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cavalierious-whim · 4 years

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Pawfully Yours (FE3H)

FE3H | Sylvix | General | Complete

Sylvain finds a cat and falls in love.

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A/N: I’m finally reposting some older stuff from my last tumblr blog. Read here on AO3 for better formatting!

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Sylvain has always been a dog person. There’s nothing quite like cuddling with a soft and warm ball of fluff or the heavy weight that sinks into the mattress on top of the blanket as you sleep, or inevitably getting drool in your mouth when you pull them close, crying into their fur as you vent your frustrations about your shitty life into the scruff of their neck.

Sylvain has no idea what that’s like. Not one bit.

When he moved to the city, he had to leave Daisy behind. Ingrid on the surface had made it seem that she was more than aggravated to have the Golden Retriever unloaded onto her. Sylvain knows better. Ingrid’s always had a soft spot for Daisy. She’d let the girl sleep in her bed on the occasional platonic sleepover. Dorothea didn’t even have that pleasure half of the time and she was the girlfriend.

It’s led to a rather quiet life and Sylvain is still adjusting to an empty apartment in the not-so-great-but-you-might-not-get-murdered side of town.

Three months into his new home is when he notices the cat. It’s a small thing with sleek black fur. It looks too healthy to be a stray, but judging on how the creature responds to those getting close, Sylvain doesn’t think that it has an owner either. It seems too proud to slum it as a pet, walking along the dingy alleyway that Sylvain cuts through as a shortcut to work, tail swishing and held high. Proud, even.

But then again, maybe that’s just a cat thing. Sylvain doesn’t know, he’s never really given a cat much thought. He doesn’t know why he decides to pity it.

One day, Sylvain brings a can of tuna and popping the top off, he sets it down on the ground. The cat watches him carefully from ten feet away, sitting on his haunches haughtily. Warily. Carefully composed.

“For you,” says Sylvain, not sure why he even bothers to speak to it. It’s a cat. Cats don’t understand humans. Even Daisy had never understood him, tongue lolling out of her mouth as she responded to just the sound of his voice, and not the content of his words.

Still, the cat seems unimpressed, large amber eyes half-lidded as it looks from the can of fish to Sylvain. And if Sylvain doesn’t know any better, that’s what he would think a frown looks like when spread across a feline face.

Sylvain frowns right back. “Well then,” he says. “I see that I’ve wasted my time. Never again.”

He’s wrong through. Sylvain cuts through the alley every single day, a soiled apron slung over his shoulder and a takeaway cup of coffee in his hand. And sometimes, he brings the dumb little cat an old and stale pastry from the shop, because there’s no harm if they’re just going to toss the old food, right?

Sylvain doesn’t stick around to see if the cat actually eats them or enjoys it, or if it just bats the food away with a hiss. He kinda wants to pet the thing though, because it’s fur looks soft and Sylvain’s feeling lonelier and lonelier as the weeks pass by.

Eventually, he has the crazy idea of maybe adopting the pitiful thing. It’s like any other day that he’s posted up an offering. He breaks an old cheese pastry into several pieces and tosses them onto the ground. And this time, he waits, crouched down, elbows resting on his knees.

The cat comes closer, but it seems pissed off, body stiff and tail twitching angrily. Amber eyes narrowed in suspicion. He sniffs at the pastry and then snags a small bite. Then it spits out the food, clearly not a fan.

Sylvain swallows thickly. “So like, if you want a roof over your head or something, I can bring you home.”

The cat pauses like it understands him. It’d been pawing at the pastry, playing with it when it stops, head snapping up as it looks to Sylvain. Then the cat’s mouth opens, fangs long and sharp, and it says with surprising clarity, “Fuck off.”

Sylvain had imagined it, that was the only explanation. It makes more sense than a cat had opened his mouth and spoke to me. Anything makes more sense than that, so Sylvain chalks it up to too many shifts at the cafe, too many hours of schoolwork, and maybe a smidge of not eating enough.

He keeps cutting through the alleyway because it’s the fastest way to work. Sylvain’s a perpetual oversleeper, the kind that sets five alarms and sleeps through all of them, only to roll out of bed with five minutes to spare.

And he can spare that five minutes if he takes the back way, no matter how dark and creepy it seems at three in the morning and on the way to his early shift.

The cat’s made himself scarce. Sylvain now knows that it’s male because of the shockingly handsome voice it carries. More proof that he’d absolutely made the entire thing up in his lonely misery.

Sylvain doesn’t expect to feel sad about the disappearance of the cat, but it’d sunk in deeper than expected. Even if the cat had seemed eternally annoyed-- as far as a cat could seem at least-- he’d been cute, and Sylvain liked bringing it treats. There’s not a lot left that makes him feel good about himself.

That morning, Sylvain pauses because he’s got a moment. The alley is dark and there’s no sign of the cat. Sylvain sighs softly and says, “I’m sorry if I offended you or something. I just thought that maybe a home would be better than an old alley.”

It seems silly to talk to a cat, but he feels a little bit better and he continues to work with a little bit more pep in his step. And later that night he leaves a pastry behind, just in case.

The cat slinks out from under the dumpster once Sylvain’s out of sight. In his wake is a tuna roll, a fluffy pastry filled with tangy fish salad. The cat likes this one, not that he’d ever admit it.

Sylvain rarely works the night shift, mostly because he’d rather wake up at the butt crack of dawn and get his day over with. But sometimes it’s inevitable. Sometimes a coworker just needs a shift covered and Sylvain’s a nice enough guy to agree.

And he doesn’t want to risk getting fired, even if he doesn’t think Byleth is a vindictive manager.

It’s probably a bad idea to cut through the alley at ten at night, but Sylvain’s tired and weary, and he just wants to get home. Not to mention he’s got a container of day-old tuna salad in his hand that he needs to leave the cat, otherwise it’ll just wind up rotting away in his fridge.

He opens the container and places it on the asphalt near the dumpster, waiting for just a moment as he crouches down. Just in case the cat decides to show his face. He doesn’t. Sylvain frowns and with a sigh, pulls himself back up.

There’s a shuffling behind him and he turns to look, only to be slammed against the dumpster, head cracking against the hard metal. Sylvain’s vision swims as he tries to push against his attacker, but then he stops dead. There’s a knife held close to his neck. Sylvain can feel the soft scrape of it as he swallows.

“Wallet,” the man behind him says, a hand gripped tightly around Sylvain’s arm that’s wrenched behind him. He’s stockier in his build, pinning Sylvain against the dumpster easily.

“Hey look man--” The knife digs deeper into his skin, cutting just barely. Sylvain’s not dumb enough to push the situation further. “Yeah, okay,” he says. “Back pocket. My phone’s there too, opposite side.” A pause. “You know, just in case you want that as well.”

He can’t help the cheeky reply, but his assailant doesn’t seem to hear him as he rifles through his pockets. The man pulls the wallet from Sylvain’s pocket, flipping through it.

And then there’s a shout as the man is wrestled to the ground by someone else that Sylvain can’t see. There’s a scuffle, some odd yowling, and then the distinct sound of a punch, bones crunching sickly under the hit.

Sylvain stands stock still, still pressed against the dumpster, not moving. Just in case.

“Useless, aren’t you?” Sylvain freezes at the voice, taking in the acerbic tone. “It’s bad enough that you waltz through here every morning, but you should know better than to do it at this time of night.”

Sylvain turns but he doesn’t find the cat, he finds a man standing there instead, finely boned face tugged into a snarl. He shakes out his hand, knuckles already bruising from the solid hit that he’d gotten in. Sylvain blinks. He’s handsome in a feline sort of way, hard edges to his jaw and circles cut deeply underneath his eyes. His black hair is tied into a ponytail high on the crown of his head.

The man toes at the assailant who’s out cold on the ground. “I’d get out of here,” he says. Then he looks to Sylvain again, unimpressed. He stalks over to the container of tuna salad and toes at that too, lips pulled into a grimace of disgust. “Really, now. If you won’t eat it, what makes you think that I will?”

