nice distraction from chores but the real work comes crashing down on them the next few days. Your little group feels closer than ever, you rarely part from any of them for long and their intention, their little acts of care never fail to make you feel flustered and taken care of.

- Jimin always holds out a hand for you to take when you’re stepping over uneven ground, Yoongi makes a startled noise whenever you so much as get close to a hose that might trip you, always gesturing for you to pause and take a break whenever you’re working in the garden. Namjoon too, always running back and forth from whatever project he’s working on to check on you and make sure you have water or food.

- At night, Namjoon takes your stretch mark cream from you, rubbing down your baby bump and your hips, the little lines of lighter skin on your waist get little kisses from him.

- Even if you want just a snack, Namjoon and Yoongi will bring you a full meal- convinced that you need to be eating more than you are. At dinner Yoongi fills up your plate- piling it high with more food then you could fit in your already crowded tummy. And he always eyes you suspiciously when you can’t finish the full plate. Namjoon too will level you with a look- asking if you really are full.

- Since your pregnancy has progressed, you’ve become a little moodier, and a little hornier whenever way the wind blows. And Namjoon doesn’t help that much at all- and by that you mean, he makes it worse. When he comes out of the field with his shirt off and tucked into his shorts all of his thickness, his muscles that make you ravenous.

- During lunch one day he drags you away to a forgotten tool shed, though it would be easier just to go up the hill to your bedroom- you feel like teenagers sneaking around like this.

- Namjoon presses into you as he hits the latch on the door, muffling your giggles with kisses as you hide from the hybrids outside, voices that you can dimly hear, unable to pick out any one particular yet- but you know they're there.

- You and Namjoon might bicker like an old married couple. But you also act like teenagers gooey and giggly and so so so in love. “Do you think that they can hear you like this? Or smell you, my love?” Namjoon is always quick to tell you how delectable you smell when you’re horny. His more sensitive nose-picking it up the second you feel a slickening between your thighs.

- You’re shaky when you respond. “I don’t know, maybe?” Namjoon always has this passionate intense air about him. He’s slightly possessive- but you’d never fault him for that not when it’s all about protecting and providing for you. Not when he always puts your pleasure first (you feel like you may have turned into a slight pillow princess with him).

- Namjoon heaves you up onto the edge of a bench and then gets on his knees. Gently lifting your leg over his shoulder. He’s always mindful of how much you can move in your swollen state. He checks to make sure he’s not bending your hips in an uncomfortable way.

- You put your hands back on the dusty bench to stabilize yourself as you lie back, Namjoon wastes no time in pressing his face close to your cunt and inhaling, His nose prodding at the thin fabric of your underwear. One of his ears caught on the hem of your dress. His fingers digging into the plushness of your thighs- so full and healthy it makes him hard in his pants.

- He’s slow with the appreciation of your thighs and hips. Hands gripping and moving on to touch and feel like you have all the time in the world. But you hear voices outside the tool shed you’ve commandeered and you could just slip out and go back up to your house- but somehow you like this better. The thought of being discovered stirring an unsure heat in your stomach.

- You can hear Taehyung's voice, and then- like a shock through your core- you hear Jimin’s. Namjoon can feel your jolt. And you realize- his sensitive ears must have known who it was before your own human ones did. He chuckles- teasing his fingers along the hem of your underwear, almost daring to slip inside.

- You almost whine when you think about what you’re being denied- the harsh pull of his fingers that you’re so addicted too, how thick his fingers and knuckles feel (almost as nice as his cock) when they pull out and push in.

- Yoongi and Namjoon have always had the most lovely hands, it’s strange that when Namjoon touches you- you think about Yoongi’s hands. The way you clench around his fingers at that has Namjoon’s tail wagging. "you're thinking about them aren't you," The way you clench around his fingers at that has Namjoon’s tail wagging. Because yeah; Yoongi and Jimin are apart of Namjoon’s pack too, and bonding and group sex are kind of the same thing to hybrids. You’d found that out the hard way when you’d found a group of cat hybrids all tangled together in the grass the other day.

- Namjoon is always so gentle with you because of your condition, but you find your hips jerking with want. His fingers still when he feels the way your wetness has spilled out the sides. His thumb pressed over your clit teasingly. “smell so good when you're like this So wet my love, are you thinking about them finding you like this?”

- “Y-yes” you confess, and Namjoon growls, nipping at you through the fabric, the feel of his teeth brushing you, over the sensitive skin. The fabric cushioning the feeling, makes you almost gush, and you know you’ll be shakily legged by the time he lets you get down. And that he won’t let you get away from him until he’s taken care of you in this way, sated you in every sense of the word.

- But he can also tell how shy you are, the heat under your skin at the thought of being discovered. always unsure how much of your dirty talk is a real want and not just something you like in theory. Namjoon knows the idea of sharing you with the others might seem like the most natural and hottest thing; to love you alongside them. but to you- a human, hybrid sex and hybrid bedroom dynamics aren't as given.

- So he leans close, sliding your underwear down your legs slowly, letting you feel the heat of his palms on your skin. You're getting worked up a little too quickly, your heaving breaths needy. God damn pregnancy hormones you'd say if you could think beyond the plush feeling of his lips pressing a kiss to your clit. “Gotta clean you up for them, if they smelled you like this- then they’d know wouldn’t they?”

- You prove Namjoons initial assumption wrong. “What if I-” you whisper- gasping quietly as Namjoon drags the fabric to the side and glides a delicate lick over your folds. “What if I want them to know?” the pleasure thrumming through your body as Namjoon licks up your slit. Namjoon stills, ears perked, eyes flashing in the half-light. The snarl against your cunt loud and echoic.

- The voices outside fall silent and Namjoon doesn't stop his ravenous licking no matter if you have to bite your lip to keep your noises in. One of your hands scrambling to pull at his hair and find something to grip onto and anchor yourself against the onslaught of pleasure. Jimin is the first one to puncture the silence, “What was that?”

- Then comes Seokjin's voice “all of you- move along- whoever it is they probably don’t want the three of you listening in like a bunch of horn dogs” which is basically a confirmation that they were listening in, and that Yoongi was there too.

- When you finally exit the toolshed with weak legs, sure you’re going to have to at least got change your underwear. You find a bleary-eyed Seokjin a few dozen feet away, obviously upwind of the toolshed. he levels Namjoon with a tired expression. “You both have dirt on your knees” Namjoon has the good sense to look shy at that. You hastily brush off the spots on his, and he on yours.

- If Jimin and Yoongi smell anything on you later- they don’t say anything and the idea that they might make you feel hot all over whenever they lean in too close. You think you see a blush on Yoongi’s face more than once, and maybe see him adjust his pants out of the corner of your eye, but Jimin seems blissfully unaware.

- You have a check-up at the doctor’s office in the coming days. And although only Namjoon is allowed in the room with you (they have a two-person maximum because the ultrasound room is tiny), Yoongi and Jimin also accompany you. Namjoon comes bounding out after, waving the picture and smiling so so wide, both Yoongi and jimin leaning in close to get a better look- they’re so enamored with the little photo. And when you get home- Namjoon shows anyone that asks how the check-up went, eventually hanging it on one of the two fridges in the kitchen.

- Jimin is the only one who seems to notice the jealous looks- because you went out for ice-cream after and come home with them still partially melting (you’d had another craving- french-fries dunked in ice cream of all things). One of the other hybrids having heard Jimin talk to Tae about the beach trip too. They come to you at the end of the day, 2 bunnies, a cat, a fox and one of the bears- a mish moshed group of hybrids; petitioning you to start the beach trips for everyone.

- You can only fit so many people into the back of your truck so you pick a day and start a raffle for spots. Jimin throws his name into the hat just in case but to his surprise, Yoongi doesn’t. No matter how much Jimin bugs him too; He won’t agree to accompany Jimin to the beach again. Shaking his head with a roll of his eyes back tipped back against the grass, his sunhat crumpled. Offering up a few sweet tomatoes to soothe Jimin’s sour nerves.

- The peace lasts for a couple of days before they’re right back to treating Yoongi like shit and for some reason, it pisses Jimin off more. No matter how many times he’s heard Namjoon asks Yoongi to please tell him when anything happens. The snake hybrid seems unable to fight back.

- Jimin asks one of the hybrids why she won’t look at Yoongi (after the snake has already gone up the hill to retrieve another dish for dinner) and beyond a startled look, she just says “none of us can smell him” she throws a stack of paper towels down onto the table angrily. The deer hybrid across from them stumbling with their silver wear But she doesn’t need to re-iterate herself. Jimin understands- it’s hard to trust someone who can lie to your face- and in the world of hybrids where emotions can be decreed from a simple sniff, Jimin can’t say he doesn’t see where they’re coming from.

- Doesn’t excuse their behavior, however. After all- Jimin can smell Yoongi’s emotions through his scent and he didn't realize that was something strange until now. To Jimin, Yoongi’s scent is soft and sweet- something gummy and soft like a marshmallow. But that’s probably because he spends so much time with the hybrid. The others only spend so much time around him and are unused to his scent. And the fact that he never talks and never tries to socialize doesn’t help.

- Jimin can’t imagine not wanting to smell more of it- not leaning in whenever the other hybrid passes. Jimin wants to bury his face in Yoongi’s neck and rub his cheek all over it. The same way that Namjoon does to him in the morning if he shows up before he’s changed from his pajamas. And he knows he smells soft like sleep- an alluring smell to the older alpha when he comes down the stairs, ears straight up eyes wide as he takes in all of Jimin's vulnerability.

- and it might have to do with what Taehyung had said- that alphas eat up that sort of thing.

- Namjoon smells good too, his scent all soft mornings and sleepy walks, the older hybrid large and so pliant in his sleepiness, eyes swollen and face puffy as he hides in Jimin’s shoulder. Sending his pine scent all over so that it sticks to jimin no matter where he is. So that jimin will smell like Namjoon all day.

- One of the cat hybrids at the sink rolls her eyes. But when you come down the stairs smelling much the same. You touch his arm so softly in passing, like you can’t believe you’re allowed. And Jimin’s senses are a dizzying blur of cream, peaches, pine, and marshmallow.

- when he goes back to the barns, hazy at being scented by Namjoon so thoroughly. Taehyung levels him with a funny look and a chuckle. "you're more devious than anyone gives you credit for" thought Taehyung means it good-naturedly- it's good to have a friend to ask how to go about flirting with. the other hybrids gathered on the couch in front of the tv; some cartoon playing- pretend like they're not listening in.

- "How do you know so much when you don't have a pack of your own Tae?" he asks over breakfast, the two of them clutching breakfast burritos on their way to check Tae's bees. Tae doesn't meet Jimin's eyes "you're just lucky- most hybrids dont find a pack so easily Jimin" his words aren’t jealous- only a little patronizing. And Jimin accepts it because he knows he has a lot to learn.

- Taehyung is right- out of all of the hybrids at the farm, there are only a few who have paired up or even made stronger groups or multi-person packs. the bunnies and the cats don't form set generally- though there are a few pairs and more than a few throuples.

- Jimin as caught Yeonjun making out with a tabby more than once- has learned to avoid certain sections of the woods all together because everyone knows that's where the bunny hybrids like to go in the afternoons. The canine hybrids are the only ones who have packs, though there are more than half a dozen loners like jimin and namjoon.

- It's hard for Jimin to cohabitate with them even though there are other larger predators and more than a few prey hybrids living in Jimin's barn. he hadn’t really realized until taehyung pointed it out that each different pack occupied one corner of the punk room. More than once- the room in the barns has felt hostile if only for the packs that have claimed either corner of the bunkroom. it's usual to wake up and find more than one of the pups cuddling with another in one single bed.

- Having reciprocated love in his pack shouldn't feel like an impossibility to Jimin. But still, when Yoongi steps close- an inch too far away, his fingertips barely brushing- Jimin just- yearns. It’s a soft sort of yearning, the kind that has jimin jumping up whenever Yoongi needs something. Has him settling a think knit blanket over Yoongi’s nobly knees during movie nights, and sticking his own feet underneath the edge of the blanket. Feet Pressed to the clothed line of his calf. Maybe nothing will ever come of it, But Jimin yearns with everything he’s got regardless.

- In the late hours of the night, when Jimin lies awake thinking about the three of you. An instinct welling inside of him that says he should walk up the hill and fall asleep on your couch just to be closer to you three (the pack instinct- Taehyung calls it, looking a little bit sad himself when jimin asks him, the other hybrid moving away before jimin can ask exactly what that means) Jimin wonders if his feelings will ever be reciprocated.

- But love is a strange thing, it’s not just about saying it with kisses or touches- though Jimin wants them too. There is love in the small things, in building something together so that’s what Jimin tries to do. Every day- he takes to gardening with a new vigor. Shouting in joy when you harvest some of the tomatoes- filling up a whole gallon bucket with the amount that have ripened over the last week. Your peppers and cucumbers are beginning to produce more too.

- Jimin and Yoongi run to Namjoon just to give him a handful. The alpha gives each of them a sweet nuzzle in thanks, even if Yoongi chirps and moves back after a moment. A flush high on his cheek. Namjoon looking up at Yoongi from where he’s stopped- cheek on the elder's shoulder. The snake relaxing after a moment.

- You spend the rest of the day showing Jimin and Yoongi how to prepare the tomatoes to make a sauce, roasting them on low heat. Cutting garlic so so carefully, and whenever Jimin looks across the prep table- Yoongi’s gaze darts away. halfway through- yoongi stoops down, sticking his socked feet into jimin’s lap, and it feels so nice, to have their weight there.

- You go over to Yoongi at one point, and he tips his head back to look up at you. The back of his head is at the right height to lye up against your baby bump. And Jimin watches, as you slowly, so slowly, brush the hair out of his eyes and away from his forehead. Yoongi’s eyes flutter closed and he tips his face into your hand. Letting out a low happy grumble when you take his action as positive reinforcement, and drag your nails over his scalp. In Jimin’s lap, Yoongi’s toes curl.

- It feels strange- and Jimin can’t quite put his finger on it- but it almost feels like Yoongi is letting you all touch him more than ever. Suddenly okay with touches- as long as it’s in a more private setting. Jimin can’t say he’s unhappy about it. Maybe one-day yoongi will even let Jimin scent mark him.

- Jimin smiles at Yoongi’s happy little snake grumbles. And keeps chopping his garlic. Is happy to receive the same kind of scratch from you a few minutes later. Though he might abandon his chopping in favor of rubbing his face all over your stomach when the instinct strikes him. Jimin unintentionally lets out a growl when you start to move away. Slapping a hand over his mouth and apologizing, no matter how you and Yoongi laugh.

- Still, despite the happiness, you have in your kitchen, in your house, whenever you’re around each other. The rest of the world is not so kind.

- An adoption day comes at arguably the worst and best time. There is still a fair amount of friction between your group and the rest of the hybrids. And a few outsiders at the farm only make it worse. Though Yoongi, Jimin, and Namjoon aren’t the only hybrids who wear red stickers to indicate that they are not available for adoption.

- Hoseok surprisingly- grabs a yellow sticker. And the three of your hybrids watch- as Seokjin hovers around him- a red sticker on his own lapel- wary of all and anyone who interacts with the otter hybrid. His glares putting off all but the most attentive patrons. That's where it starts.

- Jimin is unfortunately caught in the middle when seokjin confronts hoseok. off to help the three of them bring down 3 trays of cut watermelon for the hybrids and the patrons. The dinner tables have been set out on the side of the field piled high with Hors d'oeuvre. You’re there with Namjoon greeting the humans. Games are set out too- for the hybrids and humans to play.

- it’s no secret that they’ve gotten close, and jimin had assumed they’d talked about it- but apparently not. Seokjin is so angry he’s nearly crying. “why- hoseok- why do you want to leave the farm?” Hoseok’s little otter ears are tight against his scalp. “I just- I didn’t want to assume?”

- “Oh- so you’d rather just- throw away everything that we’re trying- all of this- you don’t you dont want to stay do you-” Jimin has never seen seokjin looking so lost, and he knows enough to guess that Seokjin’s anger is at least in part to due to some trauma (later- Jimin will find out that Seokjin’s mother left him with his last owner- an abusive man- to save herself).

- Jimin knows enough to get in between them, telling them to calm down and spend a minute away from each other. Jimin ends up with Hoseok- “it’s hard Jimin- how do you, how do you have so much sureness with Y/n? with Namjoon and yoongi too? How do you look at them and trust that you should stay?” Hoseok's eyes remain on Jimin's red tag.

- Jimin sighs, thinking it through, “do you look at Seokjin and know he cares about you? like- do you know it in your bones?” Hoseok bites his lower lip, “yes- but-”

- “Then you should stay Hoseok,” Jimin walks Hoseok up to the main house where the stickers sit on the prep table. Changing out his yellow one for a red one. And when they head off back down the hill, Seokjin is waiting on the path with Yoongi, apologizing and dragging Hoseok away to the barns where Seokjin’s own private room is. Hoseok goes willingly, smiling up at the older hybrid. His narrow shoulders cuddled under one of Seokjin's wide ones.

- jimin has to admit, an otter and an alpaca are a weird combination for a hybrid pack (But no stranger than a pair of puppies and a snake). His thoughts drift towards Taehyung- and Jimin hopes that his friend won't end up alone. it must not be easy- to see all of you pair off like this.

- in some ways, that adoption day is full of just as much bullshit as they usually are. there are always people who dont understand the effort it takes to take care of a hybrid- they aren't just like any ordinary pet. it's easy to spot the ones that view them as pets- and less like people. You get a few rich people looking to adopt a companion as always.

- A substantial group of families also look to adopt similarly aged companions for their single children. And you agree to more than one possible test weekend. You’re always so particular about letting the children go, so wary and so careful in the way you let them interact with the families.

- Though they don’t have parents here- there are more than a few good role models and parental figures. More than one child chooses a red tag for themselves. And they always know have a right to it- no matter how young they are. You make it clear to the group of them; If they don’t want to be adopted they don’t have to be.

- You even get one couple- the woman withdrawn and sad, and a slightly jealous look at your own pregnant stomach says more than any words could. It’s pretty common for women who can’t have children to adopt hybrid children. and though some of it doesn't sit right with you, You aren’t one to judge.

- Jimin spends most of the adoption day helping you balance the need for food and for games. running back and forth to the house to help. Though there is a little work that needs to be done here and there just to keep the farm running as usual. grey storm clouds roll in halfway through the day, puncturing the blue sky- foretelling scattered showers and storms. and jimin hopes it will cut the adoption day short so that you can return to your routines.

- Jimin is just helping Yoongi putting away a broken badminton net When it happens- Jimin isn’t certain why it does. Only that he hears the words outside the shed after Yoongi's just excited to grab the broken rackets (Namjoon isn't the only clumsy hybrid you have at the farm).

- “oh sorry- ew gross,” a shrill female voice says, and then he rounds the corner and sees yoongi picking himself up from the dirt- a rich lady and her peacock hybrid looking down at him like he’s the dirt beneath his shoes. The peacock hybrid has Yoongi’s sun hat in his hands and there is another hybrid- a wolf hybrid from the farm with a green sticker on his shirt, who growls down at yoongi.

- His shoulders shake too the way they do when he’s been touched and he doesn’t want to be. Jimin has seen you brush your fingers over the back of Yoongi’s hand, has even felt the coolness of the snake hybrid through the fabric when the elder grabbed his sleeve. Has touched him even more intimately as of late. But he knows that Yoongi can’t tolerate being touched by people he doesn’t trust- doesn’t want to touch him. basically, anyone, that's, not you, Namjoon, or Jimin himself.

- “Hey- what the fuck!” Jimin spits, grabbing the sunhat out of the hybrid's hand with a growl, his ears flat against his head. If Jimin had elongated canines like Namjoon they would be barred in anger as he shoves the larger hybrid back. Yoongi shrinks impossibly smaller behind him.

- Jimin is hot and itchy from the heat and the humidity, and he really just wants to shower and cool off. He doesn’t have the energy to deal with entitled people today. And more importantly- no one touches Yoongi on Jimin’s watch.

- The hybrid looks surprised to be talked to in that way, he’s nearly a head taller than Jimin let alone the slightly taller feathers that poke out of the top of his head that give him the appearance of several more inches- but Jimin’s intimidating enough with his set expression to send the hybrid huffing away. Feathers fluffed.

- The peacock's iridescent feathers stand up on end as he grabs the hand of his human owner, her diamond tennis bracelet glittering in the sunlight. “This was getting boring anyway. Sorry” he tosses over his shoulder at the canine hybrid, who looks so disappointed his ears pinned back against his head. They only give him that- barely a look, before they’re heading off down the hill in the direction of the line of cars parked on the grass.

- The wolf hybrid deflates audibly- watching the woman and the other hybrid disappear down the hill. promises of home and family disappearing in a moment, but Jimin has to think- if they’d be discouraged so easily- were they really worth it? The wolf hybrid doesn't seem to think so- Turning his angry tear-filled eyes on Jimin.

- But Jimin can see the hate in his eyes and knows not to mistake the tears for only sadness. “You both ruin everything” he growls out- before they too run back towards the barns- no doubt to tell the others how Yoongi had sabotaged their adoption. Even though that was far from the truth. in all honestly- yoongi just bumped into the lady- or more probably- the lady bumped into him when he was on his way out of the shed.

- Jimin holds out his sunhat to Yoongi, who takes it from Jimin carefully, Jimin doesn’t linger on the fact that his hand still shakes. Jimin’s hand lingers somewhere close enough where Yoongi could touch it could reach out if he wants too. If he wants to get that kind of comfort from Jimin's touch- then Jimin will willingly give it.

- a faint flush coats the elder's cheeks. Oh no- he must be overheating then, Jimin feels a rush of concern. He knows what you would do, hover your hand close enough to Yoongi’s forehead, usher him upstairs for a break in the air conditioning, and a glass of icy lemonade.

- All they can hear is the shouts of laughter at the games the others play in the fields, “I understand why you don’t want to stay in the barns, why you don’t want to socialize with some of them, they’re so unkind to you it makes me crazy.” Jimin shakes his head, sour anger filling him like a rotten peach.

- Yoongi, looks more than pacified, looking up at Jimin with an indecipherable look. Most of the time, Jimin can get a good guess on how he’s feeling but not now- not that indecipherable heaviness he finds there. or the strangely heavy marshmallow scent that’s fluffed around them. Jimin lets go of Yoongi’s hat.

- After a moment Yoongi nods, and Jimin takes it as a thank you. They’re done for the day and dinner won’t be for another few hours or so. Jimin is ready to avoid some of the strangers and hopefully take advantage of the empty showers. The sky is grey with incumbent storm clouds when Jimin makes his way to the shower buildings which he finds blissfully empty; except for the bear hybrid Jackson that tosses a greeting at Jimin before exiting.

- Jimin doesn’t even bother to flick the lights on, instead of settling for the calm light that comes through the skylights, grey and hazy. the storm clouds have started to roll in properly. He hums as he disrobes, goes to grab his favorite strawberry body wash, and picks the last shower at the end, disrobing in relative comfort, glad for a moment of privacy.

- The blissfully Coldwater does wonders for his overheating muscles, relaxing his body deliciously from a day spent walking up and down the hill. he digests the chaos of the day- seokjin and hoseok fighting, yoongi getting shoved. you'd looked frazzled the last time he'd seen you, smile strained as you made small talk with most of the humans, Namjoon always close incase you needed someone to lean on.

- Jimin had been able to tell that your feet were sore just by looking at you. Namjoon will probably make you sit down before long, maybe he already has. You’ll probably cut off the adoption day because of the rain. Taking down names and information before you send them on their way. You rarely let a hybrid leave the farm after one adoption day, needing to have more private meetings and house calls to willingly part with one of them. You just want to make sure you dont release them back into another abusive household.

- He hums as he washes, lingering in the water and taking a longer shower than he usually would. He hums, testing the way his vocal cords wrap around the acoustics of the empty high ceilinged room.

Then he hears the scuffling of someone in the bathroom too and cuts off. A little abashed at being caught. The rustling getting closer and its a moment before he realizes that the rustling is coming from his own section of the bath. he smells him the second before he pulls the shower curtain gets pulled back.

- “Yoongi!” Jimin shouts, furiously grabbing at something to cover his nakedness. Jimin furiously tries to cover his crotch, grabbing one of the large bargain bottles of shampoo and hold it there even as cold water runs over his face. Getting into his wide eyes. “Yoongi what the fuck! You’re naked!”

- Jimin is glad that the rumors about snake hybrids having double the appendages as a normal hybrid are false but he can’t stop his blush or his wandering eyes as he sees the snake hybrid in full. Or the hot lick of arousal that shocks him through his core- especially when he recognizes the heaviness to Yoongi's scent as being arousal.

- there is a single moment, jimin can smell yoongi- can see the want in his eyes, can feel his own scent fluff out to meet his, yoongi sags under the weight of Jimin's scent as the surprise dissipates. "do you-" Jimin's face must be brighter than a tomato. He reaches out a tentative hand, "do you want to-"

- Before Jimin can do much more than that Yoongi’s lips are on his, tentative but firm and passionate, the fire leaking into him from Yoongi as jimin stumbles in surprise. The kiss tastes like thank you and Ive wanted to do this for longer than i care to admit and everything yoongi can't say, can't let slip past his lips. jimin drops the shampoo bottle which narrowly misses his foot as Yoongi’s hands come up to encircle his jaw so softly like Yoongi is holding the most important thing in his world. Jimin is so shocked that for a moment- he doesn’t kiss back and Yoongi retracts- not before Jimin chases his lips and the snake hybrid returns to him.