“Um--”

The man blinks slowly, catlike, and with subtle grace. “Do I need to explain it to you?”

“No,” says Sylvain quickly. “No, I just--” A pause as he rubs at his head. “The cat?”

“It’s not the cat ,” says the man with a snarl. “It’s Felix.”

“Felix,” Sylvain repeats.

“I won’t repeat myself.”

“Thanks,” Sylvain blurts. “For, you know.” He gestures to the man on the ground.

“It’s a one-time thing. I don’t reward stupidity,” says Felix as he picks up the container and tosses it into the dumpster. Then he looks to Sylvain again, shoving his hands into the pockets of his navy blue hoodie. “I like the baked ones with the fish and cheese. They aren’t so bad a day past.”

Felix doesn’t meet Sylvain’s face, instead, stalking off without another word.

Sylvain smiles.

Sylvain leaves a pastry that he pilfers from the bin after every shift. It’s not always Felix’s favorite, but he doesn’t complain. Either way, they disappear into his belly, leaving Felix to lick his paws clean after a tasty meal.

He doesn’t turn into a man again, but he does walk Sylvain through the alley. And then sometimes further. If Felix follows him to the coffee shop, he knows that he’ll get a small lid of cream.

It’s a strange routine that concerns an even stranger man. What is Felix, Sylvain wonders? A cat? A man? Both? Neither? He’s real and solid as the day though, and Sylvain knows that he hadn’t hallucinated anything that’d happened.

When winter comes, Sylvain worries. It’s cold and crisp outside, not preferable for a street cat. He wonders if Felix has somewhere warm to sleep, which is why he eventually asks.

“Surely you can’t stay out here all season,” says Sylvain one night, as he watches Felix pull apart half a savory ham and cheese tart. He’s not sure if cats should eat one of those, but maybe with Felix, it’s different. The cat never complains.

Felix pauses mid-bite to look at Sylvain. Then he drops the tart, hisses lightly, and runs off. Sylvain blinks. An answer is an answer at least, and Sylvain stops asking.

One day, it snows. Gautier is a cold and dismal place in the winter, but the snow comes later that year than anyone expects. Sylvain’s wrapped head-to-toe in a heavy jacket, a scarf, and thermals.

Felix follows him to the coffee shop that morning and against Sylvain’s better judgment, he opens the door to the storage shed out behind the shop. “It’s not much,” says Sylvain, “but it’s not in the snow.”

Felix gives him a long look before bolting inside.

Later that day, Felix strolls into the shop as a man, walks up to the counter, and slaps five gold coins onto the counter. Sylvain stares at them and then back to Felix, who immediately bristles.

“I didn’t fucking steal them,” says Felix. “I have a job.”

That’s news to Sylvain and he can’t quite picture it. This is only the second time they’ve met face-to-face, but he has a distinct feeling that Felix isn’t a people person.

Felix points to the fish and cheese pastry in the case. “It’s my favorite.” There’s an awkward pause as he closes his eyes in a near wince and continues with, “Look, I need to talk with you about something, alright?”

Sylvain rings him up, throws in a free cup of coffee, and fifteen minutes later they’re settled into the soft armchairs near the back of the cafe. It’s cold and bitter out, so they’re alone.

“You once offered a home,” says Felix, his hands wrapped around a warm ceramic mug. Sylvain’s coworker Annette paints them and they never get used. Felix huddles closer to it though like he’s trying to leech the warmth from it. “Does that offer still stand?”

Sylvain’s mouth parts in surprise and Felix turns bright red, looking anywhere but his face. “Look, it doesn’t mean anything,” says Felix. “But it’s getting cold out and it’s hard to find somewhere to bed down for the night where I won’t freeze to death.”

“So, my apartment,” says Sylvain.

“I’d be a cat,” says Felix. “I’d stay out of your way. It’d be like I’m not even there.”

Sylvain frowns. “I offered because I wanted a pet.”

Felix bristles. “I’m not a--”

“I know,” says Sylvain quietly. “I wouldn’t ask you to be since you’re… well, you know.” But Sylvain doesn’t know, so he gestures to Felix vaguely. He’s still trying to figure Felix out.

Felix sighs. “It’s only for the winter,” he says. “You won’t see me like this much. It’s not easy to… well, it’s not preferable.” He leaves it at that, which piques Sylvain’s curiosity.

“You can have the entire couch to yourself,” says Sylvain, half in jest.

Felix finishes his coffee quietly and then stands. “I’ll think about it.”

And he must, because when Sylvain leaves his shift in the late afternoon, Felix follows him all the way home.

Felix is never a man, he’s always a cat. Sylvain thinks that he prefers being a feline, though he’s not sure why. When he comes home from work, Felix is often curled up next to the warm glow of the fireplace. He leaves it lit because Felix can handle whatever might happen if something bad does.

As winter passes, Felix moves closer. He’s less annoyed. He sits on the couch next to Sylvain, his tail twitching softly against Sylvain’s thigh. Sylvain talks to him about any and everything, and he knows that it’s probably annoying, but Felix hasn’t yet told him to stop. So he doesn’t.

Sylvain gifts him a collar on Yuletide as a joke. Felix stubbornly wears it, because he’s testy about the weirdest of things.

When the New Year comes, he’s a man again. They’re nestled into the couch, Felix having shoved his feet across Sylvain’s lap with a cursory glance. Sylvain immediately pulled them closer, kneading at his arches.

Neither of them thinks more of it. Or maybe they both think of everything about it. Felix is impossible to read, but Sylvain thinks that he’s starting to recognize his moods. Even the most ornery of cats can’t turn down softly placed affection.

Sylvain wonders if it’s weird to fall in love with a cat. It’s a momentary thought because then he remembers that Felix isn’t just a cat and that there’s probably weirder things out there than Sylvain’s love, or the cat that’s also a man.

They watch New Year’s festivities on the television.

“I hate the noise,” says Felix when the fireworks start. “Too loud.”

“It’s not so bad in the city,” says Sylvain, hands still wrapped around Felix’s cold feet.

“It’s the worst day of the year,” says Felix. “Everyone’s drunk beyond reason and they roam the streets doing shitty things. Like kicking cats.”

There’s a lot to unpack there and Sylvain looks at him. “I’m sorry,” he says, and it’s an earnest apology.

Felix huffs, lips curling into a sneer. But then it’s gone as he relaxes into the couch. “No, it’s--” A pause, the air pregnant between them. “I’m not out there tonight, so it’s okay.”

It’s not, because Felix isn’t the only street cat to ghost the streets of the city. Still. “You’re welcome,” says Sylvain, squeezing his feet lightly. Felix kicks at him just because he can.

Winter ends sooner than Sylvain likes, but Felix doesn’t leave. He seems intent on staying and neither of them says anything, even if he’s a man more than a cat nowadays. Felix disappears during the day for his proclaimed job. He even cooks dinner sometimes and those are the kind of nights that Sylvain likes to cherish because Felix gets weirdly soft.

There’s a weird morning as Sylvain’s about to shuffle out the front door and Felix stops him.

“Is there something wrong?” asks Sylvain.

Felix doesn’t immediately answer and when he does, he says, “Have a good day.”

Sylvain assumes the worst because it’s an old habit that he can’t quite break. “Oh shit, you’re leaving aren’t you? Felix, you should know by now that you’re welcome to stay--”

Felix grabs Sylvain by the lapels of his jacket and pulls him forward, pressing a kiss against his lips. It’s short. It’s a little bit sweet. Felix seems to have no idea what he’s doing. Sylvain loves it, hand reaching out to grasp at Felix’s elbow.

When Sylvain pulls back, he asks, “What was that for?”

Felix’s hackles raise, immediately on the defensive. “Whatever, it was--”

“It’s not a complaint,” says Sylvain simply. “I liked it. It also sends some confusing signals.”