- It’s the first time Yoongi’s ever touched Jimin so bare, and the snake’s hands on the back of his neck feel cold and shivery but good. As Jimin’s back hit’s the wall and their fronts press together for a moment, just brushing. Then colliding with more force as they both realize how good it feels to be so close to someone you trust. It’s dizzying- intoxicating, and Jimin knows his mouth is moving sloppily even if he wants to kiss Yoongi with just as much intent.

- The snake hybrid bites- actually bites- down on Jimin’s tongue. And a strangled whine comes to live and die in his throat. A snarl in his ears from Yoongi's mouth as the snake hybrid keeps his biting, moves to Jimin's throat- bites hard Enough that Jimin knows he'll leave a bruise. "leave more- yoongi please mark me" jimin feels hot with the thought of it- the thought of all the other hybrids being able to smell yoongi on his scent gland.

- Jimin doesn’t know where to put his hands, he knows enough to know that Yoongi doesn’t like to be touched and unsure if it extends to right now. but it seems okay if he’s doing the touching. His hands sliding down Jimin's back to his waist. He’s a good kisser, the best that Jimin’s ever kissed (not that there have been many) and he tips his head forward to put as much scalding force as he can into it when yoongi leaves his neck in favor of his mouth, trying to match Yoongi’s intensity even if he can’t match his skill.

- Yoongi takes a step forward, and Jimin’s cock brushes his hipbone, and he can’t stop the way his hips jump at the contact, brushing into Yoongi further. Jimin’s blood boils with arousal. Yoongi is equally as hard compared to Jimin. And Jimin doesn't know if its water or precum that he feels on his skin. Can't look down to check.

- By the time Yoongi leans back and finishes running his fingers through Jimin’s hair and over his shoulders. Jimin’s so wound up he feels like he’s about the pass out. The cool water cascading over his back doing nothing to settle him. Yoongi moves his hips- testing the waters, as he grinds, works jimin’s hips into an unsteady rhythm. and jimin moans.

- Yoongi pulls back, looking at jimin, their noses brushing, like he can’t bear to have jimin farther away from him than this, want heavy in his eyes, and Jimin tastes the words on Yoongi’s lips as good as if he’d said them. “Yoongi” jimin breathes. Palms pressed carefully to the shower wall so that he won’t reach out and yank Yoongi closer. But he’s Weak against the wake of this of all this feeling.

- “fuck- kiss me again- can we- ” Jimin feels strung out, his body heavy with something like heat- maybe Jimin is actually having a heat and it’s not just in his imagination (he wouldn't really know what it felt like- never having had one before because of his malnutrition). But This kind of kissing is certainly enough to trigger one.

- Yoongi opens his mouth for a second, almost like he’s about to speak- or to try to, Jimin’s never been sure if he can- if it’s muteness or just Yoongi being selective. And then in the next moment, Yoongi’s gone, almost tripping on his way out of the showers with how fast he’s leaving jimin. A whine dies in his throat and jimin starts after him, But then Yoongi turns back. Gesturing with a hand for jimin to stay put. Yoongi looks angry, and it takes a moment for Jimin to realize that the anger wasn’t directed at jimin- only at Himself.

- Jimin stays in the shower, water thundering down around him as the sky overhead thunders too. Jimin listens to the faint sound of Yoongi dressing and then leaving the showers. Jimin lets him go. So sure that he has absolutely no idea what just happen- or even if he didn’t imagine the whole thing.

- jimin’s hand on himself doesn't feel nearly good as Yoongi’s did.

- Yoongi’s hands shake all the way back up the hill, and he hopes his wet hair won’t be too suspicious especially when a mixed group of hybrids crosses his path. Returning to the barns as most of the adoption day festivities have ended.

- Yoongi’s careful to keep his eyes averted. And like usual- the conversation comes to a halt when Yoongi passes them by. It no longer bugs him the way it might have once. They have a good reason not to want to associate with him. Yoongi’s body shakes with the weight of the things he’s done and the things he’s going to do.

- you gather with 3 families on your porch as you take down their names and contact information. You send yoongi a concerned look as he quickly heads inside the house. Pausing only for a moment before he decides to go to Namjoon first. Later- later he’ll ask you too.

- Stupid- he’s been so stupid recently. Touching you- indulging in these short sweet touches because he wants more so badly. Knows he can never have it doesn’t stop the wanting. If his owner ever found out what he’s done- if she ever found out what he’d almost done with jimin- she’d surely have Jimin’s hands for it.

- And as much as Yoongi wishes it were any other way- Jimin almost touching him does remind him of far worse times. Though he’d been the one to initiate it this time- the memories still linger.

- Times when foreign hands touched his skin as he’d thrashed and screamed trying to protest against the taunting words of his owner. “I’ve never been interested in snake dick but if you want him for tonight you can have him- just be careful- he bites” and he shakes with those memories. Though its been many years. like most kinds of torture- eventually, his owner had grown bored with using yoongi's body as a bargaining chip. Yoongi wonders if he’s ever going to be able to be touched that way without feeling the revulsion at his own body.

- Jimin had come close, but he'd known- known that yoongi didn't want him to touch him. Had seemed more than willing to be touched himself. the revulsion hadn't hit him until the end.

- The places he’s been touched without his consent feel black and decaying- or like ink, every time someone touches him- Yoongi’s surprised that ink doesn’t come away on your hands soft and delicate. But it didn’t change the fact that Yoongi wanted it- and wants it still.

- he wants to see you soft and sated the way you look sometimes in the morning when he can smell Namjoon on you- wants to cause it- maybe, someday in the future if you'll let him. He knows you’d be gentle with him. Wouldn’t put your hands anywhere he didn’t want. Would check in with him- going as slowly or as quickly as he wanted too. Namjoon would be able to be gentle too- Yoongi’s sure of it.

- He wants it, even though he knows that want only put you all in danger. He’s an incredibly selfish person. He hopes he never gets to have that intimacy with you, for your sake.

- yoongi should only let himself dream of something good before he goes- sinks back into that life. But the temptation for more is too strong sometimes, his want filling him up like sticky sweet syrup that pollutes every moment.

- Namjoon is on the second floor of your house and Yoongi takes the stairs two at a time. Folding laundry in what will one day be the nursery for your child. He’s taken the ultrasound up here now- hung it up so he can look at it. and Yoongi is reminded of A few days ago when he gushed about the development of your child to Yoongi in the kitchen comparing them to the size of a fruit. “a cute little cantaloupe- the cutest little cantaloupe”

- You and Namjoon have made the decision not to find out the gender, but the walls of the nursery are still pained blue, puffy clouds above and little flowers below, dandelions and daisies, a stalwart sunflower that curls over the arch of the door half-finished. Yoongi knows you work on the mural it whenever you can. But Namjoon gets a little paranoid about the fumes- you compromise and keep the windows open along with the door to your balcony to allow as much air circulation as possible.

- The crib, a fluffy white thing is already piled into the corner. And Yoongi remembers the first few weeks here when you and Namjoon had overzealously ordered it. He’d come downstairs after dinner one night and found both of you puzzling over the directions. And he’d shooed Namjoon away as he’d helped you put it together. The three of you ending up giggly and punch drunk tired by the time it was fully put together. And then had to carry it all the way up the stairs.

-A mobile of little felted flowers that Seokjin made you as a thank you present a hangs above the empty Crib- colorful and cute. And Namjoon has set the laundry on the unused changing table in neat stacks. All of the other furniture is piled into the center of the room so that you can paint the walls. He turns when he hears Yoongi, his tail swishing.

- “Hey Yoon- what you get caught in a rainstorm or something?” the rain splatters against the windows with a soft patter and Yoongi drips onto the floor. He never bothered to dry off after the unintentional shower with jimin. Yoongi makes a shrug that means ‘something like that’ and if the younger hybrid hovers on the way that Yoongi’s lips look a little kiss bitten and swollen he doesn’t say a thing. Namjoon knows better than anyone- what they talk about and what they don’t.

- He hands over the slip of paper; “jimin should move into the main house, you and I could clean out one of the storage rooms and move the stuff into the attic.”

- Yoongi watches Namjoon’s eyes rove over the words a few times. The hybrid purses his lips, “I’ve talked to Y/n about this- and she agrees- but I don’t know if he wants too? He seems pretty comfortable in the barns, he likes Taehyung and they’re friends. and we kind of want to leave it up to him if we can.”

- Yoongi snatches the paperback from him, annoyance flickering in his chest as he rolls his eye. Didn’t Namjoon see that nothing would change if they didn’t push him a little? Jimin is the type to take that kind of abuse again and again if it means not making a fuss. And Yoongi knows it’s only a matter of time before something happens again. He turns it over onto the other side and using the wall as a place to write.

- “He’s already being treated differently because of me” 'me' being double underlined- so that Namjoon really understands what he’s trying to say. Yoongi just wants to make sure Jimin is safe before he goes. Before he needs to leave and before it gets too dangerous and too near a time when his owner will physically retrieve him. Not that Namjoon knows that Yoongi’s presence has an expiration date. Namjoon searches Yoongi’s face for a source to his desperation and finds none.

- Yoongi has never felt worse for keeping secrets. Maybe in another world- Yoongi would have confessed and asked Namjoon, with all of his connections to the police, for help. Yoongi knows enough to put the whole crime system out of whack and yet. Years of negative reinforcement and beatings have taught him to keep his mouth shut and that isn’t going to change now; not when Yoongi’s life isn’t the only one at risk and he knows you’ll all live if he plays by the rules. He doesn't care about his own safety anymore.

- The second he sees Yoongi’s distraught expression Namjoon steps closer Taking off his flannel and tugging it around his shoulders. Namjoon might not make moves to scent mark Yoongi but dressing him in his clothes is as good as he gets. Namjoon’s comforting alpha scent fluffs around him.

- Yoongi wonders if jimin feels the pull the same way he does. Dynamics are more mobile in snake hybrids and downright non-existent in humans. but they’re more set in canines. Namjoon puts his hand on Yoongi’s clothed arm and Yoongi shuffles close after a second. His nose centimeters from Namjoon’s neck taking in deep breathes to try and steady himself. He didn’t realize he was shaking.

- “It will be alright Yoongi, I promise. He’s gonna be safe.” Namjoon adds quieter. And below them both- in the first floor of the house, he can hear your voice, echoing louder and laughing at some sort of joke, Namjoon’s tail starts wagging at the suggestion of you. “I want them to feel safe too.”

- Yoongi wants to write “he should take my room- I won’t be staying in it soon anyway.” but Yoongi needs to make sure- before he leaves. Jimin has to be included in your little pack. He doesn’t want to think- about what the three of you will go through when he eventually has to leave. The days are counting down to the end of the summer.

- He’s fucking selfish, so selfish, to kiss Jimin like that when he knows he won't be able to stay in the hybrids life. He’s selfish every time he begs affection off you, every day he keeps Namjoon Company when he’s cleaning up the other barns. Yoongi writing out words in the dust when Namjoon asks him questions. Eyes only searching when Namjoon turns his back. Looking for any sort of hidden compartment. Completing his task even if it’s the last thing he wants to do. Betraying you like this.

- Jimin spends the rest of the day wondering if the kiss with Yoongi was just a dream. But later at dinner, Yoongi won’t meet his eyes, and jimin knows he didn’t imagine the kiss. Guilt sticks to Yoongi, more distracting than honey stuck between your fingertips.

- Both of them go to sleep still thinking about the kiss. Jimin wondering if it will happen again and Yoongi thinking that he’d like it too. His fingers running over his lower and upper lips, mind awash with the memory of jimin’s mouth on his. And night falls heavy like a weighted blanket on the farm. The sky a big sheet with holes poked through for stars. A heavenly breeze tempting away the summer heat.

- All of the hybrids safe and snoring in their beds. Some even paired- if they’ve got it. Two furry bodies packed close on a single bed. Some even dream of homes they mind one day live in or of the people that one day they’ll get to love. The idea of being kept and treasured lulling them into a drowsy haze of anticipation and security.

- That night, Namjoon knocks on Yoongi’s door. the hybrid leaning up against the doorframe as he watches the snake get ready for bed. “you know... you could sleep in our room if you want, we have an air conditioner in there too.” yoongi has a notepad ready, he knows that Namjoon likes to open all the windows and even the door to your balcony to let the fresh air in so that it feels like you're sleeping outside. He steels himself to think of someone other than himself before he writes- “I’m okay- thanks though” Yoongi writes out.

- Namjoon lifts one of Yoongi’s blankets to his neck before he leaves, thoroughly scents marking it before he leaves it with Yoongi. And Yoongi sleeps easy that night with his nose pressed to the blanket. Safe and secure in his room. Nothing bad happens to yoongi that night even though he cuddles close to the blanket, and when he wakes in the morning. his heart beats a steady thumping rhythm- his whole body humming with anticipation.

- It’s different to feel excited about being in love, excited for a day spent close to the people he cares about. And he knows he won't take a single day for granted.

- The crickets and cicadas chirping in the field. And in a low tone on the tree outside, a morning dove gentle and unassuming. The sun rising over the hills. Tastes of idyllic and smells of Eden. Like lavender and honey.

- A hand outstretched, scrambling in the dirt before it goes still, fingers just a few inches from safety. Blood mixing in with the sand. The morning is not perfect for everyone.

- But even you would say the morning was peaceful, if not for the dead body dumped at the end of your driveway.

Kofi

1K notes · View notes

dc41896 · 4 years

Text

Grown Up

Happy belated Thanksgiving🦃! I wanted to post this before or on the actual day, but time got the best of me. Hope you guys like it!

Pairing: Chris EvansxBlack Reader

⚠️: None, all fluff☺️!

Following the delicious smell of ham, turkey, dressing, and other Thanksgiving dishes, River’s stomach growls peeking on his tip toes over the table at the various foods spread across it. Ever since the three of you flew in the day before, he couldn’t wait to dig into all his favorite foods and eat until his little belly felt swollen.

“Mommy, can we eat now?,” he asks as you walk by with yet another dish in your hands to put on the table.

“Not yet, but everything’s almost done. I’ll come get you when it’s time okay?”

“Kay.” Sighing, he makes his way to the living room hearing his cousins going back and forth as they shout out random directions leaving him confused.

“What’s that?,” he asks standing beside his two older cousins, Nick and Kira, sat on the leather ottoman.

“Fortnite,” Nick answers not taking his eyes off the screen in front of him. “No! Don’t go that way, meet me by the lake.”

Watching the animated characters jumping and running about as they sporadically built things to hide in, he found himself drawn to the screen and wanting to participate himself since they seemed to be having so much fun laughing and high-fiving as a different character disappeared.

“Can I play?”

“Um maybe later River, we still got a while before this game ends,” Kira answers taking a break to push her glasses higher on her nose before returning to her hurried button mashing as an armed group approaches them.

“When’s that?”

“We don’t know.”

“Why?”

“Because-dang! Quick revive me!”

“I am! River go sit down, we gotta focus. Plus your mom and dad may not even want you playing since you’re too little.”

“Am not,” he pouts crossing his arms across his chest.

“Are too, you’re only four. This game is for big kids like us,” Nick countered making River even more upset.

“I’m big boy too!”

“And I’m tired of y’all going back and forth!,” another one of his older cousins, Mary, interjects from the couch with her feet propped up. “I’m having an important conversation over here.”

“What important conversation? You’re just talking to your boyfriend,” Kira teases making her roll her eyes before placing the phone back up to her ear.

Clearly his cousins wouldn’t be letting him play anytime soon.

So with a huff, he turns around heading back to the kitchen until he hears groans and cheers erupt from the basement, where those who weren’t helping in the kitchen watched the football game.

Carefully stepping down the steps while holding onto the railing, he finds his dad, oldest cousins, uncles, and some aunts all spread out in chairs and on the sectional couch chatting about the last play as they drank from red plastic cups.

“Hey bubs!,” Chris smiles patting his knee for him to join him. “You okay?”

Lifting his arms so he could be picked up, he shrugs his shoulders playing with his father’s bigger hand.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t play.”

“Play what?”

“For tight.”

“For tight?,” he asks raising an eyebrow. “What is that?”

“A game daddy. You jump and and hide and go bye.”

Before he could press any further on this very unique sounding game, the loud cheers steal his attention as he looks up to see a 49ner’s player run an intercepted ball in for a touchdown making him groan and River cover his ears from the commotion.

“Chris you might as well give it up man, the Pats not coming back anytime soon,” your younger brother, Carter, smirks sipping from his cup.

“I wouldn’t get too cocky yet. Remember we’re the top team at second half comebacks,” he retorts matching his smirk.

“You mean you were the top team. Now that your precious Brady is gone y’all haven’t had too many comebacks.”

“Okay yea losing Brady was a bit of a hit, but we’re still good! We just gotta get use to the new quarterback.”

“Hm are you really still good though?,” Carter asks cocking his head to the side.

“Like the niners are doing any better! You have the same record as us!”

Rather than sit and listen to his dad and uncle argue over teams, he hops down eventually meeting you halfway up the steps.

“Food ready now?”

“Yes sweetheart everything’s ready and you can eat,” you giggle watching him excitedly bounce up and down. “And everyone else in here, food is done! Come eat!”

“Mommy, I sit with you and daddy?”

“No bubs, you sit at the kids table with your cousins remember? Like last year.”

“I want to be with you and daddy.”

“Sorry love, there’s not enough room at the big table. Daddy and I won’t be far away though.”

Following you up the stairs and to the dining room, he wished the kid table never existed. All of his cousins were older than him by at least six years, so he felt alone as they tapped on their phones and told jokes only they understood. Not that they completely ignored him, it’s just their conversation with him wasn’t as long as the conversations they had with each other. As he watched you, Chris, and the other adults talking and laughing he wasn’t really in the mood for food anymore and wished the three of you were back at the hotel, or home even.

“Ma, we’re going outside to play!,” one of his cousins excitedly announced as they rose from their seats at the kids table barely pushing their chairs in.

“Aht! Did y’all throw away your trash first?,” his aunt Jackie asked making Kira sigh clearly wishing they could be outside already.

“Yes.”

“Alright go ahead, and be careful,” she answers as the older kids rush outside.

“Mommy I play too?,” River asks walking over to squeeze between you and Chris.

“Sure sweetie. After I’m finished we can go play.”

“No mommy, play with them.”

“Oh,” you reply looking outside to see the bigger kids, and a couple of the adults splitting up into teams as a football was casually tossed back and forth. “I don’t know River, they’re playing football and-,”

“I like football!,” he beams making you giggle.

“I know bubs, but you’re smaller than your cousins and I don’t want you getting hurt.” At your words, his smile falls and head hangs slightly. You, his dad, and even his grandparents always told him how he was such a big boy now, so why he couldn’t do these things not only confused him, but made him frustrated.

“But I’m a big boy...”

Turning on his heels, he stomps to the living room throwing himself on the couch hiding his head in one of the furry throw pillows beside him.

“You know mommy is just trying to look out for you right River?,” he hears as Chris approaches his spot on the couch, eventually squatting down beside him.

“Yes,” he sniffles turning to look at his father with red tinted eyes.

“Your cousins play a little rougher than what we play in the yard at home bud. That’s probably not a game a four year old should be in.”

“I wish I was old.” Softly chuckling, he wipes his son’s tears before leaning over to kiss his forehead.

“I know it seems fun, but trust me when I tell you to stay a kid for as long as you can. Honestly, I wish I was little like you again.”

“Really?”

“Yep,” he nods. “Being little comes with a lot more perks than you think. Like you can get all the toys, sleep in as much as you want, and you don’t have to worry about bills.”

“Bills?,” River asks sitting up.

“Yea they suck. Like how you feel about going to the dentist every year.”

“Ohh, yea bills are the worst,” he agrees shaking his head and making Chris laugh. “You can play games though. I can’t.”

There’s momentary silence as River fiddles with his hands and Chris looks at his son, taking his time to think how he could make everything better.

“Come with me,” he smiles holding his arms out so River could wrap his around his neck attaching himself to his dad.

“Hey, everything okay?,” you ask as they enter the dining room.

“Almost, I have an idea though that might help.”

“Chris...?”

“Trust me, it’s nothing crazy,” he chuckles kissing your cheek before heading out the back to meet with those playing in the yard.

———

Now finished helping wash the dishes and putting away the leftover food, you step outside in search of your two boys who surely had to be tired after spending over an hour outside. Plus with it getting late, you wanted to get back to the hotel before dark.

Sticking your head out the door, you see Chris and River running from one tree to the other trying not to be seen by everyone else playing. After whispering in his ear, Chris darts out shooting his Nerf gun at Kira and Nick each trying to reach the flag in the middle of the yard.

“Freeze! I got you!”

“Dangit!”

“That’s it, next round Chris is on my team.”

“Not if I get him first!”

As the two kids argue, River manages to dodge the shots from his other cousins reaching the flag and excitedly jumping up and down as he holds it over his head.

“Look! I got it daddy!,” River smiles as his dad jogs over to pick him up smiling himself.

“I see bubs! Good job!”

“Chris! River! You guys ready?,” you shout turning their attention towards the house.

“Mommy, I got the flag!,” River shouts back waving the bright orange, flimsy plastic in front of him.

“I see, congrats love! You guys ready to go? It’s getting late.”

“Aw do they have to leave already auntie Y/N? What about one more round?,” Nick asks wiping the sweat from his forehead.

“She’s right guys it’s getting late, we can pick it up tomorrow though,” Chris replies as they groan.

“Fine, we’ll play again tomorrow. This was a cool game idea River!,” Kira smiles giving him a high-five.

“Yea! It’s like our own version of Fortnite,” Nick adds making his little cousin shyly smile setting his forehead on his Chris’ shoulder.

Giving hug filled goodbyes to your remaining family members still hanging around, the three of you eventually get in your car ready to return to the hotel so you could get ready for bed. Not even 10 minutes in your ride, the sound of soft snores cause you to turn around finding your son peacefully sleeping with head slumped forward.

“Looks like your idea also tired him out,” you giggle. Peeking in the rear view mirror, Chris softly chuckles before letting out a short yawn himself. “Oh, is it past your bedtime too?”

“Um, did you just call me old?,” he smirks with hand on his chest.

“No of course not. I’d never disrespect my elders like that,” you tease causing him to gasp extending his arm to tickle your side. Covering your mouth to avoid waking River with your laughs, you’re finally able to push his hand away after a couple tries. “Stahp!”

“Don’t call me old.”

“I didn’t, I said elder which you technically are being older than me.”

“Well...then...don’t allude to me being or getting old. That’s not nice,” he pouts as he puts the car in park, turning to look at you with those heart melting blue eyes.

“I sowy. Forgive me?” Watching you bat your lashes trying to seem as innocent as you could, he can’t help but laugh bringing your face closer to his.

“Hmm...I guess,” he smiles pecking your lips.

“And thank you for fixing everything with River.”

“Babe you don’t have to thank me. It’s just part of my job being the world’s best dad,” he shrugs nonchalantly.

“And right now, most annoying,” you joke kissing his lips one more time.

Taglist: @fumbling-fanfics @honeychicanawrites @honeychicana @lady-olive-oil @themyscxiras @melinda-january @lovelymari4 @maxcullen @literaturefeen @damnitaa @curlyhairclub @plokyu23 @fullofmelaninsarcasmandepression @nunubug99 @felicity-x0 @ellixthea @jojolu @jnk-812 @brwn-sgr @captainsamwlsn @wildfirecracker @nina-sj @iammyownlover @chaneajoyyy @scoop93535 @secretmysteriousperson

If anybody wants to be tagged, has asked to be tagged but don’t see your name, only want to be tagged for certain people I write for, or no longer wish to be tagged just let me know🤓!

#chrisxblackreader #chrisxwoc #chrisxreader #chris evans

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lu-undy · 3 years

Text

Un-alone, Chapter 5

Here it is!

A few weeks had passed since that last chat with Fred, in the café.

Lucien had spent those few weeks locked up in his suite most of the time. He would only exit it to fetch some food to go with his alcohol. He couldn't even drink just wine. Wine didn't deserve to be gulped down unappreciated, non. So Lucien had changed his diet for whiskey or vodka, flavoured with whatever he hunted outside.

On top of being circled with black, his eyes started to show the start of his dangerous relationship with the bottle. The white of his eyes turned glassy at times and on the nights where the guilt and the hate for himself were the worst, he would drink only to wake up still holding the bottle in his hand, passed out on the carpeted floor.

Lucien was now in his hotel room, walking back and forth, talking to himself. Why? Because he had no one else to talk to.

He went to get his cigarette case and opened it. He pushed the cigarettes left and right and retrieved the letter concealed behind them, to read it again.

“Marie… Qu’est-ce que je suis censé faire?”

[What am I supposed to do?]

He read the letter again and his eyes went to a part that he had neglected yet.

“Please, never stop singing. Promise me to sing more, I want to hear you now, more than ever.”

He winced and turned on his heels to walk back and forth again.

So then what? Should he drop everything, send his letter of resignation and find any odd restaurant to sing in? Finish his days as it started, just… singing?

But Marie’s first request was to find Jérémy a job. What was he good at? Baseball, according to Fred. Well, baseball never got anyone a safe job and career, no prospect for the future. Because then what? Assuming the boy was good enough to turn professional, a baseball career doesn’t last for a working life! Surely, he had to rely on something else after that…

Lucien sighed and grumbled.

Gosh…

Well, maybe the singing could be sorted out first? Alright, let’s focus on that. It was undoubtedly an easier issue to tackle.

Bien.

First, he needed a piano, a keyboard, something to make the music he needed to accompany him. Maybe the hotel could provide him with one. Lucien took the phone in his hand and called reception.

“I would require a piano in that room. Are there any other guests on his floor?"

"Uhm, no Sir, your suite occupies the entire floor."

"Ah, parfait."