“What could be confusing about a kiss?” asks Felix.

“You don’t seem the type to do that,” says Sylvain.

“I’m not.” Felix pulls away, brushing at Sylvain’s shoulder to distract himself.

Suddenly, Sylvain gets it. Felix isn’t good with feelings and he’s not sure if it’s because he’s really a cat-- or maybe it’s not that at all. Sylvain still hasn’t figured out the details of all that nonsense, nor has he asked Felix outright. But Felix seems the kind of person who’s a doer, not a thinker, so he did the only thing that he thought would send a clear message.

Or maybe Sylvain’s overthinking something that’s really quite simple in the end.

“I love you too,” says Sylvain quietly.

Felix’s hand pauses and Sylvain watches him swallow. “Fool,” says Felix, but it’s more affectionate than angry, his voice cracking sweetly as he tries to find his words.

Sylvain smiles, pulling him back for another kiss. It’s longer this time, but just as awkward. Felix sinks into it, fingers curling tightly into Sylvain’s jacket as they hover in the doorway. When they part again, Felix says, “What an absolute fool.”

“The most foolish,” says Sylvain.

There’s a beat as Felix stares back at him like he’s looking, really looking at Sylvain. Felix sees him. And for once, Sylvain doesn’t mind. He’s never liked people seeing him for who he is, but Felix is different. He’s wormed his way into his heart and Sylvain doesn’t want to let go.

“But I wonder,” asks Sylvain, “what’s that say about you?”

Felix could have reacted a hundred different ways. What he does is pull Sylvain closer again, pressing their foreheads together. “Obviously I’m an even bigger idiot.”

Sylvain laughs, before swooping in once more.

#fire emblem three houses #fe3h #sylvix #sylvain/felix #felix x sylvain #sylvain jose gautier #felix hugo fraldarius #fanfiction #fire emblem fanfiction

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mikauzoran · 4 years

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Marichat/Adrienette: The Rejects Club: Chapter Twenty-Five

The Rejects Club: Chapter Twenty-Five: Look

“You’ve hit snooze twice already,” Plagg reports judgmentally, scooping the phone up and moving it over to the desk so that Adrien has no choice but to get out of bed to turn the alarm off.

“But I’m so tired,” Adrien groans, hoping his kwami will miraculously have a dramatic personality shift and take pity on him.

No such luck.

Plagg snorts. “Whose fault is that?”

“Mine?” Adrien guesses with a sigh, kicking off the covers and going to stop the alarm.

Plagg openly guffaws at this. “You are a mess of insecurities, unmet needs, and hormones. You could be considered legally insane and, therefore, are responsible for nothing. I was talking about that girlfriend of yours. She’s got you so wound up that—”

“—Plagg?” Adrien calls in such a hesitant, small voice that Plagg stops his ribbing to look at his charge and listen.

“Kid?”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Adrien softly informs.

The mournful look in his peridot eyes says it all: She’s not his girlfriend, but he wants her to be. He’s afraid she might never be. He’s afraid of her accepting Chat but not Adrien. He’s afraid of ruining everything. He’s scared of letting himself hope only to be crushed again. He’s terrified that if this falls through he’s never going to find someone else…he’s never going to be able to love again, even if he does find someone else.

Plagg inhales slowly and takes just as long to breathe out. “So what are you going to do about it? You had a plan, didn’t you?” He nods over to where Émilie’s leather jacket and Adrien’s clothes are lying out for the day, golden bell on a leather choker sitting on top.

Adrien closes his eyes, takes several deep breaths, and nods. “This is stupid and reckless, and Marinette is probably the only one who won’t figure out my secret identity. Ladybug is going to kill me.”

Nathalie takes one look at him and sighs deeply. “Worse than I had anticipated.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he pouts.

“Well, no one recognized you when you dressed up as Chat Noir for that music video a few years ago, so maybe…” she mutters without answering his question.

“Do I look weird?” he begins to worry and considers chickening out.

“You look like Chat Noir,” Nathalie corrects, fiddling with her glasses.

He purses his lips. “…If it’s that bad, tell me to go change.”

She shakes her head and relents. “It’s not bad. It’s…I believe the correct classification is ‘sexy’. You project a ‘bad boy’ image.” He can hear the finger quotes in her voice despite her not physically using them. “You look good, Adrien; you just don’t look much like…‘you’.”

“Me me, or Adrien Agreste, face of Gabriel?” he wonders.

She turns away without responding. “You’re going to be late. If your father asks, I did not see you before you left. I have no knowledge of this.” She makes her way to the ground floor office. “Have a nice day, and good luck with Miss Dupain-Cheng.”

Adrien sighs and calls after her. “Thank you, Nathalie!”

Victor takes one look at him and shakes his head as he opens the back door of the car.

Adrien smiles innocently, opening the front passenger side door for himself and sliding in with a snicker of, “Shotgun!”

Vitya rolls his eyes, shuts the door, and goes around to get in the driver’s seat. He releases the parking break and then pauses, turning to look at Adrien again.

“Problem?” Adrien asks in Russian.

Victor sighs heavily. “Adrianushka, it is not my place, and I hate to say it, but—this—is obvious.”

Adrien blinks, thinking for a second that he has not heard right or mistranslated a word somewhere. “…‘This’?”

Vitya rolls his eyes once more and indicates Adrien’s outfit with a wave.

Adrien’s eyes widen. “Geez. Does everybody know?”

Victor grunts.

Adrien hangs his head. “I thought I was being careful. I thought I was being stealthy.”

Victor purses his lips, giving his charge a look of sympathy. “Adrianka, I’ve been your guard for how long now? I drive you for how many years, and you think I don’t notice you sneaking off during every single akuma attack and then slinking back with some hairbrained excuse that doesn’t hold water? You think I’m dumb enough to believe you?”

Adrien wilts.

Victor came to them a year or two after Nathalie. This man has known him since he was little, stood guard by his door for years, never been too far out of sight. Of course Vitya knows.

“Sorry,” Adrien mumbles. “No. Of course you figured it out.” He looks up with a pained expression on his face. “Do you think anyone else knows?”

Victor shrugs. “Natalka, obviously. She hasn’t said anything, but…”

“Yeah,” Adrien confirms. “Nathalie knows…. Do you think my father has any idea?”

Vitya lets out a boisterous roar of laughter. “Ha! Your father! Adriashenka, if your father knew, he would take your-your—what is it? Ring? He’d take your ring and lock you up for your own safety. Your father hasn’t an inkling.”

Adrien nods, looking miserable.

“There are times when I want to take your ring and lock you up myself, and I’m sure that Natalka feels the same way. She was a wreck on Thursday. Adrian Gavrillovich Agreste, if you’re not more careful in the future, you’re going to drive that woman to drink. Child, the whole house would be a—” It’s a word Adrien doesn’t know, but Victor’s tone makes it sound something like ‘dumpster fire’. “—if we lost you. Don’t you know this?”

Adrien curls even further up into himself and answers in a barely-there voice, “Sorry, Vitya.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Victor coaxes, giving Adrien’s arm an encouraging nudge. “Just don’t get yourself killed. Simple as that.”

This makes Adrien laugh, half genuine humor, half ruefulness. He gives Victor a watery smile. “It’s not so simple when it’s your job to keep Paris’s savior safe so that she can do her job.”

Victor gives a dismissive wave. “What are you—” An idiomatic expression that Adrien is not familiar with. From the tone, he fills in “chopped liver?” “—As if she saves Paris all by herself,” Victor scoffs. “Figure something out next time, Adrianka. Keep her safe without jumping in front of the car yourself. Your first instinct is always to act as a human shield. Kindly, cut it the—” Adrien knows that word, and it is a testament to how upset the ordeal has made Victor that he is using such strong language in front of Adrien. “—out, will you? Okay? Okay. We should be driving now. I’m making you late.”

They pull out of the drive and onto the street, making a few turns before ending up on the Quai Branly, taking the scenic route along the Seine on the Left Bank.