And as simple as that, a few hours later, a piano had appeared in his suite. It was black, varnished and the full-blown grand piano thing. Lucien’s suite was big enough for it not to seem like it was eating as much space as it did.

He sat in front of it and opened it to reveal the black and white keys.

"Hm."

What should he play? Where should he start?

Ah, oui, he knew.

He opened Marie's letter and laid it where he would a score. His eyes glided on the paper and gently, he started.

It was an odd feeling. The keys were cold under his fingers, emotionless. He needed to tame them and make them his. This piano and this habit of playing it he shall now keep until his own flame is put out. So the keys and him had better get to know each other quickly.

He pushed his fingers to sink in the keys, on the white, between the black keys and it reminded him of how he used to slide his fingers on Marie's skin, through her black locks of hair…

Lucien took a deep breath and after letting his fingers find the first chords, he started singing.

{To the reader: the song is "Je suis malade" by Serge Lama (or Lara Fabian), I tweaked the lyrics!}

"Je ne fume plus

[I don't smoke anymore]

Je ne rêve plus

[I don't dream anymore]

Je n'ai même plus d'histoire

[I don't have any stories anymore]

Je suis sale sans toi

[I am dirty without you]

Je suis laid sans toi

[I am ugly without you]

Comme un orphelin dans un dortoir

[Like an orphan in a dormitory]

Je n'ai plus envie

[I don't want]

De vivre ma vie

[To live my life anymore]

Ma vie cessa quand tu partis

[My life stopped when you left]

Je n'ai plus de vie

[I don't have a life anymore]

Et même mon lit

[And even my bed]

Se transforme en quai de gare

[Transformed into a train station quay]

Quand tu t'en allas"

[When you left]

Lucien skipped the chorus, he didn't feel like it, non. It was too soon. He needed to breathe and gather himself. He played the notes, the chords and the arpeggios, but remained mute. He only started singing again after the chorus.

"Comme à un rocher

[As I would to a rock]

Comme à un péché

[As I would to a sin]

Je suis accroché à toi

[I am clinging to you]

Je suis fatigué, je suis épuisé

[I am tired, I am exhausted]

De faire semblant d'être heureux

[Of pretending to be happy]

Quand ils sont là

[When they are around]

Je bois toutes les nuits

[I drink every night]

Et tous les whiskys

[And all the whiskeys]

Pour moi ont le même goût

[Taste the same to me]

Et tous les bateaux

[And all the boats]

Portent ton drapeau

[Carry your flag]

Je ne sais plus où aller tu es partout!"

[I don't know where to go, you are everywhere!]

His voice had been soft, whispering to himself more than actually singing. But on that last sentence that's when he broke it, he broke the silence and burst his bubble of comfortable shyness. To hell with it all! He had wanted to shout and shred everything around him ever since he had set foot in America! This was his chance to let it all out and by God he would!

"Je suis malade!

[I am sick]

Complètement malade!

[Completely sick!]

Je verse mon sang dans ton corps!

[I pour my blood in your body!]

Et je suis comme un oiseau mort!

[And I am like a dead bird!]

Quand toi tu meurs!"

[When you are dead!]

The tears were back. Lucien had said the words, in his mother tongue at that. It hurt in English, but in French it had bled him dry to say it out loud.

"Je suis malade!

[I am sick!]

Parfaitement malade!

[Perfectly sick!]

Je suis privé de tous mes chants!

[I am deprived of all my songs]

Je suis vidé de tous mes mots"

[I am emptied of all my words.]

Lucien sniffled. He wiped his messy face with his sleeve quickly before his hand returned to the keyboard. He now played pianissimo and his voice thinned to a whisper.

"Cet amour me tue.

[This love is killing me.]

Si ça continue

[If it goes on]

Je crèverai seul avec moi

[I'll die alone with myself]

Près de mon piano

[Close to my piano]

Comme un gosse idiot

[Like an idiotic kid]

Écoutant ma propre voix qui chantera..."

[Listening to my own voice singing…]

Lucien removed his hands from the piano and closed his eyes before he sang without restraint, his head raised to a God that had toyed with him.

"Je suis malade!

[I am sick!]

Complètement malade!

[Completely sick!]

Je suis privé de tous mes chants

[I am deprived of all my songs]

Tu m'as vidée de tous mes mots

[I am emptied of all my words]

Et j'ai le cœur complètement malade

[And my heart is completely sick]

Cerné de barricades

[Surrounded in barricades]

T'entends?

[Do you hear me?]

Je suis malade!"

[I am sick!]

That last line, he had shouted it and maintained it so long that he turned red in the face from the lack of air.

His shoulders sank and he almost collapsed on the keys to catch his breath after it. Mon Dieu, the last time he had sung was ages ago, and it had never been that cathartic in his life yet.

He went to grab his bottle of whiskey and resumed his seat.

“Je suis malade.”

[I am sick.]

He said to himself.

“Je suis malade, malade, malade.”

[I am sick, sick, sick, sick.]

He wasn’t singing it, only chanting it, repeating it over and over again. He had diagnosed himself oui, but what was that illness that made him eat alcohol based meals and prevented him from sleeping? God knew what it was called.

Some call it grieving, and it takes time to pass, and no aspirin in the world could fix it. No doctors could help either, non. What would scientists in white lab coats understand in Lucien’s pain? Pff, nothing, absolutely nothing.

Non, the Frenchman was condemned. Not much he could do about himself.

So he took a gulp of whiskey and rubbed his eyes with one hand before sighing. He then looked back at the letter in front of him.

Jérémy. The job. Marie.

Surely Marie would hate him for allowing Jérémy to follow his footsteps, non? But then, what about her saying that the boy was gifted? She couldn’t have meant that he was gifted to become a spy? How could she know what made a good spy? Did she know what made a good spy? Did she - mh....

Lucien frowned and thought harder.

In any case, what should he do now with his life?

He could still quit. He could call up the Ministry, jump on a plane and go back to France to hand in his resignation letter in person. He could then hole himself up in his flat, get a keyboard and play until God steals the air from him.

But then, he would ignore Marie’s request for Jérémy. He needed to find him a job.

“Bien.”

[Right.]

To know if Jérémy could do this, he needed to observe him, get to know him, his habits, his character. Lucien snatched his jacket off of the coat hanger and headed to headquarters.

When he arrived, he stopped by reception.

"Agent L, French DGSE." He introduced himself and showed his credentials, given that he did not recognise the person in front of him.

"I know who you are." The receptionist answered with a chuckle and a smile.

"Is the Old Tom still down in the archives?" He asked.

The receptionist raised her eyes to him and nodded with a smile. Her lipstick was a shade of red too bright for Lucien's eyes.

"Yeah, you'll find him downstairs."

"Merci."

[Thank you.]

The Frenchman took the stairs and went down, the sound of his impeccable black varnished shoes almost completely deafened at each step. Force of habit. He had learnt to walk silently when he was half a man. Now he could barely let his presence anywhere be known. There was something in hearing his own footsteps that he did not like, never did.

When he reached the right underground level, he pushed a metal door and entered a series of corridors. Lucien soon faced a booth whose walls were in fact bars. There was an opening at the front, a square up to his shoulders, on a counter.

"Agent L, French DGSE." Again, Lucien did not recognise the employee, but they raised big, round eyes to him.

"Y-yeah, I know who you are… Uhm… Need anythin'?"

"Old Tom."

"Ah, yeah, right…" The young man at the desk behind the bars picked up a telephone. Lucien's trained eyes saw the rows and columns of files and cardboard boxes of evidence and reports behind the young man. "Tom? Yeah, there's a man here for you…? Uh, yeah, he's a…" He looked up at Lucien. "He's agent L, from the French DGSE. Oh?"

The young man put the phone back down and frowned.

"Is something the matter?" Lucien asked.

"He hung up on me-"

"L?!" The door behind the young man barged open and an old man stormed in. "Haha! It's you, son?!"

Lucien smirked.

"I am too old to be called 'son' now. But oui, it is me."

"Goddamn it!" The old man burst into joy and his raspy laughter before coughing to catch his breath. "C'mere, come on, don't stay at the door!"

Tom opened the side door and Lucien entered. He was welcomed with a hand that he shook only to be pulled in a friendly embrace.

"Goddamn it, Lucio, how long has it been?"

"Way too long." Lucien smiled at the nickname. Tom was one of those who had fled Italy and Mussolini only to fight his hardest to push him out of there. He was already a young adult back then and he soon found a woman to be his wife and got a few lovely children. His Italian roots never left him and when he had learnt that Lucien was French, he considered him Italian…!

Tom's accent had tempered over the years but some words still clung in their Italian twists. He was a round, plump man with a white moustache and equally white hair. He wasn't as tall as Lucien, only reaching his shoulder. He also had a distinct gait, the gait of the man whose wife's cooking would prove to be his downfall.

"So how has it been in all these years? Oh, hold on, don't say anythin', come wit' me."

Lucien followed Tom through the corridors and through more and more code-locked doors. It was impressive to him. Each code was different and changed frequently, yet Tom remembered them all, always.

"Alright, follow me behind this… There, no cameras can look here. Take a seat."

There was a desk and a couple of chairs between two large aisles of files.

"Still like a good old vino?"

"Is there any chance your fake aisle has something stronger? By the way, is it possible to smoke?"

"I have a whiskey if you'd like but you can't smoke here, son. The fire alarm'd go off, argh…" The old, plump man bent down to open the fake file aisle. He retrieved a bottle and two glasses before sitting down opposite Lucien and offering him a drink. "In all these years, I didn't know you liked that stuff. I keep it for the 'Ricans. Only people like you and me, Europeans, like wine. They don't get wine here, argh…"

Lucien nodded. They raised their glasses, cheered and took a sip.

"Argh, this is a strong one, eh?"

"Oui, indeed, strong and much needed."

"Why did you come to see Papa Tom, eh?"

Lucien took a deep breath.

"I am sick."

"Oh, is it serious? I was thinkin' that you looked a bit slim but eh, you were never very big."

"I lost my wife." Lucien added and Tom's jaw dropped.

"Maria? Oh…" Tom shook his head, raised it and prayed, his hand going North, South, East and West on his chest. "I am sorry, Lucio… How long ago was it?"

"A few weeks."

"What happened?"

Lucien put the glass between his thighs and his back naturally hunched. He stared at the brown liquid and how the light of the neon above him was reflected at the surface of it.

"Her lungs. They were always weak. Pneumonia killed her."

Tom saw Lucien's hands shaking and he saw him take a swig of his beverage again.

"I'm sorry, son, I really am."

Lucien nodded and drank more. Tom had a second of hesitation, wondering how on Earth Lucien could gulp down the liquid that fast without his eyelids even flinching. But asking the question was answering it and Tom understood that Lucien fell in love with the bottle.

"Is there anythin' I could do?"

The Frenchman slowly nodded.

"There is a young man. I need to know everything about him."

"He has anythin' to do with this?" Tom asked.

"Non, not really."

"Lucio, come on, tell me! Look at me, it's Tommaso! Your Old Tom!"

Lucien sighed again.

"I wasn't there for her in the end. I barely was there for the funeral…"

"Nothing you could do about any of this, Lucio." Tom stood up and put his still full glass on the desk. Never had he seen Lucien so distraught. He couldn't raise his eyes to the Italian.

"She was important and I had left her for… this." Lucien raised his hands around to the files, fake and real, surrounding them.

Tom sighed.

"Eh, now, you loved her and she knew it was for the best of you two.”

“And yet I lost her anyway and I lost her far from me. She was alone in the end, Tom.”

“The way that I see it, you both made a great sacrifice. But she didn’t pass cause you wanted to run away. Nah, you loved her all along. And in the end, God called her back not because of a mistake you made or anythin’ like that.”

Lucien sighed.

“Lucio, look, you did the best thing for her and uh… Now, if I’m bein’ honest and all… I really think you gettin’ away from her was the best thing you could do.”

Lucien’s eyebrow twitched.

“What do you mean?”

“Fred and I have been keepin’ an eye on her for years while you were away. Even made a file for her, just so that if you visited and uh… If you uh… I mean, just in case…” The old man wiped his brow nervously.

“Tom, please.”

Tommaso raised his eyes to Lucien and sighed.

“It’s not pretty and I know it’s not good to sally the dead…”

“What do you mean, Tom? Just out with it!” Lucien lost patience. The lack of sleep and alcohol-free food had made him easily irritable.

“Wanna have a look at the file?” Tom asked.

“Just tell me! What is so odd that you behave this way with me?” Lucien was at a loss as to what to think or expect anymore and he hated it.

“Alright…” Tom stood up and disappeared in the aisles of files. Lucien could hear his heavy gait from his chair. He waited with his fingers grasping the glass of whiskey hard.

When Tom emerged again, he was holding a brown file. He put it on the desk and pushed it towards Lucien.

“Here. Mary Trevor.”

“You have the wrong file. That was not her name.” Lucien answered. “Even before we got married, her name was Mary-”

“Just…” Tom raised a hand to stop Lucien. “Just take this back home and read it.”

“Tom.”

Their eyes eventually met in the underground archive that were dimly lit.

“Why keep a file on her? What will I find in this?” Lucien asked coldly but that only confirmed Tom’s suspicions. Lucien would not like what he would read at all.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #unalone

11 notes · View notes

onyourzeus · 4 years

Text

all alone | kyh

ykcyj ➝ arskyh

title: all alone pairing: kang younghyun (youngk of day6) & you genre: heavy angst, fictional universe words: 3.7k

inspired by: 50 proof by eaJ (give it a listen if you please, here) author’s note: this is my first fic in years, feedback appreciated.

content warning: alcohol use, swearing, description of anxiety and loneliness

any requests? check my pinned post if i’m accepting any at the moment, thanks!

It’s not a matter of when, but of how you’re going to stop yourself. They keep saying it heals with time, but no one ever tells you how much time you need to feel completely fine again.

So, instead of waiting for that moment, you take it upon yourself to numb the pain inside. It’s easier to keep it bottled up, then pretend to wash it away with age-old whiskey taken from a nearly empty cabinet.

Your friend reminded you to buy anything other than 50 proof alcohol, but that’s what’s left on your grocery list nowadays.

She’d come by to keep you company, but there’s always an excuse. An emergency meeting, a family gathering, a blind date across town.

It’s okay, you text her repeatedly. At this point, you’d rather she focus on herself than judge you for decisions affecting your life.

The moment they get angry at you, it is time to push them away.

You’re not about to be the reason for another falling out; another heartbreak; another memory turned sour and hard to swallow.

A big gulp of fiery hot liquid comes into contact with your throat, and you exhale with a wince. Ah, just the way you think you like it.

But no one’s stopping you, so why not keep going? You haven’t reached your limit yet, even though you’re not sure what that would look like. It’s no matter, though, it’s your apartment— your bathroom floor, your money, and your own fate decided.

Once the tears trail down your cheek, you have a moment of self-awareness. What are you doing? Glancing at your slippers, sweaty oversized shirt, and frizzy strands of hair sticking out of your head— when exactly did you start looking like this and decided, “Yeah, I feel comfortable in my own skin.”?

You dart your tongue out slightly, tasting salt on the corner of your mouth. It’s wet as the tears keep coming. Tonight’s one of those nights, you laugh sarcastically.

You’re probably going to play russian roulette with your medicine cabinet tomorrow; you’ll either be lucky and find a couple of painkillers lying around or be reminded of the emptiness that surrounds you. Usually it’s the latter, but maybe you’ll be lucky this time?

You scoff loudly at the idea. Another gulp of alcohol, and it stops the tears momentarily. Just so you can indulge in the sound of your heavy breathing, vision blurring the sight of your kitchen.

Your phone lights up on the couch, buzzing and emitting a soft light that disturbs the dimness of the room. It can’t be your friend, it was a double date night with her co-worker, or some shit you don’t really care for. Although you remember pieces of memories that include you being in the same exact situation a few months prior; it’s a bit hazy now, probably due to the alcohol.

But also because you use what coordinated strength you have to approach the ringing sound. You can’t make up the caller ID which should be the first red flag that you shouldn’t answer the phone.

You never do when you’re like this, but something inside you just doesn’t care anymore.

You slide your finger across the screen, fumble through the circles you can make out until a static hum goes off louder than usual. Finally on speaker mode, you put the phone back on the couch as your body drops down on the floor.

Resting the bottle on your side, you cradle your heavy head against the palm of your hand and exhale a long drawn out, “Heyyyyyyy, who’s this?”

God, you sound horrible.

You hear nothing but static, and wonder if there never was a call at all. “Is anyone there? Hello? Hello?” You’re starting to get annoyed, grabbing hold of the bottle’s neck and taking a short swig. It causes you to cough, your fist pounding helplessly against your chest.

“What are you doing?” He sounds sad, disappointed, and concerned on the other end. You don’t know who it is, but the knots in his voice deem familiar to you, somehow.

“Who is this? I’m gonna call the cops on you,” you drawl out, not understanding your own logic. “Why are you calling me at—” you try and check for a watch on your wrist to no avail, so you leave the question at that.

Hiccuping, you blurt out, “I don’t know who you are.”

“It’s Younghyun. Leehi keeps calling me, asking to check up on you. Did you receive her messages?”

Frankly, you understood at least two words with his reply. Leehi and messages, immediately you seethe with anger once again. Your friend on the double date texted you? With droopy eyes, you check your notifications, and the caller is telling the truth.

10 text messages left unread, and none of those words she sent mean shit.

“Tell her to fuck off.”

“I won’t do that. Where are you? At the bar or in your apartment?” He keeps asking all these questions he doesn’t have the right to in the first place. You feel your face scrunch up in frustration, figuring out who’s so concerned at your well-being so randomly on a Thursday night.

“I’m not telling you anything. I don’t know you! Please stop bothering me, sir,” your voice cracks in the end, a semblance of fear creeping up onto you. This is why you never answer calls with alcohol controlling your system.

“It sounds quiet in there, so you’re in your apartment,” he continues, ignoring your nonsensical pleas. “I’m nearby, can you please stay put for another 20 minutes or so? I’m coming to check up on you.”

“I told you I’m calling the police if you even come near my doorstep!” Your frantic tone causes your body to shiver, welled up tears leaving eyes that start to sting.

No one has been at your apartment for months; it’s not that they don’t ask. You don’t want them to come in. You don’t want anyone to see how you’ve been when you’re all alone.

He calls your name on the other end, and again, and again he whispers it like a gentle reminder. A song to soothe your anxious mind, and it works. For a moment, you remember the feeling of comfort and security in the form of arms wrapped around you, and this very same voice to calm you down.

“It’s Younghyun, okay? Please take deep breaths, you’re okay. You’ll be okay. I’m on my way very soon,” Younghyun instructs. His hushed voice contrasts your shaking whimpers, yet you follow what he says with relative ease. It’s so familiar, fragments of flashbacks filling your mind one after the other.

“Please unlock the door soon so I can come inside. I don’t have a spare key anymore,” he continues. That’s weird, he always had it to access your apartment whenever he wanted. You were the one to insist on that, too, since he basically lived with you for… a while.

Reality tries to get in the way of the memories, you block it off for just a little bit more with the last drop of alcohol. It should last you throughout the night.

In a daze, you do what Younghyun told you: unlock the door, and take deep breaths. You don’t want to be completely sober, so you refrain from drinking water even if your throat has been begging you to.

A lucky soju bottle hides itself from an empty carton of milk inside the fridge, so you grab it hastily. No shot glasses needed, you go straight for it.

Younghyun didn’t tell you to stop, so why should you? But something in your stomach suggests you do. It’s a wincing pain you’ve had before, but this time it digs deeper than that. A liver concern, dehydration, or perhaps guilt?

You couldn’t think any longer as you heard a soft knock against the front door. Followed by Younghyun coming in quietly, his steps barely audible. As if he’s never set foot in your apartment before. Or at least, maybe it feels different this time.

As if you haven’t seen him and remember his presence anymore.

“Hey,” he greets you quietly, and his voice is so much better in person. “It’s dark in here.”

You’re not sure how to move forward from here. You’re back on the floor, head laying weirdly on the couch that your neck has started to hurt. Your hands hold tight onto the soju bottle as if it’s about to be taken away from you. It’s the one tangible thing keeping you grounded. Your mind begins to float away again upon seeing Younghyun’s face.

He has that effect on you, but you didn’t consider it ever happening in months.

You think you’re sleepy, but really you become hyper aware of his every move. It’s just hard to see with droopy eyes, and the silent steps he takes on the hardwood floor.

He turns the light on the hallway to the bathroom, and even with its faintness you squint at the source of any kind of brightness in the room.

“Sorry, I just didn’t want to step on anything,” Younghyun apologizes. He places a plastic bag on the kitchen counter and takes out what looks to be a bottle.

Definitely not alcohol, you frown.

“No, I’m fine. Thank you,” you tell him first, the croak of your voice so heavily dissimilar to the friendliness of his. Yours sound guarded, unsure of yourself. “I have this,” you add as you sway the soju bottle in the air. The liquid spills on top of your head, and Younghyun is quick to take it away from you.

“H-hey—” you argue, but the cold bottle of water has now replaced your source of alcohol, and your lips continue to curl downard. Younghyun shortly laughs at your reaction, but you don’t find it funny.

“That was mine.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Give it back.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Prick,” you mutter under your breath. “Don’t let it go to waste, then, drink.”

Younghyun sighs, shaking his head while meeting your figure on the floor. The soju bottle remains on the counter, out of your reach. His slanted eyes point towards the neglected bottle around your grasp.

You find yourself staring mindlessly, his face showing smooth textures and a hint of base make up doning his features. You’re in awe, just like before, of the beauty in front of you. So close to touch, just the tip of your fingertips to graze against his skin.

If only you didn’t feel so guilty and looked like shit.

“Staring at me won’t make you sober up any sooner,” he chastises you, sitting with his legs crossed. He looks dapper, a fine suit without a tie and two buttons opened up. Was he at a photoshoot? A company dinner? A date?

That last thought shoots a strange numbing sensation on your chest.

“Why are you here?”

Younghyun looks taken aback at your bluntness. It doesn’t seem like you’re drinking that water anytime soon as your focus shifts at his presence in your apartment. He lets it go this time, then, entertains your question for the sake of your satisfaction.

“I told you. Leehi called me. She’s been worried about you recently.”

“Oh, has she?” You sass him just for the sake of it.

“Yes,” Younghyun doesn’t give in to your bluff, his voice suddenly firm and unnerving. “She cares about you a lot, and I understand if she hasn’t had the time to come see you very often anymore, but she works long hours and—”

“Why are you defending her? Did you just come here to lecture me like a little kid? I know how the world works, Younghyun. I know people can be busy, and that they have their own fucking problems to deal with. I know, okay? Fuck, I know that!”

The words just leave your mouth like poison, it was ready to spill out of your guts all of a sudden. It just needed an opportunity to.

You didn’t expect it to come tonight— in front of Younghyun, out of everyone.

Maybe that would slap him cold and hard with what’s going on. Maybe that’s the final straw with you, not the uninviting welcome to your apartment, not the refusal to drink the water he’s bought you, but the words you have spoken. It’s always been the most hurtful.

You avoid his gaze, suddenly feeling small and even more guilty of how you’re acting. You know you’re not supposed to lash out like this, you hate angry confrontations that can be avoided. But this is why you drink alone, cry alone, and fall asleep when the sun goes up— alone.

Younghyun was never supposed to be here witnessing this.

Just like how you predicted, you see him stand up and walk away. It’s what you deserve, right? No one ever wanted to stay.

But you don’t hear the door slam shut following his departure. You don’t hear his footsteps trudge their way out of the door, out of your life once again.

Younghyun approaches the corner of the living room where the heater is, and turns it on.

“I don’t know how you do it, but I won’t be able to stand the cold like this,” he says with the same gentle, knowing tone of his. “I hope you don’t mind me turning the heat on a little bit. Are you warm, though?”

You don’t understand what’s going on.

Yes, it’s been a chilly autumn season but not that you cared. The alcohol hits you from within, igniting unfound frustration, anger, and desperation in every corner of your soul then almost instantly numbs it all for you.

With parted, dry lips you manage a meek shake of the head. The sweat on your shirt dried up, and your shorts aren’t doing any better making you feel cozy either. You compensate by hugging yourself, the condensation of the bottled water touching the goosebumps on your skin.

“You should probably drink that before it gets lukewarm,” Younghyun suggests, walking three steps forward to sit next to your figure. He gives you space, almost like a shield in between your bodies in which either of you are afraid of breaking.

Finally, you relent to his wish and chug the water in seconds. It cools your throat along with your state of mind. A bit more stable now, with the way you see things, and process your surroundings. Your conscious eyes land on Younghyun’s worried gaze, and you struggle not to fall back into them.

“I’m… not really mad at Leehi, I hope she knows that,” you quip quietly. The haziness drifts away from your consciousness and floats midair. It clings to the barrier in between you and Younghyun, frosting up unseen glass as Younghyun studies your features carefully. And he waits for more of what you have to say.

You don’t follow through anymore, so he adds to the conversation. “I’m sure she knows. She’s just concerned about you.”

You reply with a subtle nod, wishing you had more water to drink.

“I’m worried about you, too.”

And he says the magic words that start the first broken piece of glass stopping you from seeing him eye to eye. You turn your figure away from his sitting one, knowing that the more you attempt to find the answers in his eyes the harsher the tears will come from your own.

“You shouldn’t be. I’m fine.” What a massive fucking lie, you think bitterly. It’s not like you to lie out loud, You say what’s on your mind when needed. And if it isn’t, then you know best not to bother others and keep it to yourself.

“C’mon, we both know that’s not true,” Younghyun disagrees— in the most polite way he can that it hurts. It hurts to hear him pander to your childish behavior right now, to have him tiptoe his way around your insecurities.

This is what you didn’t want to happen, and yet in the end you meet your own demise this way.

“How can I help?” He urges on.

He can’t.

“I want you to feel better.”

You won’t.

“Please tell me how.”

You don’t even know the answer to that.

He sighs, but he tries hard not to let it bother you. Younghyun’s always been like that, so perfect and so accommodating. Wasn’t that supposed to be a sweet gesture from a lover? To know your needs, and meet you in the middle. You basically met a match made in heaven with him years ago.

What went wrong?

“I can’t believe you still have that shirt,” Younghyun points out. He pulls his knees up to his chest, hugging them tight. He’s trying to look so small, innocent.

It’s funny, you think, and recall the nights he convinces you to be the big spoon for once. His sturdy frame was difficult for your arms to gather in one warm embrace, but whenever you tried he never complained. And it was nice.

You try to regain focus, and look down at the shirt you’re wearing. The print has faded so much that anyone who didn’t know its history wouldn’t have guessed what words were imprinted on it originally. But you do, and for a moment you thought you had forgotten— or at least, actively erased from your mind.

But this shirt has always made you feel like you have a sense of connection to this world, to a person you once held in your arms.

“I can’t believe we had Dowoon design that logo before. Nobody really told us how it really looked,” Younghyun chuckles in the night air, temperature going up a few degrees.

It wasn’t hot, you weren’t bothered, it was just… right.

And suddenly, you remember what he’s talking about. Because you were there, and you were this close to dropping the truth onto them that yes, it’s hideous, no one will buy your merch, but the grin on their faces and the spark of excitement in the room was too huge to disrupt. You then convinced yourself that yes, their fans won’t mind, they love you for your music. They love you for you.

You were supposed to love Younghyun for who he is.

“I liked it— eventually,” you admit and Younghyun raises an eyebrow. Defending yourself before he gets a say, you add, “It’s a sort of charm you and the others had. Up and coming in the scene, innocent boys singing their hearts out because you have nothing better to do.”

“Hey now, I was in college with you. I had midterms literally the day after our first official gig,” Younghyun corrects you lightly, and you do remember that. You’re starting to remember it all, like a kaleidoscope of days, weeks, and years through Younghyun’s starry eyes.

You don’t realize the barrier has begun to shatter until you feel the heat of his hands hovering over yours.

“What is it? Tell me, please. Tell me what’s on your mind,” you hear him say repeatedly. He has even moved so much closer to you, his hands grasping yours the way you held the bottle of whisky for nights on end.

He holds you like he cares, like he doesn’t want for you to disappear. For a second time.

“I let you go. I let you go, and now I’m left with nothing but haunted memories of you. Of us,” you sob into him, the sturdiness of his body keeping you from shaking terribly.

Younghyun wraps his arms around you, the way he would when you fell asleep waiting for him late at night on the weekends. Younghyun cradles your fragile figure within his tight embrace, the same way he’d tuck you in bed when fatigue overcomes your system. Even when he’s tired himself, even when he’s on a tightrope of his own priorities— he made you his first.

But you didn’t want that, you knew that wasn’t good for him, his career. The peak of his fame alongside friends he’s known as family for so long would be right around the time you decided to move to a different city and pursue your own passion.

There was no way it’d work. You’d be too far away from their studio, his and his bandmates’ apartment, the company building, everything. Everything Younghyun built from the ground up with his talent, his opportunistic mind, his own purpose in life.

The visits happened less often, the calls coming in at hours you couldn’t accommodate for anymore. People flock to him, and it’s the sort of crowd you flinch at, disassociate yourself with, it’s not who you want to be.

But it was Younghyun’s, and you loved him so much to take that away from him.

And yet, in the place you’ve buried yourself deep; hours away from where you once lived with Younghyun, months after the dreaded decision you falsely stood your ground for. He’s here, with you.

Does he still love you now?

“Don’t think too much right now, okay? You worry your pretty face with all your troubled thoughts like that,” Younghyun reassures you softly. If you had the strength to react to his superfluous words, you’d do so just like before. But exhaustion overcomes you— from the drinking, the sobbing, and the weight of your guilt draping over Younghyun’s shoulders as he embraces you even further.

You don’t deserve such warmth, such tender love, you hurt him. He can’t love you after that.

“I’m sorry—”

“No,” Younghyun shakes his head, ruffling your hair next to his face. He lets you go for half a second, and before you know it his hands are secured around your waist again. You don’t protest, but your eyes seem mesmerized by the way his demand you to see him.

“I’m sorry,” he shares your words, “for not coming sooner.”

The next sunrise doesn’t sting you in the eyes this time. This time, you fall asleep without nightmares accompanying you in bed. And this time, you wake up to what seems like a beloved past of yours. But it’s not, it’s the next day, and Younghyun stayed.

You let him.

#young k scenarios #young k x reader #young k imagines #day6 scenarios #day6 imagines #by:jiae

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impala-dreamer · 4 years

Text

Watch Your F!cking Mouth!

SPN FanFic

~Dean gets whammied with an especially frustrating curse and Y/N tries to keep him calm, much to her amusement and annoyance.~

Dean x Reader

1,984 Words

Warnings: NSFW. Foul Language. Oral Sex. Intercourse. Comedy.

A/N: I'll be honest, this took me all day to write because I kept stopping to laugh. I just... Idek. It's ridiculous. Enjoy :)

My Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon

“Son of a broadcaster!”

Y/N looked up as Dean stumbled backwards, reaching down to rub his shin after whacking it against the bedpost.

“Still?” she asked; hint of a laugh on her breath.

“Yeah, yeah, shuttie.” He rolled his eyes and stood up, limping his way towards the couch. "You know, this is some real hogswallop! I mean what the fig!"

Y/N's laugh broke free and Dean growled as he fell down onto the sofa.

"This isn't funny! It's balderdash!"

Trying to calm down, Y/N put her book down and frowned at him. "I'm sorry, baby. This is really fucked up. Super funny...but fucked up."

"It's not ducking funny!" he shouted, sulking into the cushions. "What the fork kinda nasty basted witch curses someone like this? It's like my tongue has flagging autocorrect!"

"I only got like half of that, to be honest."

“Please shut the freight up and leave me be.” Dean sighed, letting his head fall against the seat back. “I just wanna be able to open my gold digging mouth and have the right frosted words come out!”

Quickly, Y/N left her seat and went to him, hating to see him so frustrated, even if it made her laugh harder than she had in a long time. For the last six hours, Dean had been cursed with the inability to curse as if he were stuck on some network television show. The worst he’d been able to muster was a ‘freakin’’ when Sam had knocked over his beer, but after a while, he just gave up and stopped talking. It was quiet without him, but Y/N couldn’t imagine how tough it was to think one thing and have your tongue twist it into another.

“Hey,” she said softly, perching on the coffee table in front of him. “Sam said it should only last a few more hours. Then you’ll be back to cursing like the sailor I know and love.”

“It’s not just that,” he said with a whimper, shaking his head at the ceiling. “I can not curse, it’s not like I have to constantly-”

“I know, baby,” she soothed, placing her hand on his knee.

“It’s just that I should be able to say what I wanna say when I flamingo say it!”

Y/N coughed to hide her laugh and Dean’s head popped up, his eyes narrowed on her smirk. “Don’t laugh at me, please. For frying sake, it actually hurts. Like there’s a sharp pain in the front of my head every time I try to say ‘fling’.” Dean pointed to the spot, right above his left eyebrow and cringed as he tried to curse. “Salad dressing! Gah!”

“Well, stop, ya moron!” Y/N teased, scooting a big closer. “Just stop talking!”

Dean glared. “Do you have any idea how hard that is for me? Come on.”

“You wanna talk about your feelings about where our relationship is going? That shuts you up quick.”

Her smirk was on point.

His eye roll was superb.

Y/N sighed but kept a sweet smile. “Dean, just...relax, OK? It’ll be over soon, I promise.” Her fingers curled around his knee.

He let out a breath and his shoulders dropped a bit. “Fine. Yeah.”

“There’s my good boy,” she teased, pushing her hand slowly up his thick thigh, nails dragging on the rough denim as she came back down. “Just relax.”

Dean shivered as her thumb brushed over his dick. “This is… quite relaxing… farm…”

Y/N bit her lip to keep from laughing, wanting to focus on distracting them both from his new speech impediment. “Shh…” Her palm rubbed against him and Y/N felt his cock push back, growing hard beneath the tightness of his jeans.

“Feels so nice, baby,” he whispered, wiggling his ass against the seat to try and ease the strain. “Love when you play with my coins.”

She let out a deep, slow breath to calm her giggles and set her other hand on his leg, sliding off of the table onto her knees. “I like it too, Dean,” she cooed, massaging his inner thighs with both hands. “But you know what I love?”

His eyes glazed over as he looked to her in lustful anticipation.

She bit her lip and reached for his belt, easily loosening the leather strap. “I love…” The brass button came free with a pop. “Sucking…” She eased the zipper down slowly, carefully. “Your big…” Reaching in, she pushed aside the thin cotton of his boxers. “Beautiful…” She pulled him free and Dean moaned in desperation as she bent her lips to the swelling head. “Cock.”

“Oh, Jiminy Christmas!”

Y/N kissed the tip and Dean whimpered pitifully.

“Please…”

“Love it when you beg, Dean,” she growled, flicking the tip of her tongue against the base of his cock, watching as he twitched. “Such a good boy.”

Dean lifted his hips as she licked a stripe from base to tip and grabbed a fistful of her hair, forcing her to hold still while he groaned. “Stop forging teasing me and get to work.”

Her smile was abandoned as Dean jerked his hips, shoving his cock between her lips. She hummed in excitement and sucked hard, sealing her lips around him as his hand pushed her down.

“Yes...fang...you take my cab so good, baby.”

His cock hit the back of her throat and Y/N gagged loudly, drool spilling from the corners of her mouth as he released his hold on her head.

“Flame, baby, love that sound. Makes my drum so hard.”

Y/N did her best not to laugh, trying to ignore his insane dirty talk and keep her mind on her task. As long as he didn’t talk, she was fine, working his cock like a pro, teasing and taking him deeper and deeper with each pass.

When his breath quickened and his moans became dark, Y/N pulled back, looking up at him with innocent, wide eyes, her lips bobbing gently over his leaking head.

Dean reached for her, big hands closing around the soft flesh of her upper arms. “Get up here,” he breathed. “Golly, I wanna factor that sweet little poinsetta so faking bad.”

She laughed, she couldn’t help it. Y/N closed her eyes and sealed her lips tight as the chuckle shook her entire body. “I can’t. I’m so sorry, Dean. I can’t.”

His grip tightened on her arms. “Please.” His face was red, muscles in his throat tense and exposed; a thin sheet of sweat sparkled on his brow and upper lip. “Please, baby. I gotta falafel you. Now.”

Dean grit his teeth in a growl but Y/N couldn’t take much more.

“Baby,” she laughed, sitting back on her heels, “I...I can’t…”

Green eyes went wide with pained disappointment. “What? No…” He reached for her, leaning forward to grab her face between his warm hands. “Please, Y/N. Don’t leave me like this,” he begged, the pathetic yet passionate tone in his voice making her pussy throb. “I need you so bad.”

While Y/N pondered the situation, wondering if she could stash her giggles while he took her for a ride, Dean sucked his bottom lip fully between his teeth and then slowly let it slide back out, wet and red and swollen. Y/N’s cunt clenched and her heart raced; her fate was sealed.

“Please.”

Y/N sucked in a deep breath and jumped up, opening her jeans as she stood. “OK,” she told him firmly, “but you keep your mouth shut. I can’t take anymore, I really can’t.”

Dean’s gleeful smile was perfection, dimples and lines and bright teeth on display. “Yes, totally. No more talking.” He zipped his lips with two fingers and nodded enthusiastically as she peeled her panties away. “Not another word.”

“You promise?”

“Mhm.”

“Good.”

Dean held his breath as Y/N climbed into his lap, kissing him hard while she gripped his cock and rubbed it through her slick. His eyes rolled back when she rolled her hips, grinding her clit against his hardness; grabbed her thighs as she slowly sank down.

“Oh…f-”

Y/N bit down hard on his lip to stop his cursed cursing and his words turned into a yelp instead.

“R-ride me,” he gasped, blunt nails digging into her tender flesh.

Setting her hands on his shoulders, Y/N began to ride, slowly bouncing in his lap and watching as he fell apart.

“Y/N…” Dean buried his face in her shirt, panting as he struggled to hold his tongue.

“Shhh…” Y/N fucked down hard, hoping to distract his brain, pull his mouth away from words and push it towards empty whimpers and lustful moans.

“You feel so good,” he whispered, breath heavy against her neck as he kissed any place he could reach. “Feel so good on my camp, fringe!”

Y/N slapped a hand to the back of his head and tugged at his short hair. “Dean!”

“Sorry, sassafras! Flange, it just- you feel so amazing. Please, don’t stop!”

Her nails scraped across his scalp. “Then shut up!”

“Yes. Shut up. Yes!”

She licked into his mouth and bounced faster, feeling the moment blossom.

“Holy feathers, I-I’m gonna capitalize! Fire! Freckles!”

“Do it,” she moaned, tugging on his hair until his chin lifted to hers. “Give it to me, Dean.”

It did not take long. Dean held her close, arms tight around her back, hands pawing at her shoulders and ass as he came, a strangled cry filling the room.

“Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!”

Y/N laughed so hard she nearly fell off of his lap, giving up entirely on cumming or trying to stay calm. “Did you just? Really? Oh my god, Dean.”

He kissed her cheek and pulled his lips across, capturing her shaking lips with a sloppy kiss. “Shh…”

“Don’t shush me, Winchester,” she laughed, kissing him back quickly before peeling herself away. “This is too much.”

He caught her hand before she went too far, yanking her back so hard that she fell into his arms. “I’m not done with you,” he said firmly, another kiss stopping her laugh and melting every muscle. Dean pushed her down onto her back, shifting to sit between her legs. “You need to confetti.”

She whimpered around a laugh as Dean leaned down, laying kiss after kiss on her belly. “Please stop talking…”

He lifted his eyes to hers with a smirk as his hands wrapped around her thighs. “I’m done talking,” he said, licking his lips. “I’m gonna eat this prism until you crank all over my face.”

“Jesus christ, shut up!”

Her frustration turned to pleasure as Dean kept his word, sucking hard on her clit as his fingers caressed her pulsing cunt, massaging deep inside as her body writhed above.

“Fuck! Dean!”

He never let up, drawing her orgasm out until her legs began to shake. When her thighs clamped around his head, he slowed to a kitten lick, enjoying the glow of her smile and the sexy whimpers as she came down.

“Come here,” she whispered, releasing his head and reaching for him, needing him close.

Dean smiled sweetly and wiped his mouth before sliding up her body and collapsing on top of her. “Damn, baby,” he sighed. “That was fan-fucking-tastic.”

Y/N gasped, eyes wide and smiling. “Oh my god, Dean! You said fuck!”

“I did?”

“...yeah!”

“I didn’t even notice. Fuck. Oh! I said it again!” He grinned like a school boy and laughed. “Yes! Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck! Fucking fucker!” Excited, he jumped off of the couch and pumped a fist in the air. “Fuck that fucking bitch-ass witch in her ratty old cunt! Fuck yes! This is fucking awesome!”

Y/N sat up, shaking her head as she reached for her pants. “Oh, Dean,” she sighed. “Such a fucking potty mouth…”

2020 Forever Tags: @67-chevy-baby @akhuna01 @amanda-teaches @autumnmoon @because-imma-lady-assface @blushingjared @broiderie @burningcoffeetimetravel @classic-rock-angel @coopercharlie16 @cosicas-cuquis @covered-byroses @crashdevlin @deansgirl215 @deans-baby-momma @deangirl7695 @deanwinchesterswitch @dolphincliffs @dontshootmespence @edge-oftonight @emoryhemsworth @eternal-elir @fandom-princess-forevermore @fangirlxwritesx67 @feelmyroarrrr @flamencodiva @focusonspn @herbologystudent252 @heycasbutt @hornyandsmol @ilovefanfic86 @i-love-superhero @ilsawasanacrobat @imjustadrummer @ivvitm1109 @joseyrw @justagirlinafandomworld @justcallmeasmodeus @katymacsupernatural @laxe-from-outer-space @leatherandfrackles @lessons-of-red @letsby @letsdisneythings @lonewolf471 @maddiepants @mariekoukie6661 @meganwinchester1999 @mellbelle45 @missjenniferb @mrswhozeewhatsis @onethirstyunicorn @our-jensen-ackles-love @screechingartisancashbailiff @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @starboycas @stephaniecanfield96us @stoneyggirl @squirrelnotsam @thebookisbtr @the-chocolate-moose @thehardcoveraddict @thevelvetseries @veevm @winchestersister55 @wendibird @winecatsandpizza @winterpoohbear

and bc I think you could use a laugh: @kittenofdoomage

#spn fanfic #dean x reader #one shot #crack #dean winchester

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shutupandshipit · 3 years

Text

Sharpen Your Blades - Ch.10

Summary: “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

The thinning of Aizawa’s patience was evident in the twitching of his brow. “If you stop asking questions, maybe I could finish explaining.

”With a huff and roll of his eyes, Katsuki glanced away from their coach.

“City Hall and the SC want us to give them more variety. We are a team solely made up of single skaters. Every year, we dominate the rankings for single skate while Shinketsu dominates the pairs, so this year both cities are being required to split their skaters evenly between singles and pairs with at least one pair coming from out top five.” There was a collective intake of breath, but no one commented, choosing instead to remain silent. “Unfortunately, for us, it’s a lot easier to switch from pairs to singles. With our male to female ratio, alpha/beta/omega ratio, and those of you actually experienced with pair skating, we’re at a disadvantage. So, I’ve decided to choose your partners for you.”

…..

Or where Katsuki and Izuku are forced to be partners so they can continue to compete, but the blood in the water may be thicker than anyone realized.

Pairing: Bakudeku

Rating: T

Chapter: 10/20

Previously <- Chapter 9: Refills

Chapter 11: Solo -> Next

Chapter 10: Alpha Wanted

Katsuki skidded to a stop, chest heaving as he leaned against the wall. Ever since he’d broken off his partnership with Izuku, he’d been pushing himself to the very edge of his abilities and sometimes further. When no one was around, when he was completely alone on the ice, he would sometimes go until he was forcing himself not to puke as his body heaved. Sometimes he did puke, and he would spend thirty minutes cleaning up the mess before trudging home.

He knew he wasn’t taking the end of their partnership well, but that didn’t mean he was going to stop running himself into the ground.

Lifting his head, his eyes met Izuku’s across the ice.

Izuku was huddled in the middle of the bleachers, his new partner seated at his side and the rest of the alphas on the team that were in their age group surrounding him. They chattered on and on, looking to Izuku for approval, but even when he just smiled nervously at them, they continued on as if he’d given an actual answer.

Anger seethed in Katsuki's chest. He hated it, hated seeing him surrounded by alphas all grinning and preening like a flock of ugly peacocks. Hated the uncomfortable smile that Izuku always wore nowadays. Hated glancing over to check on him and already finding Izuku’s eyes on him.

Most of all, he hated the way the other alphas had treated Izuku like he was a prize to be won as soon as they were no longer a pair anymore. Hated the way they treated him like he was suddenly fair game.

Katsuki shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d known they’d just been waiting for the right moment, waiting for him to fuck up, waiting for him to let Izuku just the barest inch out of his reach. As soon as they’d presented, Izuku had become coveted among the alphas. The rare male omega. Somehow, it made him ten times more desirable to the others on the team. As if his secondary gender erased everything they’d never liked about him.

When Katsuki had been his partner, the others hadn’t dared to make the attempt to court him. They’d rightly assumed that he’d had fully intended to court Izuku, but he’d been planning on beginning their courtship once they were at least in high school. Just his presence and scent on Izuku had marked him as off limits, and that had been enough to begin with.

Katsuki scowled, watching Izuku’s cheeks grow red and his green eyes drop, and then as he startled back away from a touch to his knee. Stubbornly, he turned and ignored the quick glance back up at him. He wasn’t Izuku’s partner, wasn’t going to be his mate, wasn’t anything to him anymore.

…..

Katsuki groaned out his frustration, dragging his hands down his face as Izuku hit the ice for the tenth time that night. Even during team practice, Izuku hadn’t been able to land a single jump. The concentration on his face was severe, but something was clearly taking up all of the space in that curly head of his. “What the fuck is going on, Deku? You haven’t flubbed this many jumps since we were fucking five. What gives?” Katsuki asked, gliding over to Izuku and jerking him back to his feet.

Izuku’s jaw worked back and forth, brow furrowed and eyes downcast. “I’ve just… got something on my mind. I don’t want to talk about it.” His tone was low and dark, and he pushed away towards the wall as he rubbed at his backside. Sliding on his guards, he stepped off the ice.

If Katsuki hadn’t been so taken aback by the warning note in Izuku’s voice, it wouldn’t have taken him so long to realize his partner was pulling off his skates. “What are you doing? We’ve still got another hour before the janitors kick us out. We’re not done yet.”

Izuku didn’t lift his head as he pulled his shower bag from his duffle, something he only ever brought when he had somewhere else to be after practice. The tops of his ears were blush red and his voice was soft and cautious when he glanced up to say, “I, uh, have to get ready…”

“For?” Katsuki prompted irately.

“A date.”

Katsuki’s heart stuttered to a stop in his chest. His alpha whined pitifully, and he just barely managed to keep the sound in. “Whatever,” he muttered instead, grabbing his phone and headphones from the wall before pushing back out to center ice. He stood there pretending to scroll through his music until he heard the double doors slam closed.

Turning back to the benches, Katsuki slipped on his guards and headed for his bag. Inside, he’d nestled the softest faux fur lined blanket that one of his student’s mothers had gifted him. ‘You young alphas never think of nesting materials for that special someone in your life,’ she’d told him as she’d pushed it into his arms. She’d been right, of course, but only because Katsuki had thought it was too early to be thinking about nesting. Nesting materials implied Katsuki wanted to share Izuku’s heat with him, and while that was certainly the case, he didn’t want to push too hard. Izuku didn’t even know that Katsuki was trying to court him yet.

Still, he’d been grateful and even considered offering the gift face to face, but now…

‘Gift to omega. Maybe… Maybe…’ Even his alpha was at a loss with the situation. Still, they both came to the same agreement. ‘Give omega gift. Cannot hurt. Alpha is only one courting omega. Give gift. Maybe make things better.’

Lifting the tissue paper covered blanket from his bag, he nestled it beneath all of Izuku’s other things and just hoped the omega would be tot out of it to notice it right away.

He sat down heavily on the bench between their bags, and stripped off his skates. Once he’d cleaned them, and given Izuku’s the same treatment, he shouldered his bag and left.

…..

“Deku?” Uraraka’s voice was sleepy and confused when she answered his call.

Pulling his phone away from his ear, he checked the time. 23:48 stared accusingly up at him, and he took a page from Katsuki’s book to quietly curse under his breath. “I’m sorry, Chako, I didn’t realize how late it was. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Even to his own ears, his voice didn’t sound right, and he could hear when the red flag shot up for her as she started to rustle around on the other end.

She yawned. “No, no, it’s fine. I wasn’t really sleeping at all. What’s up?” she lied, all chipper brightness. After a moment, she added, “How was the date?”

He didn’t answer right away, and when he did, it sounded like a flat lie. His voice broke as he said, “It was fine.”

“Deku?”

The tears were on his cheeks in an instant, cutting hot tracks across his cold skin.

The date hadn’t been fine. Well, from an outside perspective, he was sure it appeared as if things had gone swimmingly. The alpha had been perfectly civil and attentive, asking him questions about himself and more in depth questions about the topics he was interested in. He asked all the right questions too and some funny ones that made Izuku snort. What was he looking for in an alpha? How quickly was he expecting the relationship to progress? Did he want pups one day? Did he prefer cats or dogs or ferrets? What were his goals in life? What was his favorite flavor of ice cream? What was his favorite flower? Did he expect them to share their cycles together right away? If he had pups one day, what did he want to name them?

At first, he’d enjoyed his time with the man. Enjoyed looking at him. Enjoyed listening to him. Enjoyed, for the most part, scenting him on the air. Everything had been going just fine, but with each question Izuku had answered, the sick twist of betrayal had grown in his belly. With each question he answered that made the alpha’s scent sour with either disappointment or irritation, Izuku had felt the uneasy anxious energy nestled right beside his omega squirm restlessly.

There had been a moment when he realized he had no longer been answering as honestly as before, when he was tailoring his answers to specifically please the alpha. There had been a desperation in his body that told him he needed to secure this alpha for his heat. If he didn’t, then his next heat would be the most agonizing he’d ever had. That terrified him, but also made him angry.

Then the man had said, “I’ll be honest here, if this ever progressed to the point that we had pups, I would want you to stop competing so we could focus on our family. You seem to really enjoy skating-” He didn’t just ‘enjoy’ figure skating, he loved it. It was his life blood. If that was taken from him… “-but once you had a pup, that would all change. I just know it. And you wouldn’t want to risk getting hurt again. Your hips and legs need to be strong to carry, you know.”

That had solidified his resolve to end things before they even got started. No amount of fear was worth giving up the thing he loved most.

Izuku had smiled pleasantly even as that oh so familiar black tar had filled his chest and drowned his omega. “I appreciate your honesty.” Standing, he’d held out a hand even as confusion and anger began to morph that alpha’s handsome face. Even as his instincts told him to do something to make that look go away. Even as his omega urged him to fix things before it was too late.