“So,” Vitya pipes up some minutes later. “Why are you being obvious today? I thought the superhero thing was a secret. Why are you trying to out yourself to all of Paris?”

“I’m only trying to out myself to one person in particular,” Adrien explains sheepishly, “…even though all of Paris might figure it out as a result. I’m being super reckless.”

“I’ll say,” Victor snorts. “And who is this special person you’re taking such a risk for?”

Adrien feels his cheeks heating up, but he doesn’t bother trying to hide it. Vitya would never make fun of him, so there’s no need to be embarrassed. “There’s…this girl.” Adrien bites his lip, casting Victor a sidelong glance. “Can I do this in French?”

Victor grunts. “English would be better for me, if you have to, but try it in Russian. If you don’t know the words, I’ll help you.”

Adrien nods, taking a deep breath. “There’s this girl.”

“Not Ladybug?” Vitya hums.

“Not Ladybug, but she might as well be for how-how—how do I say she’s so much better than I am?” Adrien fishes.

“She’s not,” Vitya snorts, “but the expression is ‘she is out of my league’.”

“Vitya, she is so out of my league. She’s gorgeous and talented and passionate and kind to people who don’t even deserve it, and she listens to me when I talk, and she doesn’t make me feel like an idiot, even though I most definitely am an idiot. She’s so… She’s amazing, Vitya. She’s so amazing, and I’m…” He shakes his head, knowing that he’s not doing Marinette justice.

“And you’re not amazing?” Victor shoots him a quick, disbelieving look before focusing back on the street as he makes the turn, crossing over to the Right Bank and heading east.

“I’m rich, and I’m pretty,” Adrien remarks dryly. “I’m not amazing.”

Vitya shakes his head. “The boy is blind. Never mind, Adrianka. Tell me about the girl.”

“I’ve been spending time with her as Chat Noir,” he continues.

Victor nods knowingly. “This is the girl who is Princess. I saw in the papers.”

“And we’re kind of thinking…maybe we like each other.” Adrien bites his lip before switching to English, making sure to enunciate. “Vitya, it’s complicated. She just got her heart broken by some jerk, and I’m trying to get over my feelings for Ladybug. Neither of us is ready to date yet, so I can’t let myself fall in love with her, but I do have a huge crush on her, and she’s taking the next month or two to decide if she wants to date me.”

Victor nods along, following Adrien’s predicament.

Adrien switches back to Russian. “She likes Chat Noir, but she’s unsure about Adrien. I want her to choose all of me, so I’m trying to show her pieces of Chat in Adrien and pieces of Adrien in Chat.”

“So you’re exposing your identity to the whole school,” Victor snickers. “Good plan. Agreste men really do do some pretty stupid things for the women they love. I think I owe Natalka five euros.”

Adrien wonders what exactly Gabriel has done to merit this comment alongside Adrien because Adrien knows exactly how stupid this is.

“Maybe people will just think I’m dressed up as Chat Noir. Maybe they won’t immediately think that I am Chat Noir,” Adrien suggests, mentally crossing his fingers.

Victor considers for a moment and then shrugs. “You did get away from that music video—” Adrien is going to have to make a study of idiomatic expressions. He’s guessing this one means something like “scot-free”. “—Maybe you’ll be so lucky this time.”

Victor sneaks another quick glance at Adrien. “Who exactly are you doing this for?”

Adrien sighs, reaching up to run a hand through his hair before he remembers the disgusting amount of gel currently in it. He drops his arm by his side and mumbles, “You know my classmate Marinette Dupain-Cheng?”

Victor’s eyes go wide. He makes an exclamation that Adrien decides to translate as “Get out!” “Little Masha from the bakery?”

Adrien blinks. “Masha?”

“It’s the diminutive of ‘Marie’,” Victor explains. “She brings me coffee and a croissant when I’m sitting out front of the school in the mornings. She’s usually running late, but if she sees me waiting out front, she never fails to bring out a cup of coffee and a croissant.”

“See how amazing she is?” Adrien sighs. “That’s the kind of stuff that she does. All the time!”

“She’s a good girl,” Vitya agrees. “And you’re going to—” Adrien remembers only that it’s a cooking term, but he can’t match the verb to its French counterpart. “—her brain when she sees you dressed like Chat Noir.”

Adrien blinks. “You think? Do you think she’ll be able to tell that I really am Chat Noir?”

Victor purses his lips. “You mean once someone reboots her? No. The girl is clueless.”

It’s true, but…

Adrien sighs.

Nino takes one look at him, and—after the DJ has secured his eyeballs back into their sockets—rolls said eyes at Adrien. “Mec. My Dude. What. Are. You. Doing?!”

“Chat Noir cosplay?” Adrien smiles sheepishly.

Nino groans. “Mec, I know you’re just discovering an awesome girl with a thing for a certain superhero, but dressing like that superhero to get her to notice you… You’re gonna break her.”

“Nino, I don’t expect you to understand, but the situation is desperate, otherwise, I wouldn’t be doing something drastic like this,” Adrien sighs, reaching up for another aborted attempt to card a hand through his hair until he remembers the mess of gel. “I wish I could explain myself, but…” He gives his best friend a doe-eyed look of regret.

Nino takes off his hat to swipe at his brow with the back of his hand. He shakes his head and groans again. “You don’t have to explain yourself, Mec. I get it. Girls make guys do ridiculous things. I’m in love myself; I know this firsthand.”

A slow blush creeps over Adrien’s face at the comment. He doesn’t respond, even though his mind is chanting, “I’m not in love. I’m not in love. I canNOT be in love.”

On second thought, some verbal denial is deemed necessary. “Nino, I’m not in love with Marinette. This is just a little crush.”

Nino really looks at Adrien, smiles affectionately, and then shakes his head. “Oooh, Mec. Last week you told me you had never thought about her romantically in your life.”

“That was true!” Adrien rushes to defend himself. “I hadn’t until you brought it up—and while we’re on the topic, why didn’t you bring this up three years ago before Chat Noir got his paws on her?”

Nino shrugs. “Ask Alya. This wasn’t my idea, remember?—And then you were telling me your feelings for Marinette weren’t like that.”

“I was in denial,” Adrien rebuts. “I hadn’t realized that how I was feeling had shifted.”

“Now you admit you have a crush, but you’re digging your heels in concerning the intensity of your feelings,” Nino continues with a weary sigh, exhausted by the constant drama.

“Nino, I’m not in love,” Adrien stubbornly insists. “I can’t be.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t risk giving my heart away to be trampled on again,” Adrien stresses, making Nino wonder who’s been trampling on Adrien’s heart. Certainly not Ladybug. “I can’t let myself fall in love until I’m sure I’m not just courting misery and heartache here.”

Nino helpfully does not mention that Adrien is already experiencing misery and heartache over Marinette. “As your friend, I need you to stay the hell away from this girl. She likes someone else—not just anyone, but a superhero and a personal friend of yours—and she’s already had you seriously messed up the past week. If you pursue this, it’s only gonna get worse. This is a bad idea, Mec. She’s practically taken, and you’re only going to get yourself hurt—maybe physically, if you step on Chat Noir’s toes a time too many. He seems fond of you, but he also seems like the jealous type, and I can tell you from personally seeing them together yesterday that he is off the deep end in love with her. This isn’t going to be pretty, Adrien.”

Adrien shakes his head. “Nino, I don’t expect you to understand, but—”

“—Mec, I do understand,” Nino cuts him off gently, clapping a hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “That’s why, against my better judgment, I’m giving up and letting you do” He waves obliquely to Adrien’s outfit. “this. I’m going to shut up and support you. If you want to take on Chat Noir, I’ll be at your side. We can go get ice cream together or something after he wipes the floor with you.”

Adrien frowns. “Thank you? I appreciate your vote of confidence in me?”