Despite that, relief had flooded his body. Clutching his gloves in his hand, he hadn’t been able to stop from thinking of the alpha who’d taken so much care to get the size perfect and wishing he knew who they were. Wishing they were Katsuki. Then his omega had reminded him of the nesting blanket he’d found at the bottom of his bag, and knew that the date had been the worst idea his friends could have come up with.

“So, I’ll be honest as well. This isn’t going to work out. I accepted our offer because I need an alpha to spend my next heat with. This is what my friends and doctors suggested, but I’ll never be able to give you what you want if that’s me being a stay at home omega.”

The alpha had stared at his hand. The anger smoothed away as he glanced down to the hand holding the gloves. “I think there’s something else too. You don’t have to take a roundabout way to say you have someone else in mind.” After a long moment, he’d stood and shaken Izuku’s hand. “They’re a lucky alpha, whoever they are. Thanks for the conversation. It was nice. Friends?”

On the way home, he’d closed the accounts Uraraka and the other omegas had set up for him and deleted the dating and heat aid apps they’d downloaded to his device.

He relayed the whole story to Uraraka in gruesome detail, but he wasn’t sure how much was understandable through his sobbing.

Several hiccuping sobs later, Uraraka sighed. “Take a shower, Deku. I’m going to get some things, and then I’m coming over. No arguments. See you in thirty, okay?” Her voice was gentle, soft, and Izuku caved.

Hanging up, he focused on her suggestion and thanked the world she was his best friend. He was far more thankful for her suggestion when he caught the scent of the alpha still on his close, cedar and cinnamon. Not a bad scent by any means, but he still ripped his clothes off and stuffed them at the bottom of the washing machine.

He couldn’t tell if the scent had stuck to his skin or hair, but he hated the mere thought. He scrubbed until his scalp tingled and his skin was pink. The water ran cold over his head. When he got out, he dressed in his baggiest comfort clothes. An oversized sweater that had mistakenly been left in his locker at the rink several years prior and his high school gym sweats. Both had holes along seams and fraying cuffs, but they were warm and large. When he wore them, he felt loved and safe.

Pulling the nesting blanket from his bed where he’d spread it out to air out, he huddled beneath it on the couch with his face pressed into a corner of the cushions.

Uraraka’s arrival was signaled by the turning of her spare key in the lock. Still, he didn’t move, and only knew she’d seen him when she sighed heavily. For several long minutes, she shuffled around the kitchen. Drawers were opened and closed. Glasses clacked against each other. Silverware tinkled against the counter tops. All sounds found their way to the coffee table eventually, and then the couch by Izuku’s head dipped with her weight.

“This is a really nice nesting blanket. Where did you get it?” she asked quietly, fingers curling in the few locks of hair that stuck out from beneath the edge of the blanket.

Izuku allowed his head to be lifted into her lap, and pressed forward into the soft yet firm warmth of her stomach. “Was left in my bag. Don’t know who it's from.”

Uraraka stayed quiet, pushing back the blanket to run her fingers through his hair. Eventually, she said, “It smells like Bakugou.”

He stiffened. “Don’t.”

Her hand paused. “Don’t what?”

Izuku pulled away from her, huddling against the opposite side of the couch. “Don’t say stuff like that,” he whispered tiredly and leaned his cheek against the arm of the couch, “You know how I feel about him. Don’t give me false hope like that. It’s not worth the heartache at the end of it all.”

“I don’t know how false it is.” Turning to face him completely, Izuku could see just how fierce her expression was out of the corner of his eye. “This is the second thing that’s turned up in your bag smelling like him. He’s given you three things before this, that headband, his gloves and his hat. Is it really that far out of the realm of possibility?”

“Yes, Chako, it is!” Izuku snapped, voice wobbly with tears, “Kaccahn would never want someone as useless as me. Someone who dragged us down and then got hurt. He deserved better than me. I’m just lucky he’s willing to skate with me again.”

Uraraka’s face twisted as if there were more she wanted to say. In the end, she just asked, “Isn’t he the reason the date didn’t go well?” Izuku’s eyes flickered to her, and he was crying all over again. “Oh sweetie, come here.” She opened her arms, and he crawled into them, allowing himself to be held tight.

#my hero academia #mha #bakudeku #dekubaku #decchan #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #a/b/o dynamics #omegaverse #alpha!katsuki #omega!izuku #figure skater au #no quirks au #my writing #sharpen your blades

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big-city-dreamer · 4 years

Text

Fireworks

A/N: Hey! So I’m back with another fic that’s surprisingly not my usual ShieldShock MO. I recently binged Power Rangers RPM and now I’ve joined the fandom, 11 years too late it seems cause the fandom is pretty much dormant/ nonexistent especially here on Tumblr 🤦🏾‍♀️But for anyone who hasn’t seen it, RPM was meant to be the last season of Power Rangers EVER so Disney took ALL the risks and it turned out to be IMO not only the best installment in the 20+ years of the show but some pretty good TV in general! It’s the most adult season they’ve made and with the A1 script and even better acting (Rose McIver, Adelaide Kane, Eka Darville!) it’s hands down SO enjoyable! Anyway, my birthday was on Saturday (#VirgoSZN 🥳) and this self indulgent fic of my new favourite OTP (Dillon x Summer Lansdown) is my gift to myself. It may be hard to follow if you don’t know the show or characters but I hope it’s still an enjoyable read.💜 Gifs by @vakariaan

Title: Fireworks

Pairing: Dillon x Summer Landsdown

Summary: Dillon and Summer finally stop dancing around each other. (Set between the final Venjix battle and the last scenes of Episode 32)

Rating: G

Warnings: Super fluffy and cheesy lol! Lots of direct references to the show.

“That’s three in a row, boys!” Summer Landsdown grinned as she knocked the last striped ball into the top right pocket of the pool table from what seemed like an impossible angle. She blew on the end of her pool stick like it was a smoking gun.

Her teammates Flynn McAllistair and Ziggy Grover were still staring at the cleared table, unable to pick up their jaws off the floor. The blue and green rangers were struggling to understand how they’d suffered yet another defeat at the hands of the yellow bear ranger.

“But that’s not-”

“How did you even-”

Summer handed the pool stick to Ziggy with a smile and took her empty red solo cup from Flynn. She called cheekily over her shoulder as she headed into the kitchen. “Let me know when you’ve had some practice.”

At the punch bowl on the breakfast bar, Summer refilled her cup and grabbed a seat on one of the high stools around it. She took a sip and surveyed the garage.

A week had passed since the Rangers had defeated Venjix. They’d finally cleaned up the destruction in the lab and rebuilt the city’s Command Center, so a night of celebrations and relaxation was in order before they headed off in different directions for the rest of the year. They’d gone all out for the party in true RPM style: lights, garlands, drinks and snacks with music blasting from Flynn’s blue Hummer.

Scott Truman sat with Dr K on the leather couch near the pool table, as Ziggy and Flynn set up a new game of pool. Summer watched with amusement as the red ranger tried to explain the game's objectives, with flagging patience, in response to the good doctor’s endless questions. From a nearby armchair, Tenaya listened intently to the two, raising questions of her own ever so often. Recently freed from Venjix’s control, she was still a little shy and understandably overwhelmed. She kept her distance a bit but was still willing to be involved in the conversation.

The sound of a whirring drill from the left of the garage broke Summer’s focus. She glanced over to see Gem and Gemma working on some kind of experiment as usual if the tangle of wires, bolts and explosives on the aluminium workstation was anything to go by.

Gemma waved excitedly, screwdriver in hand when she caught Summer’s gaze. She shared a knowing smile with the blonde ranger and pointed in the direction of the garage door with an exaggerated wink. Summer blushed and ducked her head in thanks, leaving her cup on the table as she made her way outside.

She found him leaning on the front of the Fury, looking up at the dome’s artificial night’s sky. He was the ultimate picture of the lone wolf black ranger; brows creased in deep thought, arms folded across his broad chest.

Summer was well aware that he knew she was coming closer - enhanced hybrid hearing and all - but she tapped on the hood of the black muscle car anyway to alert him of her presence. They’d been spending a lot more time together since the Rangers’ victory but he still liked to take some time away on his own. She didn’t want to disturb him if he wanted to be alone.

“I thought your brooding days would be over now that you’ve found your sister,” she teased as she stopped in front of the car.

Dillon chuckled as he looked over at her through his dark, shaggy bangs. “This is actually my happy face.”

He extended his arm in a silent invitation for her and she carefully settled next to him on the bonnet of the black muscle car.

“Sometimes,” Dillon began, still focused on the sky, “I look at the moon and the stars here and wonder what the real things are like outside of the dome. It was hard to see it during my time in the Waste Lands but now with Venjix gone, there aren’t any toxic gases to block the view.”

Summer hummed and waited for him to continue.

“The war is over and everyone’s going back to their old lives, but Tenaya and I don’t remember what life was like for us before.” He sighed and looked over at her, “But we do want to find out what the world out there is like without Venjix. We’ll get to know each other, snuff out any remaining factions and try to help hybrids like us who are looking to start over. I mean I wouldn’t call it soul searching, but if we found ourselves out there that would be great too.”

“Oh..” Summer whispered a little deflated, “that... sounds like a good plan.”

Dillon watched as the emotions flashed across Summer’s face till she gave him a half-smile. She could hardly hide her surprise though when he took her hand in his and laced their fingers together.

“But,” Dillon started with his signature smirk, coming around to stand between her legs at the front of the car, “if you’re not in a hurry to go back to life as a princess, I was hoping you’d consider coming too.”

With his free hand, he tucked a stray curl behind her ear, his dark eyes never leaving her bright hazel ones. “With us...With me…Ouch! Hey!”

“That wasn’t funny!” Summer grumbled, smacking him repeatedly on his chest for her momentary distress.

Dillon laughed as he pulled her closer to him, taking her other hand as well to make sure he didn’t get hit again. He leaned his forehead against hers. “So, what do you say?”

Summer couldn’t help the relieved laugh that bubbled up but she wasn’t gonna make it that easy for him. She suppressed a smile as she brushed her nose lightly against his, watching as his long lashes fluttered. “Exploring the world with a rebellious hybrid and his sweet sister? Why would I want to do that?” She challenged playfully.

Dillon knew she was baiting him, teasing him as usual but he was more than willing to bite. He closed the gap between them, sealing their lips with a tentative kiss. When he was certain she wasn’t going to slap him again, he increased the urgency, revelling in her sighs and the feel of her soft lips against his as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

They’d both been anticipating this moment, having been denied twice recently, so the thought of stopping even for a second seemed ridiculously absurd. Between kisses, the black wolf ranger tried his best to convince Summer.

“Because,” he mumbled against her lips, “even when I have the best intentions... I can’t promise I won’t do anything crazy... And I’m definitely going to get into trouble… But there’s no one else...out there... I’d trust to save me... but you.”

Arms still wrapped around him, Summer hummed as she tried to catch her breath. Dillon took smug satisfaction in the dreamy look on her flushed face when he pulled back.

“I’m in,” Summer smiled and it was Dillon’s turn to breathe a sigh of relief- not that he’d admit it, “but I have one condition,” she added mischievously. “I get to drive the Fury if we ever encounter a tornado — Dillon!”

Summer squealed as he picked her up and spun her around for her cheeky comment. Laughing with her, he set her back down on the car and leaned in for another kiss…

“Get a room!”

“Whipped!”

Scott and Flynn both coughed dramatically as they made their way out of the garage to settle themselves on a lowered wall to their left. Dillon rolled his eyes at their antics while Summer buried her face against his chest in embarrassment.

Tenaya filed out after the rangers, smirking at the couple. “Finally.”

“Really?” Dillon scoffed at his sister, “You too?”

Tenaya shrugged as she crossed in front of them to sit on the ledge with the boys.

“Don’t listen to them,” Ziggy began as he perched himself too close to the couple on the hood of the Fury, oblivious of Dillon’s exasperation. Summer placated his pending outburst with a hand to his chest as Ziggy droned on.

“We’re all happy for you crazy lovebirds. Took you long enough with all those longing looks and flirty lines. Though I’m not really sure how such a grouchy cyborg scored a sunny babe like Summer. N-not that I’ve been looking or anything! You should at least think about coming up for air before you miss the show—Ahh!”

Ziggy let out a shout as Dr K dragged him off the car by his ear and pulled him along to the ledge opposite where the others were sitting. “Ranger Operator Series Green,” she scolded, “Ranger Operators Series Black and Yellow do not require your analysis of their blossoming relationship nor do I believe that they appreciate your close proximity while they engage in a lip lock.”

The gang howled with laughter at her statement, much to the confusion of the young doctor.

“Thanks, doc… I think,” Dillon shook his head, turning in Summer’s arms so that he was facing outward again.

Summer ignored the rising blush on her cheeks and directed her attention at Ziggy. “What show?”

“The light show-”

“-to celebrate our victory!”

Gem and Gemma gushed excitedly as they rushed out to join the others, wearing large headphones and each carrying a detonator.

“A big win-”

“-Requires a big explosion!” The duo cheered, exchanging high-fives.

Dillon wasn’t so convinced as he arched an eyebrow at the Boom Twins. “Right. Because that’s exactly what the traumatized citizens on Corinth need— unexpected explosions.”

“I understand your concern, Ranger Operator Series Black,” Dr K admitted, “and we did take that into consideration when we cleared it with Colonel Truman. By tapping into the new configuration at the Command Centre, we were able to integrate reverberation retention technology into the dome’s shield so when the explosions go off in the biofield, we can redirect the noise elsewhere. It’s similar to the programme used to rid of the stale air in the dome.”

“So we designed it so that everyone can see it,” Gemma began.

“But only we get to hear it go BOOM!” Gem finished, pointing to his headphones.

The silver and gold rangers pushed their buttons without further delay and the team joined with the rest of Corinth as they watched the silent fireworks light up the night’s sky.

Summer rested her chin on Dillon’s shoulder and whispered to him. “I’m going to miss this.”

Dillon looked around at the eccentric bunch. They got on his nerves but they weren’t half bad most of the time. He’d started off as a reluctant teammate - joining only due to Summer’s persuasion - but these people had become trustworthy friends who helped him to fight off the Venjix virus inside of him and find the only family he seemed to have left.

Without them, he wouldn’t have plans to see the new world with the one who made him rethink his Lone Ranger act. He’d tried to keep them all at a distance, but she’d melted his icy heart somehow and cared for him through all of it, even when he seemed to be more machine than man.

Dillon turned to kiss Summer on the cheek. “Me too.”

#power rangers rpm #power rangers #dillon x summer #dillon #rose mciver #scott truman #eka darville #tenaya7 #adelaine kane #flynn mcallistair #ari boyland #ziggy grover #milo cawthorne #dr k #olivia tenet #gem and gemma #yellow ranger #black ranger #summer landsdown

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plutodexay · 4 years

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For the first time in years (10) movie night

Ao3 link will be added later cause this app hates me and I’m too tired to fight with it

Having flowers shoved into my face as soon as I opened the door wasn’t what I expected, but it's exactly what happened.

As soon as the door opened all I saw was a flash of red and green, granted, the color combination is not my favorite, I wasn’t scared. As quickly as they showed up, they disappeared.

And there he was, at first I just saw his hair.

“You got a haircut” What used to be long and flowing hair was now cut short, almost resembling what he wore the last year at Hogwarts. Only it was still different, then it was flat and styled so not a single strand was out of place. Now it looked sorta, well, messy. It was obvious he had run his hand through it countless times, yet it still looked intact. Standing up looking like it had, what was it? Volume! It had volume, so it doesn’t look flat against his head now.

“Um-I well,” His hand reached up to comb through it for probably the millionth time tonight. “Yes, I did.” Looking away from his hair I noticed he wasn’t looking at me, rather he was looking at the ground, cheeks flushed.

His hands had a tight hold on the flowers previously shoved into my face, fingers rhythmically tapping against the tightly packed stems. Looking at them closer I could see they were roses, some in the bold red you normally see on the muggle romance holiday, while others held the green that Draco himself dawned every day back at school. They were seemingly placed together carefully, almost showing a pattern within the petals.

Realizing I was lost in thought I look back up at him, his head still looking at the concrete. Nervousness obvious on his face as his hand not gripping the flowers reaches up to his hair once again.

“Oh!” I say quickly as I remembered I didn’t respond. “It looks nice!” I could feel my face heating up as he glances up at me, the nervous smile changing to something more genuine, those little wrinkles around the eyes showing through. His cheeks gaining more color as his fingers grip on the stems even harder than before.

“Thank you” Draco mumbled before quickly pushing the flowers out towards me, his arms straight out and slightly shaking. Almost pushing the bouquet straight into my nose. “I got these for you.” His voice cracked towards the end of the sentence, using a very fake cough to cover it up as he held the flowers there, waiting for me to take them.

Very slowly I reached out to grab them, our hands just slightly brushing beside one another before he quickly pulled his hands away. Running them through his hair once again before putting them by his sides. The rings on his right shining bright as my porch light reflect off of them just right.

“Would you like to come in?” I finally spit out as I remember how to talk, moving to the side as to leave the entry open. He nods before walking past me rather quickly, the flowers blowing slightly in the wind his movement caused.

Following behind him I close the door with my free hand. Without looking I almost run into him, seeing as he is just awkwardly standing just in front of the doorway. His hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, shoes close together as he just looks at me.

I back away from him to go head over to the kitchen in an attempt to get something to put the flowers into. His eyes following me as he stands there.

“You can sit down wherever you want.” I yell to him as I start opening cupboards looking for a vase or something. “I’m just trying to find something for these and I’ll be right there.” As no response came I looked back towards the living room to find him sitting down, finally. His choice being on the far end of the couch.

After a few moments, I realize I don’t own anything to put these in. So I head over to the parchment I have waiting by the window to write a letter to Neville, asking if I can borrow one of his pots whenever he gets it.

“Who are you writing to?” Draco finally speaks up, his voice soft and faint.

“Oh, I-um, Neville” I stutter out, speaking and writing at the same time not a talent of mine.

“Why?”

“I need something to put the flowers in seeing as I don’t own one of those glass things.” I hear him chuckle as I say that, not much, but it is something. “Thank you for them, by the way.” Looking back at him I see the light pink from earlier returning to his face, along with those slight wrinkles around his eyes.

“Figured it was only right to bring something since it is your home after all Potter.” Now was my turn to laugh, enunciating ‘Potter’ to replicate how he used to say it back at school. His laugh echoing mine for a sheer moment. “Besides, the shop was on the way. Was far too nice to pass up.”

“So let me guess, marble floors and chandeliers?” The sarcasm evident in my voice, finishing up the letter as I whistle to Hedwig to come down from her perch.

“Quite the opposite actually.” He chuckled out. “Small and rustic, exposed brick in random places. Definitely not up to Malfoy standards.” I watch as he unfolds his legs, putting both feet on the ground as he slightly lays back onto the couch. Almost like he was becoming comfortable. “So of course I had to stop in.”

“Well obviously.” Hedwig landing by me, nipping me in the finger. Draco suppresses a laugh as I retract my hand and shake it as if it would get the bite off.

“You would have liked it, or rather the person running it says she just opened last week.”

“Oh? And why’s that?”

“Reminded me of Lovegood, only she made more sense, most of the time.” Tying the paper to Hedwig I nod at him to continue. “She also had a small muggle flag in the shop, one of those Pride things I believe they’re called? It read very open-mindedly, you’d be comfortable there I feel.”

“Seems like you were too,” I respond as Hedwig flies off.

“Well, there weren’t too many people there. Just me, a lone girl, and this couple off to the corner, who seemed to be playfully arguing about whether or not the shorter really needed this big bouquet of yellow daisies.” Stretching his arms rather quickly he continues. “The lone girl had been constantly picking up different sets of flowers. Going between these colorful lilies and sunflowers the size of her head. Believe she left with both if I’m not mistaken." He stops talking abruptly as I head back to the kitchen, not without running into a chair in the process.

“Ignore me, continue” His laugh rings out as I roughly push the chair out of my way without remembering he was watching.

“Easy.” The words were barely audible through his laugh. I shoot him a glare and he sarcastically throws his hands in the air. “Basically the smaller one didn’t think she needed flowers, while the taller one disagreed, obviously wanting to buy her the flowers. Went on practically the entire time I was there, swear the shorter of the two was planning on hexing her partner by the end of it. The shopkeep told me they were friends of hers, so the flowers were being bought regardless.”

He tails off as he sees me walking towards the couch, sitting on the opposite end as him. Quickly fixing his posture he looks at me, his hand impulsively going to fix his hair again. Silence filled the room as we just sat looking at one another.

“So I figured we could watch a movie?” Shock went over his face for a moment before he nodded, quickly looking at the muggle television as my eyes locked onto his.

“I told you to plan this so that would be fine.” Draco spits out, rather fast. Hands clenched at his sides once again. The loose shirt he was wearing showed his breathing had quickened.

“Did you want to do something else?” He shook his head no as he looked back at me. As he did his chest began to rise slower, hands unclenching, muttering something as he crossed his legs. “Sorry I didn’t hear that.”

"I don’t know what a ‘movie’ is, so I don’t know what to expect” Oh, I guessed I had figured he had gone into the muggle world when he left. Pink turned red as he looked back to the television. Remembering how I explained it to Neville when he’d first been asked to go to one by that girl. Now that I think of it, he had been quite scared too, maybe it wasn’t because it was his first date since the yule ball.

“Well they're basically just moving pictures but with noise and anywhere from an hour to 3 hours long, not much.” He seemed to let out a breath of relief at that, a smile creeping onto his face. Almost as if he was nodding to himself, he let himself relax into the couch before looking at me with a raised eyebrow.

Swiftly I went over to start the movie, having already put it in earlier to make sure it worked. Pressing play I heard the ads start playing on the speakings, startling Draco as he jumped, making sure I kept my mouth shut.

Walking back to the kitchen I grabbed the snacks I had gotten, along with the tea kettle and every type of tea I could find at the muggle shop. Laying it all down on the coffee table, Draco looked up at me bewildered before looking back at all of it. Running back over to the bar, I grabbed a mug for him to use and placed it in front of him, nodding at the kettle.

He seemed to pick up what I was saying as he started looking through the assortment of teas. After a few moments picking one up and putting it into the kettle. Finally calm, I decide to start watching the television ads just about to end.

As Draco pours himself a cup of the tea I spell the lights to dim so there's no glare on the screen, he only jumps for a moment this time. Most of his focus on the movie, wonder spread across his face as he tries to focus on every little detail that passes by.

--------

“Can we watch another?” Draco said, the first thing he's spoke the entire film. His eyes wide and a small smile stretched across his face. Both hands wrapped around the mug I had given him the hour before. Rubbing my eyes I notice that the sun had completely gone down outside, the stars shining clear and bright.

Not unlike how Draco's eyes had looked staring into mine. Filled with something I’d never quite seen before. Yet, something I never wanted to stop seeing.

“If you’re okay with staying late then sure” I speak up, still staring into his eyes. They fill with more wonder as he starts to get excited before quickie catching himself and just smiling. His eyes though, they show the sheer happiness he feels at that news. Nodding to me he resumes his spot, only this time I notice, is a bit closer to me than last.

As not to ruin this closeness, I spell the movie out and replace it with a random one Neville had lent me when I flooed him in a panic the night before. He’d laughed at me while handing me a box of the things and saying “Any of them will be fine, nothing too over the top”

Pressing play on the remote I was luckily able to skip through the ads on this one. This particular movie played quite loud so I turned the volume down as I sunk into the couch. Spelling the lights even darker as to match the time, I decided to close my eyes, not expecting to be as tired as I was.

Dracos laughter at some joke on the screen was the last thing I heard before I let sleep overcome me.

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

“Mate for the last time you're going to be late” Came shouted from outside the front door, followed by constant pounding. Reaching my hand up to rub my eyes, I felt them brush against something soft. Looking down I instantly noticed

Draco Malfoy was asleep. On my chest. In my living room.

“Honestly Harry we need to get going if we plan on making it to the game at all.” Rang Hermione's voice as what I’m now guessing was Ron's first upon my door.

I felt Draco stir as they kept banging on the door, quickly I reached for my wand and cast a silencing charm on the door. Their voices fell quiet as I saw the magic work, Draco's head lying still again upon my shoulder, his hand reaching to my other one as his breathing slowed.

Deciding instantly that while I don’t know how this happened, I couldn’t stop it. I cast a Patronus telling Ron and ‘Mione I was feeling ill and couldn't make it.

Throwing my wand onto the ground I lay my head back down, slowly wrapping my hands around Draco. As I do so, he burrows his head further into my chest.

This is going to be one hell of a conversation when he wakes up.

#original writing #for the first time in years #drarry writing #drarry art #drarry fandom #drarry fanfic #harry and draco #draco malfoy #harry potter fanfiction

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rohad93 · 4 years

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Sea Glass - Chapter 1 A Bellow diamond Pirate AU

The gentle rocking of the ship made all the glass bottles and knickknacks clack together quietly on their shelves, a constant and soothing background noise over the sound of the sea and the gulls outside her window.

The storm they had been sailing through for the last three days had finally passed over and they could finally pull into port to restock their supplies and go ashore. They had cut it a little too close on their last trip and she was going to correct that this time, she’s already made some allowances in their rations.

Captain Marigold ‘Yellow Diamond’ stood, leaning over her desk, scouring the contents of the map. She was already plotting their next course, her compass moving slowly and deliberately along a newly marked path across the map.

If they left the port by mid-morning tomorrow, the wind would be pushing from the perfect direction to take them just where they needed to be.

A lone independent merchant ship carrying precious metals and silk was set to sail for Caracas in the morning from St. Lucia; they were going to take it. She already had a buyer for all the silk. The metal would be easy enough to sell in the markets of Aruba.

Rolls of parchment sat on her desk, carefully rolled up and set off on either side of the map, several star charts she had been consulting, and some letter that needed to be mailed off while they were in port. She moved them into envelopes and sealed them with the nearby candle, pressing her signet ring into the soft, red wax.

Straitening up, she rolled her shoulders and grumbled at the stiffness that had settled in her neck. She moved to the large wooden wardrobe and threw open the doors and pulled off the grubby gray shirt she had been wearing while doing chores around her quarters and pulled out the freshly washed white one, its newly starched sleeves were too puffy for her but the coat would fix that.

Strapping her pistol and saber around her waist, she pulled on the black and gold-trimmed long coat, stuffing the sealed letters into her pockets as she strutted past her desk, boots thumping rhythmically on the floorboards. She whipped the tricorne hat off the hook by the door and situated it carefully over her short flaxen locks as she stepped out onto the deck.

The bright sun overhead made her squint as she walked across the deck, several deckhands nearby saw her and shouted greetings.

“Pulling into port now, Cap’n” A voice called from the rigging above. She only nodded, watching as the shore grew closer. The golden flag a lightning bolt emblazoned in the middle flapped in the wind.

She looked carefully over the ships pulled into port and felt her shoulders loosen up when she didn’t spot the one she was looking for.

Small miracles.

“Jasper, take some of the crew and restock all the things on this list.” She handed a rolled-up bit of parchment over to her first mate. “We need to be prepared for the voyage to Caracus.

“Aye, Cap’n” The large sailor hurried off with the list as some men lowered the gangplank onto the pier. She stopped at the top and turned to face the ship, most of her crew watching her as they worked.

“I want this ship scrubbed from stem to stern by sundown, then to the tavern!”

“Aye aye Captain.” was the chorus of answers before she turned on heel and strutted down the plank, feet finally touching solid land for the first time in weeks.

She pulled the pocket watch out of her coat and looked at the hands. She had plenty of time to take care of her errands before the crew scurried off to the tavern to get drunk enough to fall while laying down.

They needed it after the last trip and their close encounter with that royal frigate.

It had proven much too cumbersome to avoid The Cluster’s cannons though and had sunk to the bottom of the ocean like a rock.

Yellow couldn’t help but grin to herself as she walked through town at the thought of the look on her face when they had sailed by after sinking the royal pest.

It honestly filled her with too much giddy delight, especially when she knew there would be consequences, but she just hadn’t been able to pass up the opportunity to show her up a little.

Those troubles would be something to deal with later.

By the time she’d delivered her letters and picked up a few personal parcels, the sun was starting to dip behind all the ships sitting in the harbor, casting their long shadows over the pier and a hazy orange glow over everything else.

She glanced out at the sea and could see another ship in the distance slowly pulling in to port, the setting sun, blocking it out in dark shadows.

Yellow ignored it as she made her way to the tavern, the raucous sounds of drinking and merry-making could be heard before she had even stepped inside.

Once she did a loud cheer of ‘Captain!” rose over the din.

Her crew sat gathered around the place, flagons of piss poor beer and rum in one hand, dice or cards in the other. The locals seemed to be holed up in one corner of the place, keeping to themselves.

A wise choice.

The crew of The Cluster often frequented this tavern between runs and it was fairly common knowledge that if you stayed out of their way they would leave you be in turn.

Yellow sauntered up to the bar and sat on a grimy wooden stool that creaked under her weight. Within a minute, a flagon of dark, murky liquid was sat down in front of her by a tavern maid, who quickly made herself scarce.

She took a long, deep drink of the liquid and it burned every inch of skin it touched all the way down. She let the fire fade before turning around to face her crew, standing from the stool to raise the flagon overhead.

“Drink till you’re blind, men!” she called and the roar that followed drowned out anything else as she sat a bag of gold pieces on the counter, which the barmaid quickly snatched up.

They had their marching orders.

An hour into the festivities the tavern doors burst open and while it didn’t go quiet, it did go quiet enough for Yellow to turn away from her drink and curse under her breath the second she did.

The subject of many a nightmare she had suffered was quickly strutting across the tavern straight for her, followed by a motley bunch of bilge rats she called a crew.

Black leather boots thumped across the wooden floor in a steady rhythm that Yellow was unsure if it was her or her heart, accompanied by the quiet tinkling of metal.

“I see you washed up on shore just fine,” she smirked up at her new companion.

Captain Ciel ‘Blue Diamond’ leveled her with a long look, one hand resting on her hip as she looked down at the other pirate from beneath an ocean blue headscarf, tied neatly around a head of long, silver hair, several charms and braids intertwined within the locks.

Yellow didn’t let her eyes trail past the other captain’s neck. Like usual, Blue was dressed in an off-white blouse that had entirely too many buttons left undone, and were it not for the cobalt colored corset cinched around her middle it would have been left entirely useless as a garment, even tucked into the black trousers she was wearing.

She let her eyes focus back on Blue’s face, passing the gold and blue gemmed necklace hanging around her neck, the gemstone dipping into her cleavage as she leaned forward.

Brows the same color as her hair had dipped between a pair of obviously annoyed cerulean eyes at the self-assured smirk on Yellow’s face.

“We didn’t need your help.” She finally said. “My crew is more than capable of taking on some royal navy rats.”

“It certainly didn’t seem that way…,” Yellow smirked behind her drink, pleased by the annoyance shining in Blue’s eyes. “and we weren’t helping you,” she corrected, setting the drink back down on the table. “I saw an opportunity to take out a future nuisance, so I took it. If you were aided by that... it was an unfortunate coincidence,” she mumbled quietly, not even trying to contain the delight that was no doubt shining in her eyes.

Cerulean eyes narrowed but just as quickly as the look appeared, it vanished, replaced by a sultry smile.

“Well, even if you didn’t intend to help, I feel like I owe you something…” She said over her shoulder as she turned and walked away; blonde brows furrowed quizically.

She didn’t like any part of that statement, nor the look that went along with it.

The members of the two crews were intermingled among the tavern, drinking, and trading tales of their recent voyages, but all the while keeping an eye on the two captains. Nothing good ever came of the two of them interacting for too long.

Yellow sat drinking, on edge, now that Blue had disappeared with the unnerving parting words.

Eventually, the edges of her vision weren’t as clear as they had been before and she felt a little lighter. The cheap rum at work. It was around this time that the band suddenly went quiet and she looked up in time to see Blue, bottle in hand standing on a table.

“The oh so goodly Captain of The Cluster did The Menagerie a favor ereyesterday and I think it deserves a song, what about you lads?” She called and the tavern answered in a drunken cheer.

She turned to the band and they quickly began to play a jaunty tune…

“If you need someone to swab your deck there’s only one pirate who can do the trick, call Yellow diamond!” Blue belted out and Yellow jerked, almost dropping her drink.

The crew of The Menagerie stomped and clapped as their captain hopped off the table and began moving through the room.

“When the rum has got you limp, call Yellow diamond!” The Cluster’s crew didn’t know what to do, the more sober ones, anyway. The drunkest unknowingly or unhearing of the lyrics clapped or sang along.

Yellow had a white-knuckle grip on the cup in her hand, watching the other captain twirl around the bar, drinking straight from the bottle between lyrics. She was seething on the inside, listening to Blue and her crew sing and roar with laughter while her crew sat looking at her uncertainly.

“If the local whore won’t heed your word, call Yellow diamond!” The crowd cheered and suddenly Blue was moving toward her with that damnable little smile on her lips till she was standing at Yellow’s table and leaning forward on her hands, a litany of rings on her fingers that sparkled and shined in the light of the sconces on the walls.

“The easiest pirate of them all, Yellow diamond!” She sang with a look on her face that spoke volumes. Both crews were watching her with wide eyes.

Amber eyes flashed with barely contained rage.

In a flurry of movement Yellow jumped up, knocking over the table and aiming her flintlock pistol straight at Blue.

All sound in the tavern died in an instant and the little grin on Blue’s face had fallen away, but not to one of fear but shock.

At the very least it shut her up, but now Yellow was at an impasse.

Though Blue was soon to fix that.

Her look of shock quickly morphed into one of deadly seriousness.

"Well?" She asked taking a step forward pressing the muzzle of the pistol against her chest. "Are you going to fire or not?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Yellow said nothing and made no move to pull the trigger.

"Need some help? I'll start…," she said it so lowly that Yellow wasn't even sure she had heard her when suddenly her pistol was knocked aside and her world became a wash of white light and pain, quickly followed by the thundering of furniture being thrown and battle cries all around.

She opened her eyes just in time to see Blue rear back for another punch but this time was ready and caught the fist as it sailed through the air, jerking the other captain forward on to her raised knee as their crews brawled around them.

A table flew through the air and splintered into a thousand pieces against the wall raining wood shrapnel down around them, Yellow closed her eyes against the debris just long enough for Blue to lunge forward, tackling her to the ground just as one man was thrown overhead sailing straight into the bar shattering several bottles.

Punches were thrown and teeth fell to the floor among the blood and rum as the two crews duked it out.

Yellow scowled trying to grab the other captain's flailing fists as she straddled her waist. Her hat had flown off somewhere and Blue’s headscarf was askew atop her head, silver hair a wild mess as they rolled across the grimy floor, somehow not getting trampled by their men.

With a thrust of her hips, she managed to throw the smaller woman off her, twisting an arm behind her back that made Blue cry out, a sound that elicited emotions in Yellow that she had not expected, allowing Blue the moment needed to ram the back of her head into the blonde’s face.

“Shit!” She cursed, hands flying to her nose and eyes watering.

Suddenly she was tackled again, Blue flying into her midsection and sending them both reeling through the tavern door and out into the dirt.

Yellow managed to kick away from Blue long enough to scramble to her feet just as she did.

With a low growl, she lunged forward, grabbing both her wrists in an iron grip, and shoved her back against the side of the building. They’d stumbled half into the alley beside the tavern, the roaring of the fighting inside raged on without them.

Blue winced as her back hit the wall with a low thud. She hissed before looking up at the taller woman looming over her, wrists caught in her iron grip.

They both stood their, muscles taught, red-faced, and panting.

Blue could feel the blonde’s hot breath on her face, those amber eyes flickered in the low, distant light.

She wouldn’t be able to explain what came over her tomorrow.

She lunged forward, capturing Yellows mouth in a sudden searing kiss that made the blonde’s grip go slack.

She should have taken the opportunity to punch the blond pirate again, but instead, she just dug her fingers in those golden hairs and pulled Yellow closer to her, deepening the kiss.

Calloused hands wrapped around her waist and suddenly she was pulled flush against the tall, solid form of her greatest rival and she didn’t think anything of it.

Yellow pulled away but before Blue could even comprehend what was happening that mouth was on her neck, biting at the skin near her pulse and it felt like her legs were going to fold beneath her.

Surely the only thing keeping her upright now was Yellow’s iron grip on her hips.

She moaned, tugging on the taller captain’s short locks, eliciting a growl from her that shot heat all through Blue’s body.

“Marigold…” She mumbled with a heavy tongue before the blonde took hostage of her mouth again, which Blue allowed gladly.

“Blue!” A voice called and a petite woman with short curly hair slid around the corner, stopping to stare at them with wide eyes.

Blue jerked out of the embrace at the sound of her sister’s voice. Turning to look at her with wide eyes. It was fairly dark, she wasn’t sure just how much her sister had or could see.

She turned back to Yellow, who was looking back at her with wide eyes, mouth hanging open in clear shock at what had just transpired.

Making a quick decision she reared back and punched the blonde square in the nose.

Yellow cried out, hands flying to her face as blood began to drip from her nose.

Blue took off down the alley, grabbing her sister’s hand as she passed, pulling her along.

“What the hell was that?” Rose asked as Blue pulled them along back toward the docks to the ship.

“Later,” she huffed, pulling her down the dock.

She still needed to decide that for herself.

Yellow cursed to herself as she held her hopefully not broken nose as blood dripped down her face and onto her good white shirt.

That annoyed her more than anything else…, well, not by half, but it was on her list.

The sounds of fighting inside the tavern seemed to have died down as she stepped inside, and grabbed her hat off the floor before raising her pistol and firing a single shot into the ceiling, bringing all the brawling to an end.

Most of the remaining members of The Menagerie’s crew scampered out of the tavern, climbing out through the windows of the holes they had bashed through the walls when their Captain did not reappear.

“Cap’n!” Jasper was at her side within a moment, a black eye already forming and a split lip dribbling blood down her chin.

“Gather the crew and get back to the ship!” Yellow barked, kicking a drunken deckhand laying near her feet. ‘We set out at daybreak!” With that she turned and stomped back to the ship, face set in a stony glare.

“You heard the Cap’n!” Jasper’s loud, gravelly voice bellowed.

Yellow wiped at the blood dripping across her mouth, but even it’s salty tang couldn’t make her forget the way Blue’s lips had tasted.

#bellow diamond #blue diamond #Yellow diamond #Pink diamond #AU #pirate #fic

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ksgeekgirl · 4 years

Text

Back to the House that Love Built - Chapter 1: Bucket List

Title: Bucket List Word Count: 2800k Warnings: None in this chapter...but they are coming! Pairing: Francisco Morales (Pedro Pascal, Triple Frontier) x Kaylah Riley OFC Chapter Summary: Takes place about 18 months before the happenings in Triple Frontier. Your standard grumpy pilot boy meets girl :) Author’s note: After watching Triple Frontier I couldn’t believe how they did my boy Frankie, so I decided to give him the back story he so richly deserved. Big thanks to @heather-lynn for helping me with story structure, being a kick ass beta and encouraging the shit out of me. If you like it, please let me know!

Kaylah stretched her arms over her head, rolling her neck slowly in a circle. She’d been ma’am’d to death, had her heart blessed and had way more people than she was comfortable with knowing a little bit of her personal details. She’d even had one man, who sounded old enough to be her grandpa tell her “you sound real pretty, i’m sure we can work something out.” Hard pass.

Despite that, every call ended the same way -- way out of her price range or unwilling to help. So now, she was down to the last name. Her final shot.

She picked up her phone and tapped in the number, a little too aggressively, as she got psyched for one last call.

“Okay Francisco Morales,” she said to herself as she popped her airpods back in and hit send, “ I dare you to tell me no.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frankie had been working at the airport for eight months and it was a good fit. He was flying copters, getting in the air daily and keeping him close to the team. His brothers. They had been to hell and back in the nearly 20 years they were together in the Army -- then it all ended about 18 months ago.

That first 10 months had been rough, he’d never really thought about what he’d do when he got out because he didn’t think he’d live to see the day. And he wasn’t alone. All of the guys were a little afloat after leaving the Army, except for Pope who was doing the same work, just without the flag. But, things had settled and while it wasn’t exciting it was so much better than he deserved, in his opinion.

He was working four days on and three days off lately running workers out to oil rigs and various other projects. This was the end of a four day shift and he was running the post trip checks to make sure the bird was ready when he came back.

The beginning notes of Go Away by Godsmack began blaring from his phone, which only meant an unknown number. Frankie contemplated ignoring the call, but he was still on the clock and he was nothing if not responsible.

“Morales…” there was a pause before Frankie heard a very determined Southern drawl.

“Mr. Morales, my name is Kaylah Riley. Johnny Rowland over at Channel 9 said that you were the man who would be able to help me.” Kaylah didn’t even slow down before launching into her ask, not wanting to give him a chance to tell her no.

“I’m looking for someone to take my mom and me up on a private tour. I know it’s a big ask, but i’ll be happy to pay for your expenses…” she heard him start to ma’am her on the other end and barrelled on “..and an additional fee for your time, we can make any time work to fit your schedule,” another soft ma’am on the other end “...we’d just really…”

“MA’AM” Frankie almost yelled to get her attention. “I’m sorry, but we’re not a charter service. I’d be happy to give you the name…”

“Mr. Morales, you don’t understand, I…”

“No, Miss. Riley was it? I do understand. I’m sure one of the charter groups would be a much better experience. Like I said I'd be happy to recommend someone.” Frankie was not in the habit of giving Southern belles helicopter tours. He was about ready to give her a name when he heard her voice crack.

“Mr. Morales, I’m going to be honest with you.” Kaylah could hear the defeat in her own voice as she laid it out. “I’ve called every charter and pilot in a 100 mile radius. You’re my last chance.”

“Miss Riley, I…” Kaylah barreled on.

“You see, my mom is dying. She has taken care of me my entire life and I’m trying to help her knock off her bucket list before she is ripped from me. Unfortunately the crazy woman’s list includes a helicopter ride.” a laugh bordering on panic bubbled out of Kaylah’s chest. “Please Mr. Morales, you really are my last hope.”

Silence stretched on the line as Frankie took off his baseball cap and laid it on the workbench, running his free hand through his shaggy hair as he dropped onto a stool. He should tell her no. It wasn’t his problem. He could feel in his bones that this wouldn’t be a simple job.

“Mr. Morales, please?” her voice was pleading. The edge from earlier gone and replaced with anguish.

Shaking his head, Frankie pulled his cap back on. “Yeah. I’ll do it.” Frankie couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face as he heard her clap on the other end. He swore he could feel her smile through the phone.

Frankie looked at the reports, “Weather is shit this weekend, pardon my language, but next Saturday should work. Can you be here at 10?” His hand rubbing the back of his neck as he talked.

“We’ll make it work. And Mr. Morales,” Kaylah took a big breath, a tear escaping her eye, “thank you.”

“Yeah. Next weekend.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kaylah was excited to get home that night and tell her mom the good news. Dropping her backpack by the door and kicking off the shoes, she didn’t bother yelling for her mom. She knew the tiny woman would be planted on the back patio, ice tea in one hand and book in the other.

She grabbed a beer on the way through the kitchen, leaning against the frame of the french door watching her mom a bit before breaking the silence. She’d nodded off, her chin resting on her chest and snoring lightly. Kaylah pushed off and walked over to the wicker loveseat, shaking her lightly.

“Momma..” She jerks awake, looking around until Kaylah comes into focus.

“Kaylah-girl. How long have you been home?” Her mom’s accent sounded so weird to others, but it was comforting to Kaylah. Born in Dublin and married to a Texas native, Maureen Riley had the odd combination of twang and lilt that could make her almost impossible to understand. Even after forty years in America.

“Just got here,” She sat and slid an arm around her mom. “I have some good news.”

Maureen’s eyes sparkled as she took in her daughter, “Good news? Let me guess...you have a date?”

“Sort of,” Kaylah smiled as she saw her mom’s mouth drop open, “WE have a date to go up in a helicopter next Saturday.”

Honest to god her mom squealed like a six year old, causing Kaylah to break out laughing, but that was followed by a very serious expression.

“Momma, what’s wrong?”

“Oh nothing baby...i’m just trying to figure out what you wear to fly in a helicopter!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His little corner of the airport was dead on Saturday. Frankie got there early that morning, one to get the bird ready and two, because he wouldn’t put it past Kaylah Riley -- because she always used both names -- to be there early.

He had grabbed a couple of blankets on the way out this morning. It got cold up there and he’s not sure that his suggestion to dress warm really got through to her when she called on Thursday. It may be the South, but it was still January and the combination of altitude and wind could make it brisk to say the least.

Frankie had just gotten the headsets tested and ready to go when he saw a beige SUV pull up. He checked his watch, 9:30, just as he’d expected. He was walking out to tell her she’d have to move to the parking lot as she rounded the front of the car.

He didn’t know what he’d expected, but he could say without a doubt it wasn’t the pretty redhead that was headed his way. Frankie didn’t know if you could be fearless and fragile at the same time, but that was what popped in his mind seeing Kaylah Riley for the first time. Shit.

“Mr. Morales,” the wind whipping her ponytail as she walked up to Frankie, hand extended, “Kay…”

“Kaylah Riley. Got it.” Frankie gripped her hand in a strong shake, trying not to get distracted by her bright red lips. “You’ll need to move your car, you can’t leave it there.”

“Good morning to you to Mr. Morales…” Kaylah was glad she had on her sunglasses so he couldn’t see her eye roll. “I’d planned on moving it, I simply wanted to drop my mom off first...walking really wears her out,”

Kaylah pulled her hand back, realizing that she was still holding his long after the shake, shoving her hands in her pockets. “I mean, If that’s okay with you…”

“Yeah. That’s fine,” Frankie nodded his head at the tiny woman headed their way “but I think she got tired of waiting for you.”

Kaylah turned to see her mom strolling their direction. She couldn’t tell what made Maureen look more silly, the mirrored aviator sunglasses, her dad’s old leather bomber jacket or the long white scarf that was roughly the same color as her hair.

“Ma’am,” Kaylah turned to look at a smirking Frankie, one hand on his hip, “is she dressed like the Red Baron?”

She couldn’t help but laugh, “Mr. Morales, my mom is not what you’d call understated.”

To his credit, Frankie didn’t laugh, but the way his eyes crinkled showed how amused he was. Before she knew what he was doing, Frankie stepped around her, jogging towards her mom and offering his arm like a proper gentleman. Kaylah watched them walk towards her, Maureen’s charm in full effect, but her eyes were on the man next to her. Baseball cap pulled down, jacket stretched across his broad shoulders. Dear lord, she was staring like a teenager.

“A Stór, Francisco was just delightful to help me over here wasn’t he?” Maureen smiled up at Frankie. “Now go park the car and hurry back so we can get up in the air!”

Kaylah smiled and gave her mom a small salute. “I’ll be right back” and headed back to the car. When Maureen turned to watch her go, Frankie followed her gaze. Kaylah’s black moto jacket ending at her waist and drawing Frankie’s eyes down her slim frame. Biting the inside of his jaw, he pulls his hat down a little lower, definitely not what he’d expected.

Maureen was watching Frankie watch Kaylah, a glint in her eye as a smile spread across her face before she squeezed his arm. “Francisco, do you have somewhere I can sit down?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kaylah looked back at the retreating figures as she started the car and pulled towards the parking lot. She was a little embarrassed at what she had expected with Francisco Morales. Johnny had told her that he was a vet, the best pilot he knew and a man of few words. What she had constructed in her mind in no way matched the man that was chatting up her mother. He wasn’t what passed for handsome these days. She’s seen handsome up close and that was surface level at best. He was something else.

She parked and turned off the car, checking her reflection in the mirror, searching for the right word to describe him. Shoving her wallet and phone into her jacket pocket she jumped out of the car as the word came to her.

Masculine.

Francisco Morales was inherently masculine. Not macho, but just so comfortable in who he was there was no need to try and convince others. Like the Marlboro Man...with a helicopter. The only other man she’d known like that was her dad.

Kaylah shook off that thought as she walked, looking up to see her mom already strapped into the front seat of the bird, headset in place and blanket tucked around her.

“Momma?” Kaylah shielded her eyes as she looked up at her mom. “You two leaving without me?”

“If you don’t hurry up we will,” Maureen shouted. “Now hurry up so Francisco can get you strapped in. I want to fly!”

“Yes Ma’am!” Kaylah hurried around the copter where Frankie was waiting. She was trying to get in when she felt warm hands on her waist lifting her up drawing a little gasp out of her.

“Sorry.” Frankie mumbled as he strapped her into the seat, tightening the belt around her soft hips, his eyes catching on the glimpse of freckled thigh through the stylish tear in her jeans. He bit his lip as he handed her the headset, using the bill of his cap to keep from looking at her. “You’ll be able to talk to us without doing anything. Just say something if you have a problem.”

Kaylah nodded her head, at a loss for words...a condition that seldom plagued her. She watched as Frankie went through his process to get the helicopter running and then, they were in the air.

While she took in the sites from 1,000 feet up, Frankie was the perfect tour guide. He and Maureen talked non-stop. No, that wasn’t accurate. Maureen talked non-stop and Frankie added the well timed “hum” or “really” that kept her in peak storytelling mode. In fact, she could have stayed on the ground and neither of them would have known. It was glorious.

With their conversation as the soundtrack of the trip, the tour had passed quicker than expected as Kaylah saw the airport below. Coming to an end as Frankie sat the helicopter down as gentle as putting a baby to sleep. Kaylah was impressed as she heard his deep voice through the headset.

“Wait until the blades stop before you unbuckle, then I'll come help you out.”

Kaylah couldn’t help herself, her smart ass comeback slipping out before she even thought about it. “Aye, aye Captain.”

“I was never a Captain,” the scratchy voice caused her to snap her head up to see Frankie looking at her over his shoulder. She couldn’t tell if he was joking or if she’d offended him. Kaylah was fairly sure that Francisco Morales didn’t have a funny bone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was about 30 minutes from when they landed until Kaylah headed back across the apron towards her car, leaving her mom in Frankie’s capable hands until she could return.

Frankie watched Maureen get misty watching her daughter, seeing that as his cue to distract her and keep her focused on the great day. “Mrs. Riley…”

“Francisco...please call me Maureen” she patted him on the leg, dabbing at her eyes.

“Maureen then, you remind me so much of my mamá. Not just your personality and, um...stature,” Frankie smiled remembering the feisty little woman “but I don’t think anyone outside of Uncle Sam has referred to me as Francisco since she passed. Visiting with you today has given me a little piece of her back. Thank you.”

Maureen smiled as she watched the years fall away from Frankie’s face as he thought of his mom. “What a lovely compliment Francisco. How old were you when you lost your mother?”

“I was 20,” Frankie stopped, the muscle in his jaw working as he thought of that time. “In fact, I've been without her longer than I had her.”

Maureen stood, and without saying a word, wrapped him in the kind of hug that only can come from a mom. “I know I can’t replace her, and lord knows you’ve had time to learn to live without her, but you don’t hesitate to call me if you need a stand-in mom.”