“I’m being realistic,” Nino sighs, wishing he could go back and change things for Adrien. “I’m not trying to be harsh with you, Mec, but it would be cruel to encourage you and get your hopes up. The reality is that she loves him but cries ninety percent of the time she sees you. We’re fighting a losing battle, mon pote, and I’m prepared to fail and have to clean you up off of the floor afterwards. I’ll stand by you, Adrien, but I’m not going to lie to you to make you feel better in the short term.”

Adrien’s frown melts partially into confusion. “I’m not sure if you suck or if you’re the best.”

“I am Schrödinger’s turtle: simultaneously sucking and being the best,” Nino snorts, throwing an arm around Adrien’s shoulders. “Come on. We walk, Cat-Boy-Wannabe.”

“Why a turtle?”

“Reasons,” Nino snickers.

“…You suck,” Adrien decides.

“Only for you.” Nino winks, guiding Adrien through the quad towards the locker rooms.

Adrien rolls his eyes. “What if Chat Noir asked? I know you’re a total fanboy, Nino. Don’t pretend we’re exclusive.”

“I think Marinette is—” The innuendo concerning Marinette taking care of Chat Noir dies in Nino’s throat. He attempts to clear it.

Adrien tries really, really, really hard not to remember Marinette kneeling in front of him last night, pillowing her arms on his knees and looking up at him so sweetly, running her hands down his thighs and calling him by name.

He takes a deep breath and sighs at the futility of his situation.

“Sorry,” Nino mumbles for entirely the wrong reason. “We’ll get her to see you.” And yet somehow manages to pick the right words of comfort. “She’ll see how awesome Adrien Agreste can be, and, at the very least, you two can repair your relationship and be close friends. You’ve wanted that for a while, right?”

Adrien nods despite himself. Two weeks ago, the prospect of being honest-to-goodness friends with Marinette would have had him giddy. Now, if that’s all he gets… His stomach turns sour.

“Please let her see me…. Please let her like what she sees.”

As they pass through the quad, Adrien notes that he gets more stares and head-turns than usual. He keeps his easy model smile in place, but his voice is anxious when he whispers to Nino, “You don’t think anyone’s going to confuse me for the real Chat Noir, do you? I didn’t think of that.”

Nino shakes his head. “Nah. I mean the resemblance is striking—you had me seeing double for a minute there when you stepped out of the car—but you’re obviously not him.”

“How so?” Adrien feels slightly annoyed despite the fact that the security of his identity is astronomically important.

“Well,” Nino drops his arm from Adrien’s shoulders and takes a step back to better evaluate. “You two have the same body type, and the other physical features are similar, if not exact, but your hair is definitely not Chat Noir hair. His is naturally wild, and you can tell he rolls out of bed that way. Your hair looks like you had to coerce it to do that, and it still didn’t do exactly what you asked of it.”

Adrien sighs, giving up and conceding the point. “You have no idea how much gel I had to use to get it to do this. I would need literal magic to replicate Chat’s hair.”

“No shame in that, Mec. We can’t all have hair that fabulous,” Nino chuckles.

“What else about me is obviously not Chat Noir?” Adrien prompts.

“Well…” Nino bites his lip. “Sorry, but you’re too short.”

“Short?” Adrien is pretty sure he is exactly the right height to be Chat Noir.

“Yeah, I mean…Chat is about six foot. I’m six-one, and he’s just a hint shorter than me. You…” Nino grimaces. “Let’s just say it’s a good thing you got in on the model thing on the ground floor because you just don’t have the height for it.”

Adrien blinks stupidly, feeling insulted. He’s not THAT short.

“What are you? Like, five-eight?”

“Five-ten,” (in shoes) Adrien spits, drawing himself up a little straighter.

Nino shrugs helplessly. “It’s not your fault you dodged all the tall genes in your family. Maybe you’ll still have a growth spurt. I mean, Gabe is what? Six-four? And Nathalie is at least six feet, right? Both your parents are tall, so there’s still hope.”

Adrien stares for a moment and then breaks into a titter.

“What?” Nino gives him a funny look.

Adrien shakes his head. “Yeah. My mom is pretty tall, isn’t she?”

“And it’s not like she wears heels, really. You’d think with genes like that you’d be set.” Nino shrugs in a “What are ya gonna do?” manner.

“Unfortunately, my biological mother was only five-nine, so I don’t think my mom’s six-foot status is going to do much to help,” Adrien laughs heartily, more amused than he probably should be.

Nino smacks himself in the forehead. “Dude. Sorry. I don’t know where my head was at. I, like, know—”

“—Don’t apologize,” Adrien quickly cuts him off. “I’m actually really happy. I think of her as my mom, and if other people do too, I can probably get away with saying the ‘m’ word. It’s been a long time since I could talk about mothers in the present tense.”

Sensing Nino’s unease, Adrien grins and throws his arm around Nino’s shoulders. “So. What else makes me definitely not Chat Noir?” he inquires as they resume their walk to the locker room.

“—but they couldn’t hide the existence of a twin brother for seventeen years, could they? That’s just stupid,” Marinette groans, trying not to tear her hair out. She’s got it up in a cute chignon that she wants Chat to see, so it has to stay cute at least until she gets to the locker room where he’s probably lying in wait, lurking in the shadows…or, more likely, just plain going about his business with her completely oblivious to his existence.

Ugh.

“It does sound a little bit like the plot of an anime,” Alya confesses, nose buried in her phone. “I think we would know if Adrien and your Mystery Boy Chat were switching in and out.”

“Then again,” Marinette hums, fiddling with the black and white lace bracelet around her right wrist. “Stranger things have happened. I am living in the middle of a magical girl anime, after all.”

“Yeah, and you’re a reoccurring background character. How does that feel?” Alya hums, nearly walking into the doorframe.

For once, Marinette has to be the one to pull Alya out of the way before she runs into something. The irony is not lost on Marinette. “Alya, what are you even reading? You haven’t looked at me once this morning, you’re so absorbed in your screen.”

Alya blinks and looks up, rubs her eyes, and stares. “Wooow. Really looking to knock the boxers off someone, aren’t we?”

“Al-ya!” Marinette squeaks, swatting halfheartedly at her best friend.

Marinette is wearing an off-the-shoulder black top exposing plenty of collarbone paired with black and white patterned palazzo pants that look like a maxi skirt and billow as she walks. Adorning her neck and wrist and accenting her updo are the black and white choker, bracelet, and hair clip that she made last night out of Chat’s gift.

“I just wanted to look cute. Chat sent me some lace scraps leftover from some of his father’s old designs for our one-week anniversary last night, so…” Marinette shrugs again, and Alya stops walking.

“Let’s pause and unpack that sentence,” Alya proposes. “I would like to focus on what you mean by lace leftover from Chat’s father’s designs and the one-week anniversary aspects in particular.”

Marinette waves Alya away. “His father’s company is apparently a fashion house. He’s a fashion designer. Chat models for his father’s brand.”

Alya’s eyes narrow. “I hate to keep bringing it up, but…are we sure that Adrien and Chat are two unique individuals?”

“Not you too,” Marinette groans, half crumpling to the ground before straightening up to point a no-nonsense finger in Alya’s face. “No. Banish the thought from your mind. They’ve been screwing with me about this since-since…Friday? Anyway, I don’t need you helping them with their scheme to drive me insane.”

“Adrien and Chat are teaming up to drive you insane,” Alya repeats flatly, obviously doubting Marinette’s sanity already.

“Yes! This is where the twins theory comes from. I think Adrien’s the younger twin, despite seeming more mature and refined.”

“Uh-huh.” Alya starts to go back to her phone. “One-week anniversary?” she reminds. “Do people do that?”

“Chat and I do,” Marinette retorts as if Alya is the strange one.

“Girl, he’s already got you on the hook and wriggling. I’m gonna need his phone number and email. I’m totally serious.”

Marinette snatches Alya’s phone. “What are you even—” She freezes at what she sees.

“Webcomic,” Alya explains, making a grab for her phone.

Marinette dodges rather agilely, scrolling down and down, mesmerized by the drawings, the dialogue.

“The artist, APlaggOnBothYourHouses, is doing a Princess Noir comic, and it’s really good.”

Chat and Princess are sitting on a roof having the picnic Chat Noir prepared for Ladybug before Glaciator, watching the Eiffel Tower light show. Chat’s arm is around her, their faces a mere handspan apart, and Princess is obviously totally into him. Chat is likewise drunk on Princess’s existence.

“His art is amazing, and the story is actually pretty interesting too. Plagg postulates that Princess doesn’t know Chat Noir’s identity, and one of the main plot points is Chat Noir as a civilian trying to get Princess as a civilian to notice him and love both sides of him. They just keep completely missing one another, though.”

In the comic, Princess is asking Chat to take her stargazing sometime, and Chat is talking about going to his family’s chateau in the country in August during the break, since she’ll have figured out his identity by then.

Marinette claps a hand over her mouth. She is going to kill Plagg, because it can only be Plagg. …On second thought, she is going to have Tikki kill Plagg. Tikki will have a better idea of how to go about it and has probably been waiting several millennia for a valid excuse to do so.

“What…is Princess’s true identity in the comic?” Marinette tries not to sound too invested in the answer.

Alya shrugs, ceasing her efforts at phone retrieval. “She’s just a regular girl like any one of us. She doesn’t think she’s special or anything, but Chat Noir sees the greatness in her and adores her for it. Her name is Adrienne. Her parents own a restaurant up in Montmartre that she sometimes helps out at.”

Marinette forces herself to draw air into her lungs. “And…who is Chat?”

Alya shrugs again. “Some made-up teen actor named Marin Mineau. It’s just a fan work, Marinette. It’s not like Plagg knows their real identities. It’s all speculation and imagination.”

Marinette hands the phone back, not wanting to see any more. It’s better if she doesn’t know. It’s better if she doesn’t think about it. “Could you send me the link?” she finds herself asking. It’s part morbid curiosity, part the need to tell Chat about this.

Plagg has to be responsible. Who else would switch Adrien and Marinette around into Adrienne and Marin? Who else would even create a Princess Noir comic anyway? Chat, Adrien, Tikki, and Marinette herself are the only other possible suspects, and she has a feeling that it’s not any of them.

“Are you finally taking an interest in Paris’s latest power couple?” Alya titters mischievously, sending the link.

“Alya, I love you, but I’m too wrapped up in my own love life right now to bother with anyone else’s.”

Alya opens the locker room door, catches sight of Adrien leaning up against Marinette’s locker, watermelon pink rose in hand, and relents. “You have a point. I believe your love life requires your full and undivided attention as we speak.”

Marinette frowns as Alya starts to walk away. “What?”

“Good luck!” Alya calls, heading for her own locker.

Marinette shakes her head, too tired to deal with this nonsense. With a sigh, she points herself in the right direction.

Adrien comes into focus, and Marinette halts as her brain attempts to process. She’s not sure what she’s seeing. That’s Chat Noir, but he’s not wearing his suit or his mask or his cat ears. His hair isn’t quite right. His eyes aren’t quite right. He looks like Adrien, but he looks like Chat, but he looks like Adrien, but…

He moves, and it makes it so much worse. It’s not Adrien’s usual gait but Chat’s. He slinks like Chat towards her, coming to a stop entirely too close, only two feet away.

“Good Morning, Princess,” he purrs, all Chat as he scoops up her hand and presses a kiss to the inside of her wrist, lips brushing against the lace there.

He offers her the rose. It’s the same pink color as the dried rose in the vase on her shelf in her loft was back when it was fresh…the rose he gave her—Chat gave her—during the Papa Garou incident.

“It reminded me of you,” he coos, refusing to let Adrien be embarrassed by any of this. He’s Chat right now, even without the mask, and he has no qualms about being a total flirt. “More specifically, your lips.”

He taps them ever so lightly with his index finger and winks. The wink is very Adrien, but the tone is very Chat.

Marinette’s brain shuts down for a fourth time, and all that comes out of her mouth is a strangled noise of confusion.

“Say, are you tired?” he prompts.

Marinette arches an eyebrow in bewilderment, pathetically trying to keep up.

“I just wondered. I know you have a lot of stamina, but since you’re been running through my mind all night… I mean, that has to tire you out, right?”

Marinette is tempted to smack herself in the face. She’s tempted to smack HIM in the face, whoever he is. (Her brain can’t quite decide right now, and she’s pretty sure she’s seeing things.)

“By the way,” his voice softens. “The accessories you made with that lace turned out exquisitely. I knew you’d be able to make something beautiful with them. You’re so talented, Princess.”

Marinette melts a little bit at the genuine admiration in his voice. The rest has felt like a ruse precisely calculated to mimic the fake, flirty side of Chat that turned her off for so long. It seemed orchestrated to annoy her, but this…

She nervously fingers the lace choker around her neck, blushing under his adoring gaze. She opens her mouth to thank him, but then he goes and ruins everything.

“Your hair looks gorgeous in a chignon like that,” he whispers, as if it’s their own private joke.

It is Chat and Marinette’s private joke, and her brain has finally decided that this is definitely just Adrien Agreste screwing with her.

“You should wear it like that more often,” he adds in a voice so low, she’s the only one who can hear it.

He reaches out and takes the chin-length bang that is always out of place, pressing a reverent kiss to it.

That is it.

Marinette emits a high-pitched noise akin to a boiling teapot, causing Adrien to jerk back in concern.

“Princess? I’m sorry. I—”

“—I’m going to kick you in the shin,” Marinette announces coolly.

Adrien only has enough time to blink in confusion and get out half a “Wha—?” before she makes good on her threat.

Adrien yelps as her foot makes contact with his shin. “What the hell?!” he squawks.

“You don’t get to say ‘what the hell’!” Marinette snaps. “I get to say ‘what the hell’! What the hell, Adrien Agreste?!” She punctuates the question with a one-handed shove to his chest.

“Princess,” he attempts to placate, but she’s having none of it.

“Don’t call me that!” she squeaks. “There’s only one person allowed to call me that, and you’re NOT him, Adrien Agreste, so just cut it the hell out! I’m so sick of you two!” She shoves him again, and he takes it. “I’m sick of this game!”

“It’s not a game!” Adrien snaps back, the frustration finally coming to a head. He steps forward. “Maybe I’m sick of you. Maybe I’m fed up with the way you smile and laugh with him and burst into tears with me. Maybe I’m jealous.” He steps forward again, forcing her either to retreat or come chest to chest with him.

Marinette does not back down. She leans into him, hands going to her hips as she presses forward, the length of her body flush against his. It’s a tug of war she does not intend to lose. She will push him over before she allows herself to lose ground.

“Oh, you’re jealous?” she hisses. “What? Do you want me to scratch behind your ear and call you pet names too?”

She reaches up and does just that, and she feels his body soften, some of the tension evaporating at her touch.

“Hmm? How’s that, Minou?” She says it gently, but there are obviously barbs in her words. “Does that sooth your bruised ego?”

There’s a sharp intake of breath as she trails a hand down his neck.

“Hmm?” she prompts. “Is that better, Minou? Is this what you want?”

“I want you to see me,” he mutters, feeling all kinds of confused. His brain is scrambled.

“Why? You’ve never seen me,” she retorts with another shove. “Where do you get off being jealous anyhow?” She’s snapping again. “Two weeks ago you had zero interest in me. Now, now that your friend or your brother or your cousin or whoever likes me, now I’m suddenly worth paying attention to? You’re not really interested in me, Adrien. You’re just throwing a childish fit, so kindly cut it the hell out.” She punctuates her words with a fourth shove.

He doesn’t budge. He presses harder, almost managing to knock her back. Despite his height and weight advantage, Marinette is strong, and she stands firm.

He grits his teeth. “Listen here, Beautiful. I—”

“—Okay, okay. Enough!” Nino shouts, physically picking Marinette up and moving her so that he can come between them.