She pulled back as she heard the car approach, patting him softly on the chest before turning to wave at Kaylah. Frankie moved to help her toward the car, walking in companionable silence as Kaylah came around to open the door.

As they reached the car, Maureen turned and looked up to Frankie, patting him on the cheek, “I meant what I said Francisco.” Frankie smiled and took her hand, kissing the back of it...the same sign of affection he used to bestow on his mom.

“Yes ma’am.”

Frankie stepped back as Kaylah got Maureen situated in the car and shut the door. She turned, pushing her sunglasses on her head, as she looked up at Frankie, extending her hand.

“Mr. Moral…” Frankie interrupted her as he enveloped her small hand in his, “Please, call me Frankie.”

“Okay. Well, thank you for everything,” Kaylah smiled up at him, pushing her sunglasses back down as she broke the handshake. “Frankie.”

Kaylah made her way back to her side of the car. Getting in with a quick wave and driving off, leaving Frankie standing on the apron as her taillights disappeared. He scuffed his boot against the seam in the asphalt, shaking his head as he looked down. He knew this wasn’t going to be a simple trip.

Shit.

#frankie morales #catfish morales #pedro pascal #please read this #just the beginning

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let-me-be-soft · 4 years

Text

Trying- Final Chapter

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Pairing: Alya/Nino

Summary:

After 5 years of a never ending battle with Hawk Moth, the Akumas suddenly come to a stop. For 4 months Paris seems like it’s finally at peace, but it may turn out to be only the calm before the storm. When Alya starts to hear a familiar voice, she realizes very quickly that Hawk Moth is far from gone. Alya must resist the temptation to discover the truth behind Ladybug, but as her life slowly falls apart around her, Hawk Moth’s grip only becomes stronger.

AO3 Fanfiction.net

The green light that enveloped her felt different then her transformation into Volpina. Her skin didn’t tingle with the same warmth. Turning into Chat Noir felt wild. The tail that wrapped itself around her hips whipped behind her like a flag in a storm. She ran her hands through her hair and felt the leather ears peak out between her fingers, shorter and thicker then her volpina ears. Her tongue ran over the sharp canines. At least those were familiar.

The light faded and she took off towards Ladybug and Rekko, grabbing her staff and extending it.

“Adrien-”

“Not quite.” She laughed, blocking an attack with the staff.

“Volpina! But-”

Alya gave Ladybug a smile. “I’m always here for you M.”

Rekko roared with anger, and both heros were sent flying backwards.

“This is futile! You aren’t going to kill me, and you can’t send me back!” Rekko stalked towards them, the shadows pooling at his long legs. “Even with your replacement cat, you’ll never make the portal. You will lose Marinette.”

Ladybug met his gaze, he wouldn’t scare her. It didn’t matter if he knew her name, she wouldn’t let him do anymore harm to anyone.

“I call on the magic of the black cat and the ladybug.”

Rekko turned to look behind him and saw Nino, standing in his hoodie, cap, and jeans.

“You?” Rekko snarled again, “Asa’s descendant? I thought I ended your line years ago.”

Nino gritted his teeth and ignored the kwami, bringing his hands together in front of his stomach like Tikkit had taught him. He saw Rekko charge at him but Alya took him down quickly before he could get far. He took a deep breath.

It was terrifying. He couldn’t exactly practice this spell, and he only really had one shot to get it right or they’d all die. Not only that but the power that came from borrowing Tikki and Plagg’s magic was overwhelming. It ran through him, sending electricity to his fingertips. It was like lightning looking for an escape. He could feel sparks flying between his hands. In front of him Rekko was yelling, pushing his way towards him as Ladybug and Chat-, Alya, held him back.

Focus.

He closed his eyes, drowning out the scene before him.

Adrien lifted himself from the ground slowly. His body ached and his vision was still slightly blurry. There was a bright light a ways from him, sparking violently. He rubbed his eyes gently and hissed with pain when one of them was too tender. Peeking through his one eye he could make out Nino standing in the center of the light. Ladybug stood on his right, a warm red light surrounding her. On his left there was a bright green that Adrien knew was Plagg’s magic. His ring! He looked down at his hand to find it missing.

“It’s alright.” A small voice said beside him.

He turned to see Fanna. She floated up to his chest and lifted Volpina’s necklace.

“That’s Alya?”

Fanna nodded. His eyes caught the body laying a few feet from him.

“Elle-”

As quickly as he could, he moved to her side, holding her head in his hands.

“Please wake up.” He whispered, staring down at her face. He watched her chest rise and fall in gently with her breathing. Relief flooded him.

There was a loud crack of thunder. Adrien turned back to Nino. Sparks were flying through the air, singeing the ground. Ladybug and Chat Noir were gone, the coloured lights they had emitted now localized to Nino’s hands. He was going to open the gate.

Rekko roared and shadows swarmed around him, crashing like a tidal wave on Nino.

“We have to go help him.” Adrien gently put Elle down and with great effort made it to his feet.

“Please be careful.” Fanna said.

“No promises. Fangs bared!”

Nino looked around him. He could see the sparks, and the soft glow of his hands illuminating the darkness that surrounded him on all sides. The light kept Rekko’s shadows at bay.

“What do I do?”

Stick to the plan. Open the gate. Tikki's voice floated through his mind.

Nino took a deep breath and focused on the energy between his hands. It was difficult to hold, the magic wanted to run wild.

That’s the destruction magic I told ya about. Plagg said.

Don’t let it out. It’s destroying the barrier between the kwami world and ours, but if you lose control, the two worlds will forever be joined again. Tikki warned him.

Just then the shadows around him grew closer, some reaching out towards him, trying to grab onto his hands. Nino felt a panic rise in him. In the distance he saw Rekko standing on a pillar of shadows sending wave after wave, until the darkness formed a small sphere around Nino. He was trapped inside.

Adrien watched the orange light fade around him. His tail was not it’s usal belt, but now more like coat tails. In his hands he held a flute, and the black short ears had been replaced by longer ones that stuck up. If he had his staff Adrien would have shot up there and dealt with rekko directly, but he wasn’t Chat Noir right now. He needed to think differently. He needed to think like Volpina.

He took off and crouched behind the corner of a building. He needed Rekko to stop attacking Nino. Swinging the flute off of his back he summoned a fake Nino, making him run out of the shadows and towards an alleyway. Rekko didn’t stop his attacks though. He kept a hold of the dark sphere and moved towards the alley to investigate the fake. It was as good of a shot Adrien thought he would get. He took off after him.

Rekko stood at the end of the alley, having already dissipated the fake Nino.

“It will take more than that to fool me Volpina. I will destroy you and your friend.”

“I need to get out of these shadows,” Nino jumped as one came close to grabbing his leg.

We don’t have time. You need to open the portal! Said Tikki.

“If I concentrate on the portal I’ll let my guard down and he’ll attack us.” Nino said.

The shadows swooped down, knocking him forward. Nino kept his hands still, roughly falling on his side.

Nino!

“I’ll be ok, Tikki.”

Don’t lose control of the magic, Kid.

“I won’t.”

The sparks started to get smaller.

What are you doing?

“Trying a different approach.” The sparks were infrequent, only producing a small bit of light, “I’m giving you back your magic. We need to weaken Rekko. It’s the only way.”

Nino!

The shadows seemed to grow without the sparks keeping them back. Nino felt something wrap around his ankle, something else wrap around his arms.

Alya found herself standing next to Marinette. In front of her was a big black ball of shadows.

“What’s going on? What is that?”

Marinette shook her head, “I don’t know. Where’s Rekko?”

Tikki flew up next to Marinette “You need to transform right now.”

“Tikki what’s going on?”

“Nino is trapped in that shadow thing. He can’t open the gate without Rekko attacking him.”

“Plagg, claws out.” Alya transformed without further instruction. “We have to get him out.”

Marinette nodded, transforming herself, “I’ll look for Rekko, you try and break Nino out of the shadows.”

Ladybug swung up onto the rooftops of the tall buildings. There was the tell tale sound of a flute in the distance. If Alya had the ring then...

“Adrien!” She swung down along the streets, following the sound.

There in a small side street stood Rekko surrounded by six male Volpina’s. Everytime he hit one it would disappear and the others would taunt him. That was her Chat alright.

“My lady!” She felt arms wrap around her from behind and she almost screamed before she slapped a hand over her own mouth.

“Sorry!” Chat- Volpina, whispered pulling back from the hug, “I just was worried, when I came to you were gone and so was my ring and-”

She smiled, “I’m glad you’re alright Kitty. Think we can take him down?”

“I may not be Chat Noir, but I will always be your partner Bugaboo.”

Ladybug smiled and gave him a quick kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He smiled. “What’s the plan?”

“Nino!” Alya attacked the shadows with her baton, but she couldn’t break through.

“Alya?”

“Nino I’m here, I can’t get through.”

“You have to stop Rekko! It’s the only way!”

“Ladybug’s on it. But we need to get you out of there! Stand back!” Alya took a deep breath, “Cataclysm!”

She wondered if Chat always felt like this. Her hand felt heavy almost. She could see the dark magic coating her gloved hand, tiny bits of its flying like balck sparks. This was why it took so much out of the Ladybug and Chat. She could use Volpina’s magic all day long, but this. This was taxing. She placed her hand on the shadows waiting for them to crumble away. For a brief moment it worked and she saw Nino inside being swallowed up by the darkness. It was thick and oozing like slime, or what Alya imagined the Oozbeck in that Dr. Suess book would be, only dark. As if all the light was being sucked out of it. Then the Shadows came back, crawling up the small hole in the sphere until there was only a solid dark wall again.

Alya banged her fist against it, “No!” She took out her staff and tried to beat down the shadows. “Can you break through from your side?”

“I can’t move Al. The shadows have got me.”

“Can’t you do some magic stuff?” Alya cried, desperately still bludgeoning the wall of shadows.

“What magic stuff?”

“I don’t know! You’re the one with all the magic spells!”

She jumped as a shadow sprung out of the sphere towards her head. Great globs of shadow started appearing around the sphere swinging like arms at Chat. Alya glanced at her ring, one of the lights had already vanished. “I don’t have much time before I detransform now!”

“Alya, I know how to shoot light out of my pinky and warm up a lake, that’s not going to help!”

“Isn’t dark weak to light?”

“THAT’S IN POKEMON ALYA!”

“JUST TRY IT!”

Nino closed his eyes. Light. Creating light. He thought back to the other night, alone with Alya, shining light out of his chest.

“Lumos!”

The light shone out of him, but the shadows on his arms were blocking parts of it. The shadows that held the sphere together retreated.

From the outside Alya could see the sphere expanding. “What’s going on?”

“It’s not working, they don’t like it but it’s not strong enough to destroy them!”

“Well then do it stronger!”

“Gee Alya, why didn’t I think of that!”

Alya charged at the shadows. This time the wall gave through, apparently weakened enough by Nino’s light. She gave a little cheer in victory running over to Nino who was still trapped.

“Alya no!”

She whipped her head around to see the shadows swallow up the whole she had created just like before. They were both trapped now.

“Shit. Are these things sentient now?”

“What are we going to do?” Nino turned his head around desperately trying to find another escape.

“You’re gonna turn into the sun again.” Alya said, determined.

“But-”

“Nino. Just trust me. You can do it.” Alya moved closer and wrapped her arms around him, “The two of us can get through anything. And I mean anything.”

“I love you.” He smiled.

“I love you too.” She closed her eyes and kissed him. He hadn’t even said their silly magic word she had created, more like stolen. Through her eyelids she could still feel the blinding light that surrounded them. Warming her skin like the sun, floating in the air bringing her the distinct feeling of magic she only felt when she was transforming into Volpina. Nino’s arms wrapped around her. She knew it had worked. She peeked open her eyes and laughed, before hiding her face in his shoulder.

“You can turn it off now, babe.”

Volpina-Chat barely managed to roll away in time. The corner of the building behind him didn’t, since it was completely stationary. The poor building was hit with the full force of Rekko’s attack, crumbling, as a burst of darkness hit it full force. Ladybug swung down quickly, wrapping her free arm around Volpina as he automatically wrapped both of his around her. They landed on a rooftop not too far away. Suddenly the trail of shadows heading towards Nino lit up and then disappeared without a trace. Rekko cried out in pain and collapsed onto the ground.

“They did it.” Volpina grinned.

“Second phase of the plan.”

Still holding onto each other they swung off towards Nino.

There in the middle of the square stood Nino and Alya. Alya saw them approaching and quickly took off the ring. Adrien exchanged it for her necklace.

“He needed some cheese.” She said, “But he should be ready to go now.”

Plagg nodded.

“Alright. Let’s do this.” Nino said.

He took a deep breath and put his hands back in their position as Alya and Adrien transformed.

“I call on the magic of the Ladybug and the Black Cat.” The sparks came easier this time, dancing between his fingers and Ladybug and Chat Noir disappeared. The sky around them turned dark and there was a loud crack as lightning struck the ground.

“Whoa. This is pretty cool babe.” Volpina said with a grin.

Nino smiled. He lifted his hands in front of him and there was another loud crack of lightning.

Volpina spotted Rekko in the distance charging towards them.

“I won’t let him touch you.”

“I only need a minute.”

Volpina took off towards the villain. He was tired and weak, and she was fueled with adrenaline. This was the home stretch.

First is Plagg’s destruction magic. Tikki’s voice was back in his head. You need to rip apart the barrier into the other world.

Rekko will be sucked in and then it’s Tikki’s magic that will fix the hole. You got this, Kid.

The gate was smaller than Alya had pictured, and it wasn’t so much a giant door, as it was a plaster hole in the wall of the universe. She wasn’t really sure what was on the other side, she couldn’t make out anything, but she could feel it’s pull. Elle had said that the jewelry masked the kwami’s magic, but she could still feel her body moving towards the vortex before her. Rekko was being dragged forward much faster than she was. His heels were dug into the ground, his shadow tendrils clinging onto anything to keep him stable. Alya looked at Nino. The sparks illuminated his face, his eyes glowing with determination and magic.

“As Asa’s descendant I banish you from this world. You will be locked away never to return to it.”

Nino spoke in a voice that wasn’t his own. There were figures behind him, all with the same glowing eyes. A woman caught Alya’s eye. She couldn’t be over 30. The woman reached out gently, and placed a hand on Nino’s shoulder. Unlike the others she spoke with him, in a voice she was sure now belonged to all of them.

“For the people you’ve hurt, and the lives you have taken from this world, you will never be forgiven. If you dare to show your face here again, you will forfeit your own life.”

Alya watched as Rekko was sucked into the entrance. His eyes were wide with panic, his calm smirk from earlier completely erased. She would have laughed if she wasn’t still holding her breath. She saw him reach out his arm before she felt the shadow tighten on her leg. She fell to the ground desperately clawing at the pavement as she was dragged towards the portal.

“NINO!”

“You’ll have to let me back if I take you’re little friend with me-”

Alya looked over her shoulder as she hurled towards the cackling kwami. She was too close, she was going to be-

There was a final crack of lightning and the shadow stopped pulling her. She looked up to see the woman from before. Her arm extended the palm facing towards where Rekko once stood. His body lay on the ground for only a moment before it was sucked back into the portal. The pulling stopped, and the whole in the middle of the air repaired itself. The soft pink light that came from Tikki’s magic, filling the space it used to occupy. And then, it was all gone. And there was just air. Alya looked to Nino. There were no more mysterious figures behind him, no more glowing eyes or crackling thunder. Instead Adrien and Marinette stood beside him, looking dazed. Alya got to her feet slowly.

“You should rest Fanna.” She said softly. Volpina’s magic washed away, leaving Alya with the very real ramifications of fighting an evil kwami. Her legs somehow managed to carry her to him, though she had no control over them. And then he opened his eyes.

“We did it.” She said. Fanna landed on her shoulder wearily.

Nino looked to either side and saw Marinette and Adrien holding a tired Tikki and Plagg, “We did?”

“We did.” Alya’s eyes were watering, she almost fell on him as she leaned forward to embrace him.

“We did it.” Marinette seemed just as shocked as Nino, but the joy on her face hadn’t been there in a long time. Suddenly there were so many arms wrapped around one another, and four smiling faces that had tears streaming down their cheeks.

Alya wept. Whether it was from relief, or joy, and exhaustion, or even fear, she didn’t know. But she held tight onto her friends.

After a moment Adrien pulled away. “Elle-”

He took off before he could say anymore. Alya forced her legs to work again and ran after him, still holding onto Nino’s hand.

The four heros and the kwami fell to the ground next to Elle. Marinette reached out and felt the woman’s neck.

“Her pulse is strong. She’ll be alright.” She reassured Adrien, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Alya pulled out her phone, “I’m calling for an ambulance. Someone call Marinette’s mom.”

Even when the blaring noise of the ambulance arrived, or when Adrien climbed into it with Elle. Even when the three of them slowly started to walk back to Marinette’s parent’s Bakery, Alya couldn’t stop her smile or her tears.

They had done it. It was finally over.

Marinette wasn’t exactly sure how she ended up here. Adrien and his father had been at the hospital with Elle for the past two days. She had brought them food and begged them to sleep the first night, but she didn’t know if either of them had. The second day she had managed to drag Adrien back to his apartment and make him go to sleep. Alya and Nino were there as well. The apartment was so busy she never really got a true moment alone. Her parents had also come by to make sure everyone was taking care of themselves. Alya’s mother and sisters had stopped by for a long visit, that Adrien had come out of his room for. In between there were long calls in italian being made to Nino’s grandmother. Alya participated a little this time, when the phone went on speaker and his grandmother switched to French. The kwamis all snacked and talked freely with each other in the kitchen throughout the day unless there were visitors. Marinette had eavesdropped a little, but they were mostly stories she didn’t understand. Something about Plagg’s teenage years. The thought of that alarmed her. What were “teenage years” to a kwami? And what did the god of destruction do during them? She only caught something about a giant wooden horse before giving up and returning back to the other humans. They watched a movie. Somehow that night she found herself sleeping off the aftermath of the fight next to Adrien in his bed.

And now here she was trying not to freak out that she was in the Gabriel Agreste’s house as she paced outside his office, too nervous to peek inside.

They had released Elle from the hospital, and the Agreste men had rushed to help her, though Marinette wasn’t sure how much help either of them were when they had sent their personal driver to assist as well. She had been left in the mansion, helping to set up for the welcome home party. She was pretty sure her mother had planned it, since she and her dad had already brought over a large two tiered cake, but it easily could have been Tikki or Plagg’s idea. Adrien had confessed he thought his father might have planned it, but he conceded it was most likely wishful thinking.

Apparently she had been deep in thought because she hadn’t even heard Alya call to her, warning her about the table corner that hit her hip and caused her to double over.

“Mari, are you alright?”

Marinette laughed a little and nodded, “It’s just a table. I’ve survived worse.”

Alya laughed lightly, “No I meant are you feeling alright. You’ve been…”

“Different?” Marinette supplied.

“Yeah.” Alya busied herself with fixing the table cloth. “Although I guess we’re all kind of different now.”

Marinette frowned, “This is going to sound horrible but… I wish that things were, well-”

“Back to how they used to be?”

“Yeah.” Marinette shook her head, “I mean not Hawkmoth! Obviously not that, I’m glad that’s over for good but… Everything is different now. Chat and I know each other, and we’re dating! Alya, I’m dating Adrien Agreste! I’m standing in his house right now!”

Alya laughed, “Glad to see that’s still the same.”

“Hey- No it isn’t!” Marinette pretended to pout. “It’s still hard to wrap my head around. People know I’m Ladybug. My mom knows I’m Ladybug, and she’s somehow wrapped up in all of this. And there’s Adrien’s mother, and Elle, and Master Fu…” Marinette trailed off thinking about his funeral. It was around the same time Alya’s dad had passed away. The same time her and Volpina were fighting. The same time her and Alya were fighting.

Alya seemed to understand, and wordlessly reached out to squeeze Marinette’s hand.

“I want us to go back to before.” Marinette said. It was almost a whisper.

“I don’t think we can M.” Alya gave her a sad smile. “We aren’t the same people.”

Marinette nodded, her eyes watering as she stared down at their hands, still holding on. Alya pulled her forward and let go of her hand to wrap her arms around her.

“That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.” Alya said into her ear. “We can be better friends than before.”

Marinette nodded again, a laugh escaping her as tears fell down her face.

“Best friends.”

“I’ll fight kitty boy for that title every time. I am the one and only best friend.”

Marinette laughed into Alya’s shoulder. “You are.”

Nino pouted, “I still think it would be fun!”

“No!” Marinette said, re-stacking the macarons for the fifth time.

“She’s coming home from the hospital! Why would we hide in a dark room and yell surprise at her?” Alya said, she turned to Marinette exasperated, “Mari, the macarons are fine, leave them.”

Marinette didn’t stop her stacking, “I just think that-”

“Marinette, you should listen to Alya.” Tikki chided floating down onto her chosen’s shoulder.

“Ok, but what if we just turn the lights off and not hide?”

“Nino-”

“I agree with Nino,” Plagg chimed in from his spot on the table, next to the wheel of cheese.

“Well you’ve made this difficult,” Fanna whined weaving in between Alya’s legs, “Because I also want to surprise Elle, but I don’t want to agree with you…”

“That’s petty.” Plagg grumbled reaching for the cheese. Tikki smacked his hand away.

“We’re not jumping out!” Alya said, giving a look to Fanna.

“Exactly,” Marinette had moved on to fussing with the glasses.

“Marinette, just sit on your hands!”

“You agree with me right Wayzz?” Nino turned to his kwami, who was reading in the corner.

“Pardon?”

“There. It’s four against two.” Nino grinned.

Alya sent him a glare, “Nino Lahiffe-”

“They’re here!” Sabine Cheng ran into the room, quickly ducking behind the table.

“So she gets to hide-”

“Nino! Just get behind the curtain.” Alya made a mad dash for the light switch as she heard feet in the hallway, jumping behind the nearest piece of furniture, an elegant chaise.

“-up to something. You have that look on your face Gabriel.”

The light switch flicked on and collectively they all called surprise.

To Alya and Marinette’s horror Elle let out a startled cry, but thankfully burst into laughter not a second later.

It was a weird party. Nino had provided music, and Sabine and Tom had provided cake. Her mother had brought her extra food the night before which now sat in the incredibly fancy bowls belonging to the Agreste Mansion. The homemade banner that said “Welcome Home Elle” didn’t exactly match the pristine marble floor or furniture. But Elle seemed to love it. Every inch of it. A sappy love song came on and Marinette and Adrien were already dancing, Adrien’s full Chat persona on display.

Alya felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to find Nino, standing with his hand extended to her.

She felt Fanna slip away, going to join Elle and Gabriel in the corner wit the other kwami.

“Careful, you’ll turn into Chat Noir.” Alya warned him as she let herself be pulled close.

“I could kiss your hand and call you M’Lady?”

“Ew, don’t you dare.” Alya smiled up at him.

Alya let the comfortable silence fall between them, as they swayed to the music. Her and Nino hadn’t started looking for apartments yet. There hadn’t been a lot of talk about the future, between the two of them. The past few days had been filled with holding each other, and hiding out in his room eating pizza. She didn’t want to face the future just yet. They had defeated a supervillain, but still it wasn’t the end of it. She still needed to find another job. She needed to contact the registrar about the spring semester. She needed to… to figure out what to do about Fanna.

Nino noticed her frowning and leaned forward bringing their foreheads together.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Volpina.” She whispered back.

“Are you thinking about her beautiful eyes?”

“No,” She laughed, “Hawkmoth’s gone… Does Paris really need four heros still?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Should I be giving back my miraculous?” Alya asked bluntly. The two of them stopped swaying.

“No, of course not.” Nino said, lifting a hand to cup her cheek. “You’re an amazing Volpina, Al.”

“I know.” She smiled, “It’s nothing. I was just thinking since there’s no threat anymore, what are we going to do?”

Nino laughed, “Absolutely nothing. We’re going to take a 20 year long vacation.”

Alya hit him on the arm lightly. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

The song ended and Alya led them into the empty hallway. They really hadn’t been alone in a long time.

“Do you still want to be Volpina?”

Alya thought for a second, before nodding, leaning against the wall as she smiled, “I’ve always been obsessed with superheroes.”

Nino laughed.

“Do you?”

“Want to be Volpina? Well, yeah, but I think you look better in the costume then I do.”

Alya rolled her eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of making her laugh. She couldn’t stop her smile though. “You know what I mean.” She turned her head to look at him.

Nino was looking at the marble floor. “I don’t really have a choice. It’s kind of in my blood or whatever.”

Alya frowned and looked down too, “Nino…”

She hadn’t spoken to him about it, about when he had opened the portal. They weren’t avoiding it, they had just been busy, and they hadn’t had a chance to be alone… And they were avoiding it.

“I saw something.” Alya forced herself to say.

Nino turned to look at her worried, “Another weird Rekko vision?”

“No.” She reassured him, shaking her head, “Those are gone, I promise.” She paused, “I saw something when you were doing your magic thing.”

Nino seemed to bristle slightly.

“Nino I saw your mom. I’m not sure, but behind you there were all these people, and right behind you there was this woman, and she was wearing modern clothes and she put a hand on your shoulder. She was the one who sent the lightning that stopped Rekko. I think she saved me.”

Nino nodded, “That makes sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“I felt someone, behind me, and I felt the hand on my shoulder… I didn’t see her.”

“You felt her?”

Nino nodded. Then after a moment he smiled a little. “I thought I heard someone say, ‘I’m proud of you.’ I thought it might have been tikki in my head, but I sort of hoped....’”

Alya stared at him with wide eyes. “Your mom talked to you?”

“Maybe.” Nino laughed, “And I guess she approves of you, she did save you.”