Adrien nearly falls over, and Marinette gives an undignified squawk.

“Al, put your damn phone down and stop filming. The rest of you, stop gawking. There’s nothing to see here,” Nino instructs, bristling at the rubberneckers.

He turns back to Adrien and Marinette and glares. “Breathe. The both of you.”

Marinette opens her mouth to protest, but Nino cuts her off with a look and a warning finger in her face. “Don’t get akumatized.”

Marinette audibly begins to breathe deeply.

Nino turns to Adrien with a sympathetic look. “You too, Mec.”

Adrien gazes back miserably like a chastened puppy.

“It’s okay, Mec,” Nino coaxes. “She doesn’t hate you. We’ll fix this, so just breathe and don’t get akumatized. That’s your job right now.”

Adrien nods and forces himself to keep inhaling and exhaling in a steady rhythm. He doesn’t dare look at Marinette.

“Okay,” Nino interrupts the breathing exercise a minute later, resting one hand on Marinette’s arm and the other on Adrien’s. “I think the lady gets an apology first. Adrien, please apologize to Marinette for this stunt.”

Adrien crumples, voice low, soft, and thoroughly beaten. “I’m sorry, Marinette. This was stupid. I should have known you wouldn’t react positively. I was just kidding myself thinking this would end well.”

Nino nods, satisfied. “Marinette, Adrien is sorry that he upset you. What do you say?”

She looks dumbly at one of her oldest friends. This feels like a test she hasn’t studied for. “…I…What do you want me to say? I’m still mad. He’s being childish and objectifying me. I’m not some prize for him to fight Chat over. I deserve more consideration than that, and he wasn’t remotely interested in me before a week ago. I’m…I’m still mad.”

Nino takes a long inhale, trying to be patient. “Pot.” He pokes her on the cheek. “Kettle.” He indicates Adrien. “Marinette, look at him.”

Adrien tries to melt through the floor. He wants to escape because he can feel her eyes on him, and they burn.

Nino lowers his voice even further so that only the three of them can hear. “Marinette, give him a break. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. He wants your attention. He wants you not to hate him. He spent the first thirteen years of his life locked up in a mansion with very little contact with people his own age. He’s dealing with a steep learning curve, and I’d say he’s doing pretty good. Can you imagine how hard it would be to act normal when you have very little conception of what normal is? You have a hard enough time in life with a supportive family and friends who love you. You’ve got to admit that Adrien’s playing with the deck stacked against him. Show a little mercy, will ya? He’s just trying to get you to like him, yeah?”

“I do like him,” Marinette grumbles, cheeks red as she looks away from Adrien’s cowering form. “I like him when he’s my friend Adrien, not when he’s badly imitating my friend Chat.”

Nino internally counts to three. “Okay. That’s fair. I’m in no way saying you don’t have any reason to be upset. I realize that it’s been a very emotional week, but I think right now that you’re not being fair to Adrien.”

Marinette cocks an eyebrow but waits patiently for Nino to continue.

“Let’s do a thought experiment,” Nino proposes as if talking to a room full of rowdy elementary school students. “Marinette, last week, Monday morning, if I had asked you, ‘Marinette, what do you think of Chat Noir romantically?’ what would you have said?”

Marinette’s face goes pale, and she steps back, away from Nino and closer to the lockers, crossing her arms. “I-I don’t know,” she answers cagily.

“I call bull,” Nino scoffs. “You know what you would have said. You would have told me, ‘Not in a thousand years’ and that there was someone else. And now, one week later, I hear from Alya that you two are already planning your wedding. If you can change your mind in one week, why can’t Adrien?”

“…Oh,” Marinette barely manages to meep out. All color has completely drained out of her cheeks, and she’s looking a little unsteady.

“Yes,” Nino laughs without mirth. “‘Oh’. Now, do you really think your friend Adrien would ever objectify you? Turn you into a trophy to fight some other guy over? Do you really think he’s just being childish right now?”

“No,” Marinette whispers down at her feet. “But if he isn’t…then I don’t know what to think at the moment.”

“Well then, it sounds like you have some thinking to do, don’t you?” Nino announces, voice going gentle. He doesn’t want to push her too hard and doom Paris because of it, so he’s backing off a little but not letting her completely off the hook yet.

She nods obediently, eyes wide and horrified at the discovery of her own hypocrisy. Helpfully, her mind calls up all the times she ever hurt Chat as Ladybug, adding on to the guilt pile.

“Now,” Nino coaxes. “You’re allowed to be sore about it in private, but Adrien just told you he was sorry for upsetting you. What do you say, Marinette?”

“Stop,” Adrien insists, firmly but kindly, as he steps between Nino and Marinette, shielding her. “Thanks, Nino, but she’s fine. You’re just upsetting her. She doesn’t have to apologize to me. She hasn’t done anything wrong. I mean, I’m the one who started it.”

“God, I’m such a witch,” Marinette mumbles, only half cognizant of what’s going on around her.

Adrien turns and takes her by the shoulders. “Princess, you are not. You are one of the most spectacular human beings I’ve ever met.”

She shakes her head sadly. “How can you say that when I’ve been nothing but awful to you for going on a week now? Why can’t you just be mad at me?”

“I am mad,” Adrien confesses. “I’m just more smitten than mad most of the time.”

Marinette lets out an enormous groan, bringing her head down to rest on his shoulder. “You two have got to be related; you sound just like him.”

She peeks up tentatively. “I need to sit you down and confess my sins against you at length sometime. You won’t find me nearly so wonderful after that.”

His hands slide down her arms to hold her hands loosely, careful not to damage the rose still gripped in her palm.

“Try me,” he dares her, words feather light in her ear.

She shakes her head. “Too much of a scaredy-cat right now. Maybe later today. Maybe tomorrow…. Maybe never.”

Marinette steps back, slowly pulling away from him. “I’m really sorry, Adrien. Thank you for the rose.”

He catches her hand and brings it to his lips. “I’ve already forgiven you, Marinette. Try to forgive yourself.”

She sighs loudly and pulls her hand away again. “How are you so good?” Tears begin to sting her eyes as she reaches out and rings the bell on his choker. “Stop being so good, Minou.”

His brain momentarily goes offline as he thinks that he’ll be just as bad as she wants him to be if she’ll only do that again.

“You’re such a lightweight, Agreste,” he mentally chides.

“You’re so good,” she repeats, the tears beginning to fall.

He reaches out in alarm to wipe at the tears, but she smiles and waves his hands away gently.

“And I can’t be around you right now, but that doesn’t mean I hate you, okay? Excuse me.”

She bolts across the locker room and yanks her locker open with a strange desperation.

The recording of the day starts up, and the tension abruptly leaves Marinette’s body. The tears dry up, and she smiles lovingly at the sound of Chat’s voice.

The scene makes Adrien feel weak at the knees because she’s making that face for him, because of him.

“Hey, Beautiful!” the Chat in the recording greets, and she perks up. “Good Morning.”

Chat does help. Chat does make a difference…and, maybe, if Adrien keeps working on it, maybe Adrien can too.

“It’s actually two in the morning right now, and guess what I’m doing?” the Chat recording continues.

“Not sleeping,” Marinette scoffs, grabbing her English text out of her locker.

“Right. Not sleeping,” Chat sighs.

Marinette giggles, and Alya comes over to join her. “Even though you said you were exhausted last night?”

“I know I was complaining about how exhausted I was, but now that I’m home, I’m wide awake.”

“Why?” Marinette inquires during the brief pause.

“…I’m actually kind of nervous about seeing you tomorrow,” Chat’s disembodied voice confesses, causing Marinette to pause and frown.

“You’re either going to know it’s me right away and probably hit me…or you’re not, and that’s going to suck…. But you’re all here for the music, not to stand around and listen to me talk. This one is super annoying. If you’ve seen me, you can hit me. If not, think of having this song stuck in your head all day as your punishment.”