Alya reached down for his hand and held it in her own, “How do you feel?”

“Weird. Very, very weird. Those were the first and last words my mother ever said to me.”

Alya nodded, not knowing what else to say.

“I’m glad she saved you.” Nino gave her hand a squeeze. “I can thank her for that.”

The party was dying down when they came back in. Sabine was next to Elle and Gabriel, when Gabriel angrily shook his head,

“She just got home! Can’t this wait?”

“Let me speak for myself.” Elle scolded him as if he was a five year old. He even pouted like a child.

“What’s going on?” Adrien had heard the disruption. Him and Marinette approached the group just as Alya and Nino did.

“As I was saying, “ Sabine gave a pointed look to Gabriel, “I’m more than happy to continue as the temporary guardian until we can train someone new.”

“But?” Elle prompted.

“But I thought you would be an excellent replacement.”

Elle seemed to blink in shock, “Me?”

“You were trained by Fu himself.”

“But only briefly! I never finished that training!”

“Neither did I.” Sabine said with a laugh, and then in an almost whisper, “To tell you the truth I don’t think Fu ever finished his.”

Wayzz laughed a little.

“You wouldn’t be up shits creek without a paddle,” Plagg said, “We’d be here to help.”

“As would I.” Sabine added.

“I don’t know if I’m the right person…” Elle met Tikki’s gaze and then quickly looked away. “I’ve spent my life just running away from the miraculous. Can you trust me to look after it?”

“Yes.” Tikki said, moving forward. “I suggested it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Just take it already!” Plagg grumbled.

“I would be honoured.” Elle smiled.

Sabine clapped her hands with a feeling of finality, “Fantastic. I have one final act as the Guardian then.”

She reached into her bag and brought out a familiar looking jewelry box. She handed it to Elle who frowned.

“What is this?”

“My last act as Guardian is to entrust Noroo to you.”

Elle opened the box to find the butterfly miraculous sitting carefully inside. A soft purple kwami appeared before her. They ducked behind the box, cowering.

“Noroo?” Elle said softly.

The little butterfly looked around and saw the other kwami, seeming more relaxed they peered over the box and up at Elle.

“It’s nice to meet you.” They said softly floating closer, “I’m Noroo, the butterfly, I am at your service.”

“And I at yours.” Elle smiled.

“It seemed like the perfect match to me. I think you were there when Amara brought them into this world.”

“I was. It’s good to see you again. I’m Elle. The new Guardian.”

“My mother brought a kwami into our world?” Nino asked, looking between Elle and Sabine.

“She did. Mostly by accident.” Elle explained pinning the brooch on her shirt. “It was when we tried to seal Rekko away 11 years ago.”

“You tried to seal him away before?” Marinette asked.

“Yes. And we failed, which is why I ran.” Elle said looking to Adrien, “I think I promised you the whole story.”

Adrien nodded slowly, “You did, and I’d like to hear it. Just not now. I want just one more day of peace.”

The two months that followed passed faster than the two that had come before. Frost had started to cover the grass in the garden. The trees had long since abandoned their leaves, which had been raked up by a professional groundskeeper. Alya and Elle found this ridiculous since there wasn’t much greenery at the mansion anyway, though Elle had set about to change that. The drapes were yellow, which had made Adrien stop and stare in awe when he first saw them. Inside there were plants, and rugs, and pillows, and candles, and everything that made you feel like the mansion might just be a home after all. Alya had been living there for the past month for work reasons, and when she approached Elle about staying a little while longer, Elle had begged her to stay till after Christmas. She was still back and forth between here and Nino’s place, and in January they would be in their own home, just the two of them.

Life had gotten back on track slowly at first. She had withdrawn from school before the deadline, meaning to go back in January, get a new internship and start over again, but Elle had made a better offer. It had been early November when Elle had proposed her idea. Back in the day they had a whole team of miraculous users who doubled as researchers, historians, and scholars. Elle needed a reporter of sorts. Someone who could track down information about the miraculous, and most importantly keep a record of it. She offered room and board, as well as pay. Alya had said yes in a heartbeat. She had always been obsessed with Superheroes.

Between her research and the Ladyblog, she was busier than she had ever been. Nino’s 20 year vacation would have to wait a while. She had brought Elle into running the blog with her. Together they managed to piece together posts, videos, pictures, or information that was safe to share. Soon they discovered it was also a good resource. People from around the world read it, and those who already knew about the miraculous reached out and offered information. There were reports of different Miraculous being found around the world, or new heros from other countries that might be linked. They had managed to locate three potential miraculous, and fill in a decent chunk of the history in the month that they had been working together.

Alya wasn’t the only one visiting the mansion more often. Adrien still came for his father and his “family dinners” but he had also come to see Elle. Around a week after she became the Guardian the two of them sat down and she told him the whole story from start to finish. Alya had forced herself not to eavesdrop, but Elle had later told her much of the story anyway, leaving out some of the personal baby Adrien anecdotes. Alya had added it to their working history of the miraculous.

Elle told her about finding the earings in a pawnshop when she was 16, and then running off to Paris. She described meeting Celine, and then Sage a year later, then becoming Adrien’s nanny. She talked about Phillip, who was the very definition of a cat burglar, and Sage’s death. She had thought Phillip had killed her. She was convinced she would never forgive him, but then she learned it was an accident. It wasn’t until she was older she realized that was when Rekko had appeared, and Sage was his first victim.

Alya had written it all down, a record of Elle’s life as Ladybug, and then suddenly the story became one she was familiar with. 15 year old Marinette Dupain-Cheng becomes Ladybug right as Hawkmoth is born. Alya wrote about becoming Lady Wifi, and being held prisoner by the Pharaoh. She poured through the blog finding every fight in detailed description and copying it into the history book. She sat down with Marinette and Adrien over lunch and picked their brains to fill in the gaps. She made her way to Tom and Sabine’s bakery with a notepad and left with answers and a paper bag of treats to take home.

She loved her work. Almost as much as she loved her magical boyfriend. Nino had stayed Wayzz’s chosen, and even though the miraculous dampened his magic, it was finding ways to seep through. Sometimes he would get too happy and his chest would start glowing. One time he had accidentally melted the ice when they went skating and he fell face first. But other than the strange magical tendencies, Nino’s life had gone back to normal. Marinette’s had too. More normal than it had been before actually. In a weird way she had gotten a normal life with minimal superhero interference. Her and Adrien still partoled as Paris’s superhero duo, but with her free time she was helping her parents with the bakery, entering design competitions, doing pop up fashion shows on campus; Marinette had made herself busy. Alya supposed it was because it was what she had been used to for so long. Adrien on the other hand had fully embraced his new less stressful life. Gone were the piano lessons, and fencing practices, and private tutoring and surprise photoshoots mixed with a secret superhero double life. Now Adrien Agreste did very little. He did most of the cleaning and cooking, since him and Marinette practically lived together. When he wasn't at home, or chatting to the neighbors he volunteered. Recently he had started helping their old highschool organize a talent show. Marinette had told him he should become a teacher. He liked that idea very much.

That’s how life continued. It was a week till Christmas now and Gabriel had decided to organize a big christmas party for the team and their family’s. Nino even borrowed Adrien’s car and he and Alya drove to get his grandmother. The mansion had been transformed, not only by the decorations for the party, but by its inhabitants. Elle’s changes hadn’t stopped with rugs, and houseplants. Alya thought there were at least 4 trees in the house, probably more, and each of them was decorated with twinkling lights, and handmade decorations. Some were from when Adrien was a child. Others Elle had made throughout December. Underneath every tree was a mountain of presents. Their tags revealed her name as well as the rest of team miraculous. She would spot others too. One for Nathalie and her wife. One for the couple that ran the grocery store down the street. There was a stack of them by the tree in the office that were for charity. She wasn’t sure if it was the lack of Rekko, the addition of Elle, or the fact that Gabriel Agreste was no longer neglecting his son, but the Agreste’s were using their wealth for more and more good these days.

Alya had convinced Marinette to get ready at the mansion with her. So at 4 Marinette arrived at the front door with a garment bag, a series of smaller tote bags, and a tool box filled with make-up. Alya’s room in the mansion was bigger, and much more private then Marinette’s own. Marinette had given Adrien the keys almost a week after everything went down.

“Are you going to start living with each other yet?” Alya asked trying not to burn herself with the curling iron as she wrapped her hair around it.

“What?” Marinette got flustered too easily, “We’ve only been dating for two months!”

“You’ve been in love with each other for five years.”

Marinette chose to ignore her and focus on her eyeshadow. “Do you think this colour works?”

“You’re the fashion expert, I’m the one that’s supposed to ask you those things.” Alya frowned in thought before nodding, “It does look good though.”

Marinette smiled, “How’s Nino?”

“Good. He misses you, we both do.”

“I know, sorry. I’m just so-”

“Busy. I know M, it’s ok.”

“I just don’t like standing still for too long, and now I have all this time-”

“It’s ok.” Alya smiled, “I’m very happy for you Marinette.”

“Thank you.”

Marinette paused for a moment, make up brush still in hand, but lowered from her face.

“When we were fighting him- Rekko, and everything was going wrong, I was so scared.” She said in a whisper. “It was just me left and I was staring at Rekko, and then I saw you. You as Chat.”

Alya nodded silently, a lump forming in her throat.

“I never said thank you. You saved me.”

Alya placed a gentle hand over Marinette’s, “Mari, whether it’s moving out of your parents place, going out drinking on a friday night, ranting about your arts history teacher, editing your papers, fighting a super villain, or just giving you a hug when you need it. I am always there for you. Always.”

Marinete blinked away tears and nodded, pulling Alya into a tight hug, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Marinette’s dress was as beautiful as Alya had envisioned it. Marinette had sent her pictures of the progress but in true marinette fashion, it was pinned unfinished to her mannequin until last night. It was a deep red, with a tea length fit and flare skirt. The back scooped into a deep U that met her waist with an oversized bow.

Alya grinned, “If Gabriel Agreste doesn’t sign you this instant.”

“You and Adrien,” Marinette chided, “I’m discovering who I am as a designer. And besides. I don’t want any special treatment.”

“Well his loss. That’s all I’m saying.”

The party was warm, and the food was amazing. Alya’s sisters had stars in their eyes the whole night as they each took turns descending the stairs in their dresses and blazers. There was music, courtesy of Nino of course, and then suddenly Tom had taken over on the piano, plunking out awkwardly christmas carols and singing loud enough to drown out the stereo. Her and Nino joined in full heartedly, wrapping their arms around each other's shoulders and swaying. Elle had pushed Gabriel in front of the keys and they attempted to play heart and soul while Adrien booed and called them unoriginal. Finally Adrien sat down and started to play, Marinette sitting on the bench next to him, leaning her head on his shoulder.

Alya let her arms wrap around Nino’s neck and felt his hands fall on her waist.

“Shall we dance turtle boy?” She said, giving him a playful smirk.

Nino rolled his eyes, “It’s unfair that you have an embarrassing nickname for me.”

Alya laughed as they swayed together.

“Volpinie”

“No.”

“Vulpix”

“That’s a pokemon.”

“Pokemon has not steered us wrong before.”

Alya laughed and rested her head on his shoulder.

“How ‘bout Foxy Lady?”

She pulled back to look him dead in the eyes. “If you call me foxy lady, I will call you turtle boy for the rest of your life. I’ll say it in my vows. They’ll say do you take Turtle boy to be- Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You want to marry me?” Nino stopped moving, staring at her in shock.

“Calm down. Not this second.”

“But like, one day. You could see us getting married?”

Alya smiled, “Only if you never call me Foxy Lady again.”

“I love you.” Nino kissed her.

“I love you too, Turtle Boy.”

#Djwifi #mlb #miraculous ladybug #fic #alya x nino #alya cesaire #Nino lahiffe #turtle nino #foxalya

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cum-a-calla · 5 years

Text

a commission :)

inside: Bob Gray/female reader, humiliation, piss, mindfuck, denial, general clownery

It’s hard to judge just how long you’ve been in the cage.

On top, there are two heavy boots, legs crossed at the ankle. The bars of the cage tremble and clink, chains around the door shimmying like bells. The sound joins his uneven breath, it joins the metallic rattling and your own blood rushing in your ears, and the sight of him petting the ridiculous bulge in his slacks while he squirms. He’s slack-jawed, drooling, eyes heavy and focused, unfocused, focused again.

There are empty seats and risers in a semi-circle around you, rusted with age. You can practically hear the creaking despite the lack of an audience. In your head, it sounds hollow, warped, just the thought of it creepy enough to make you shudder. Goosebumps ripple down your arms, over your ribs and thighs.

“Wish there were people in here, little creature?”

He grins and saliva dribbles down his chin. Around you is aching, echoing emptiness, like a vacuum. Sounds within the tent are magnified, caught in the low, insectile buzz in the background, and focusing on it only forces it to retreat. Hiding. Chittering. Beyond the ragged flaps of the entrance, wind whips banners and flags around, shakes the trees in the distance and sends leaves and carnival garbage whirling around the midway. Not a sound penetrates the perimeter of the tent. It’s like watching a movie on mute, the world moving on behind some invisible barrier. You’re isolated here.

Trapped.

The cage is small. It’s barely big enough for you to be on your hands and knees, naked, shivering under his constant watch. Between your thighs, your pulse makes itself known. Each throb brings you a little closer to release, but it’s a race to see which releases first – your dripping cunt or your full, tight bladder, feeling fuller every passing minute.

“No,” you breathe. The thought of anyone seeing you like this, locked up and trembling with your bare ass in the air, is beyond anything you could handle. You peek at the risers and they shimmer. They seem to slip in and out of focus, and in the weird blur, there are shapes. People. Loads of them, faces smeared and unclear, blipping in and out like a glitch.

Glancing at Bob Gray treats you to the sight of his big hands around his cock, leaking down around his knuckles. He’s sneering down at you, tugging leisurely at himself while you flicker between him and the spectral audience, and it seems that with each passing glance, they disappear and reappear, refusing to conform to your perception of the room around you. It’s scary. The people don’t really look like people, only like they’re trying to.

Like Bob. Bob, with his wet snarl, his sleepy eyes and sharp teeth. His eyes glimmer at you, snapping orange like a wildfire. He lifts his boots off the cage and spreads his thighs, pumping his cock with a little more purpose. He swipes his fingers up over the slippery head and shudders, giggling, his soft belly peeking from under his untucked shirt. It’s nearly threadbare with age.

“Can see ya shakin.” He sucks his teeth, mocking you with a violent shiver that shakes his massive frame. “Ooh, tiny thing, can see how bad you want it. Stupid little pet. Does it hurt? Does it feel sooo bad to hold... it... in?”

Eyes on the floor. It’s all you can focus on aside from the burning ache. The more it aches, the worse it gets. The worse it gets, the more you throb.

“Can I... please... go to the bathroom?”

He shakes his head, a thread of drool breaking off to patter into the dirt near his feet. He’s swollen, dripping just like you are. He moans and shakes his head harder, the laughter bubbling up from deep in his chest.

“No, no, I want you to hold it. Be a good girl, hm? Don’t make a big fuckin’ mess in my tent, you hear? Do ya kennit, little animal, does it do ya well?”

“Please, I really – it... hurts –”

He stands so suddenly that his chair topples behind him, and he towers over the cage like you’re the smallest thing in the world. He’s enormous. He takes the step until his big boots are toeing the edge of the cage, knocking into the thin bars, and not once does he stop touching his cock. He bends low and watches you, looks at you from every angle. His saliva drips down onto your back. It’s warm, unbearably so as it slides down the curve of your ribcage to your belly. He reaches into the cage, shoves his hand between your legs.

There, he rubs at your clit. It’s sloppy and quick, less about teasing and more about piling on the pressure. It’s searing. It feels like a molten ball in your belly, twisting, pressing down, down, down against your bladder, each contraction deep in your cunt only dragging your misery to the surface. It’s getting harder to ignore, harder to push down below.

“Does it hurt so, so bad? Is this old man huuurting you?”

“Ohmygodohmygod...”

Bucking your hips away is impossible. You can only fall back against his fingers, and the more you worm away from him, the more he giggles. The more he strays from your clit, teasing you where you can’t have him. Not now. Not with all that bright pain inside, ready to burst, and yet here he is, cooing at you with his fingers sliding inside.

“No gods here. Not even close. Nothing but me, nothing but your slimy little cunt. You smell so good, too... come out, tiny thing. Come on out. Let. Me. Smell. You.”

“No, I can’t, I can’t!” Your voice draws high, so whiny and pathetic that it doesn’t take looking him in the face to know that he’s enjoying it. His smirk shapes his words, spits them at you like his fucking drool. They float through the air like a miasma, circling your mind, like moths. Smell you let me smell you come out tiny thing come out you scared does it hurt does it hurt doesitHURT

“Oh.” He moans the word, like it rumbles up from his body, and his breath flutters through your hair. Sweat prickles at your hairline, and the first drip travels down over your temple. He takes the cage in both hands, so many slippery fingers, and takes a steadying breath. You can’t look away from him, crouched over the cage with his heavy cock out, with his big hands gripping the enclosure like he means to twist the metal. He glares down at you with a smile on his face. “Oooh, you can’t? But this... is the circus. Anything can happen here.”

He takes his hands, pounds his fists on the top of the cage. It rattles around you and you jump, yelping, and after all, you do feel like a dumb animal. He pounds them again, again, and all you can do is freeze up. Your bladder burns. Your cunt aches.

“Anything! Let me show you.”

With each strike, he grunts, and those melt off into laughter as he starts to count down with each smack of his big hands, slamming against the metal until they scrape open, the meat of his palms tearing and bleeding freely. SIX. FIVE. FOURRRR, THHRREEEEEEE, TWWOOOO.....

“ONE!”

A final, heavy slam of his fists and the cage is gone.

He stops just short of your back, hands coming to a complete halt as you brace for impact, and then his red, shredded palms lay flat against you. His blood feels scalding. The cage is just gone, absent from the tent entirely. You look around, frantic, looking up, looking at him, but there’s nothing to see. Nothing but his broad shoulders, his knowing smirk.

“What do you think?” He winks at you, slow, like you’re sharing a secret.

“It’s - that’s... where did it... go?”

“Gone the way of many other things in my time, filthy thing. Don’t worry about that. It’s been taken care of, and now you should be.”

There’s no grace to the way he yanks you by the hips, no thought to how you fight a losing fight, barely squirming out of reach when he pulls you flush against him. He grabs handfuls of your ass, spreads you open, grinds his cock up against every inch of you.

“Gunna fuck you full, fuller than you could imagine. Isn’t that nice? Don’t act like you don’t want it. I know. I know you do, even though you need to go oh so bad.”

He dissolves into a fit of manic laughter and it bounces off the walls of the tent. Beyond them, the world still moves. The storm has picked up, but none of that is perceptible in here, nothing except the snatches of midway as the flap waves in the wind. Sometimes there are people walking in the distance, and sometimes there are people close by, people that barely resemble people. Watching. Smiling, pointing.

His cock is massive as he is, but with how utterly soaked your cunt is, he forces it inside with little issue. It’s mind-numbing how good it is, how he’s right – you are full, so blissfully full, every inch of his cock spreading you open and finding nerves you barely know of. He tilts his hips and pounds into you, like he’s going to fuck through to your guts and into your bladder. It’s too much. It’s way too much pressure, and the first warning pangs of loss of control are flooding your nervous system, face burning with the effort, voice drawn so high and sharp you could cut him with it.

“I can’t I can’t I can’t, I’m gunna – please – oh my god PLEASE let me go,” you sputter. Words leave in no specific order, rushed, clear only in their desperation.

He pulls you closer.

“Hold it,” he demands. He doesn’t let up. It’s a strange sensation that travels all the way down to your feet, like hot wire, and you start crying. He leans over your body and folds over you until he can grab your face, tilt it toward him. He licks your tears off your face and laughs, breath like smoke, like old meat and dead leaves and something else, something familiar. He’s inescapable. “Aren’t you a big girl? Can’t hold it for me, baby, can’t be a big girl? Don’t wet yourself! Don’t have an aaaaccident all over Daaaddy!”

He laughs and your body betrays you. It’s inevitable. He slows his hips after the initial break in concentration, the warm dribble in the dust, and then he’s howling as you piss yourself. His cock throbs, balls-deep, holding you as tight against his body as he can manage as it wets through his slacks and over his thighs, puddles below the two of you. You hang your head with your eyes squeezed shut, trying to ignore the orgasmic rush of release, like a climax of its very own. It feels good. It feels so good.

“Filthy fucking creature. Nasty slut. Disobedient little thing, aren’t you?”

Bladder relieved, the reality of your situation caves in around you. Fuck. You stammer apologies, over and over and over, shaking with them, coming apart underneath his stilled form. He still has his fingers buried in your flesh. He squeezes them and you moan, and his cock throbs.

“You’re sorry. You’re sooo sorry. Oh, tell me, tell me how goddamn sorry you are.”

As you continue gushing your apologies, there’s a tickle in the back of your throat. Coughing takes it away for a moment, but it comes back, an itch unlike anything you’ve experienced before. Coughing turns into gagging, into hacking over the floor until you’re the one drooling, dry-heaving, shaking in the dirt with piss down your legs and a cunt full of him, and.... something... touching the back of your tongue. Something in your throat. There’s something in your fucking throat, rising up, and Bob sticks his fingers in your mouth.

He reaches back, stuffs his long fingers back there until he grabs it and PULLS. He drags the thing over your tongue and out from your throat like he’s doing an act, and half of you expects to see multicolored scarves when your vision stabilizes, when you’re not stuck behind a screen of tears as you try not to vomit on his hand. An eternal, painful moment later, he shows you.

He’s holding a crop. An entire crop, wet and slippery with your saliva, your mucus.

“You ready to be so, so sorry?”

He lands the crop on your back. It stings and pulls you back to life, and his hips start moving again. There’s no rhythm to lead into; he fucks you open until you’re moaning and crying and begging, throwing nonsense words into the hot, muggy atmosphere of the tent. You can smell your own piss, his breath on the back of your neck. He rains blows down with the crop and each stings more than the last, forcing your tired throat to shriek, to yelp, to make all manner of embarrassing sounds under his ministrations. He rolls his hips like he knows your flesh from the inside, knows exactly where to nudge, how to adjust his vicious pace.

“I can feel that nasty cunt tightening up on my cock. You gunna cum soon? Would you like that, to cum all over Bob Gray’s big, mean dick? Want Daddy to let you have it?”

“Yes.” It’s the most honest, most coherent word you’ve spoken, clear as a bell, slicing up through his frenzied breaths and grunts. He giggles and hums, hits you over and over in the same spot with the crop. Your back glows with it, marks up and down your spine, blooming, warping your flesh into a purpled, welted landscape.

“That’s too bad, because if you disobey me and cum without permission, I’ll do more than beat you. I’ll take this pretty skin right off, see what’s underneath. Oh, yes, I will. I’ll see what you’re really made of. You’ll see just how messy and disgusting I can make you. So... don’t... cum.”

He rubs your clit, giggling, knocking your weak hands away when you reach down to grab at him, to twist away. There’s no escaping. There never was, not at any point. Beyond the flapping tent, everything is now still. Birds hang midair, people mid-walk, and everything is staring through the frozen tent-flap. The people aren’t people. Things watch you with their unchanging non-faces, expressions beyond what you can really understand as human. Terror grows inside you like ice, turning your blood cold, and yet Bob Gray ruts into you all the same and plays with your clit until you’re fighting a different kind of pressure than before.

"Better not cum, little thing, you better fucking not cum."

Finally, his movements become erratic, his hand stalling. He throws the crop and wraps his arms around your waist, down by your hips, and squeezes. He holds you in that vice-grip and it’s almost more painful than the crop wounds, crushing against your pelvis, against your hipbones as he bottoms out with each thrust. It feels like you may come apart in his arms, and that delicious knot of heat gets tighter and tighter and tighter and he’s beating you to the punch.

His cock seems to expand, filling any last inch of flesh he can manage before he’s moaning, growling in your ear. Cum fills your cunt, shoots so deep you can’t stand it. Wriggling against him only milks him further. He rocks and rides out his climax while you whine.

After he’s done with you, he pulls out, shoving you by the hip so that you fall over in the dirt. Urine soaks your legs. His cum drools out of your cunt and he leans down to peer at it, to spread it open so he can watch, fingers tracing as you throb with neglect. He swipes at your clit and you shudder.

“Good girl. In the end, you all listen. You all want to be good, at the end of it.”

He stands up and fixes himself up, wipes his chin free of his spit, watches you catching your breath. He bends to pick up a pile of your clothing and he tosses the articles at your face, cruel laughter spilling from his lips as you peel them back and attempt to sit up. Your body aches. Everything hurts, everything wants.

“Get the fuck out of my tent and clean yourself up.”

You pull your shirt back over your head, and... he’s gone.

The tent is empty.

There’s barely a swirl in the dust, no footprints, just your own piss and clothes and your filthy legs, just his cum dripping down your thighs and smearing there. Beyond the tent flaps, the storm is over. There’s barely a cloud in the sky, just the deepening evening, the sunset. It’s bright orange. It bleeds over the landscape and casts the windless trees in an eerie light. Birds chitter and games go off deeper in the midway, and it’s like your ears are unblocked. It feels... normal.

You pull your clothes on and go around to grab a bucket – before you leave for the night, you’ll have to wash away the... spot. Seeing it there sets your cheeks aflame all over again, feeling the sticky dirt on your legs.

Just outside of the tent is the bucket, a single red balloon lifting the handle.

#n sfw #commission #bob gray x reader #bob gray/reader #nnnaaaasssty #nasty old bitch #thank you so much for the commission!!!#god i love bob i hope i did it justice for you

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