Marinette winces.

“I’m just kidding, Marinette,” Chat laughs, and Adrien can definitely tell that he did this at two AM. “I love you.”

There is a collective gasp in the locker room, and many students begin to cheer. Rose is actually jumping up and down while Kim begrudgingly hands Alix ten euros, obviously having lost a bet concerning Marinette and Chat’s love life.

“This is Elle Me Dit by Mika,” Chat announces, and then the music starts.

Amid the general commotion, Nino turns to Adrien and gives him a funny look.

Adrien barely notices. He’s too busy watching Marinette.

“Mec?”

“Hmm?” He doesn’t take his eyes off of her.

“Your voices are really similar,” Nino remarks, giving Adrien a thoughtful stare.

Adrien isn’t paying attention. “Whose?”

“Your voice and Chat’s voice,” Nino expounds upon his comment.

“I wouldn’t know. I don’t hear my voice outside of my own skull often.” Adrien shrugs, throat beginning to tighten as Marinette slowly scans the room, obviously looking for him. “Is it bad that I sound like Chat?”

Nino shakes his head, letting go of the peculiar thought. “No. It’s just…an odd coincidence.”

Adrien hums thoughtfully starting to fidget as Marinette’s eyes come closer and closer to finding his own. “Would you still think it was odd if I told you we’re related?”

Nino blinks. “Oh. Like how Noël is supposedly starting to sound like me when he picks up the phone.”

Only Nino is not aware of Adrien having any relatives. In fact, Adrien has specifically told him before that his parents were both only children, so that rules out the possibility of cousins. This bothers Nino.

Marinette’s eyes finally come to rest upon Adrien, and they pause there for a second.

He gives her his best smile, hoping she notices how she makes him light up from within.

Marinette smiles fondly and gives a soft laugh before resuming her scan.

Adrien’s heart plummets.

It doesn’t look like it’s happening today.

He sighs, crestfallen.

Nino abandons his conspiracy theories to raise an eyebrow in concern at Adrien. “Everything okay, Dude?”

Adrien shakes his head. “This is Ladybug all over again. I’m going to wind up in the friend zone my entire life, and this is just me struggling futilely before giving up, resigning myself to my fate.”

Nino takes Adrien by the shoulders and forces Adrien to face him. “Mec…drama much? Don’t think that way. She…” Nino doesn’t know where he’s going with this, doesn’t know what to say to make it better for Adrien without outright lying. “…Wanna skip class and go get ice cream right now?”

Adrien laughs hollowly. “I’m actually partial to pastries over ice cream. I would live on Tom and Sabine’s pain au chocolat, given the opportunity.”

“Let’s go,” Nino prompts, slapping Adrien on the back. “Come on. Right now. It’s literally next door; we’ll be back before anyone misses us.”

Adrien shakes his head slowly. “Maybe some other time. I kind of just want to stand here and feel miserable watching her.”

Nino sighs, giving Adrien’s arm two condoling pats.

Marinette finishes her scan, looking about as disappointed as Adrien feels. She blows out a sigh as she pulls out her phone.

Adrien’s pocket vibrates, and his heart soars.

“Secret girlfriend?” Nino grumbles.

“Secret girlfriend,” Adrien giggles, suddenly feeling like he can walk on air.

“I love you too, Minou,” says Marinette’s first text. The others follow shortly: “I’m so sorry I’m disappointing you.” “Hang in there.” “I’ll find you soon.”

Adrien hurriedly types back, “You could never disappoint me, Princess. I’ll be waiting as long as it takes.”

He looks up to see her smile, seemingly reassured by his response.

“Are you texting Marinette?” Nino wonders, looking back and forth between the two.

“Didn’t we have this fight yesterday?” Adrien pouts.

Nino puts his hands up in surrender and lets it drop.

Adrien looks back down at his flip phone and adds, “Your hair looks gorgeous in a chignon like that.”

Marinette chuckles, touching her hair self-consciously. “Thank you!” she replies.

She glances up and looks around, giving the search another try.

Their gazes lock for a second once more, and Adrien takes the opportunity to smile and wave, betting he looks utterly ridiculous. He can’t bring himself to care.

She gives him a funny look, but she smiles and sends a petite wave right back at him.

“I am doomed,” Adrien sighs happily.

“I’ll say,” Nino groans, inwardly beginning to plot. He’s going to do his best to make things right for Adrien, even if he has to stoop to some Alya-level scheming to accomplish it.

Somehow, Nino doubts he is actually capable of accomplishing Alya-level anything.

He might need the real Alya’s help with this.

#Marichat #Adrienette #Adrinette #Miraculous Ladybug #Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction #Marinette Dupain-Cheng/Chat Noir #Marinette Dupain-Cheng/Adrien Agreste #Adrien Agreste #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Chat Noir #Nino Lahiffe #Plagg #Le Gorille #Mikau's Writings #The Rejects Club

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snarkwriteswrasslin · 4 years

Text

two | hard to forget | adam page

↱ authors notes: ↲

Ahhh okay. Here we go. This is going to pick up where Darlin left off, give or take a few days so… if you haven’t read that, you might want to stop everything and go click on the link above and do that.If you think things are getting even SLIGHTLY happier here well... I have some bad news for you. We’re in the angst zone here. We will be for a little longer. So yeah. There’s that.

I am planning on throwing them into an interaction soon, I promise. Just for a little while, it’s gotta stay this way bc they’re both balls of anxiety and stress.

↱ pairing ↲

adam hangman page x ofc! rosalie.

↱ summary↲

Adam and Rosalie shared a night together. A night that neither one of them can forget and yet, neither one of them seem to be able to talk to the other about. Between their own personal issues, backstage gossip and other awkwardness, will they eventually find their way together?

↱ warnings↲

I switch back and forth between first and third person (first=rosalie and third=hangman) and I realize that can be jarring for some, so I thought I’d warn you about that now… Now on to the actual warnings you need to be aware of…slow burn. angst. two stubborn fucking people both going through their own issues. alcohol mentions. probably smut at some point, idk. for now, that’s all I got. OFC has self worth issues and anxiety. FWIW. No, they won’t magically be fixed by the end of this. If you’re here for that, it won’t happen. They won’t dissolve just because the story takes a turn. This shit is something I struggle with, so all of this emotional baggage/etc is being written the way I personally experience it. Everyone’s experiences are different and I realize that. Anyway... That’s all for the warnings.

↱ tag squad↲

If you want to be tagged in my writing, go add your @ to this doc here. If you’re not on there / haven’t told me you want to be tagged, you’re not getting tagged.

@kyleoreillysknee

@rampagewriting

@writertoo18

@thatnerdwriter

@wrestlingismyguiltypleasure

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@waywardwrestlewritingwaif

@sassymox

@unabashedwrestlefics

@wardl0w

@wrestlingthot

↱ other stuff ↲

[ tag list doc | masterlist | soundtrack to this fic | about page ]

TWO

[ Hangman ]

He sat at the bar, staring down into the whiskey glass in front of him. He couldn’t stop going back to what Kenny’s response was earlier. He couldn’t get his head around just how easily it was for Kenny to turn his back on their tag team partnership and yet, if he really thought long and hard about it, he couldn’t blame him either. Taking another long sip of whiskey, Adam sat the glass down on the bartop, his head resting against his hand.

Downtime couldn’t come fast enough this time around. He needed time and space to think. To figure things out. His mind was still frantically holding out hope that there had to be a way to fix the situations he currently found himself in. Both of them.

Because there had to be a way to get Rosalie alone and talk to her. He needed to know if his head or his heart or all the rumors that seemed to be swirling around the back this week were right. He needed some sort of confirmation to move on and try to put what happened between them and his feelings out of his head or not.

At the thought, he found himself scanning the crowded bar, searching for any sign of Rosalie. He spotted her across the bar, crammed into a booth with Sonny Kiss, Swole and Thunder Rosa, her head back in mid-laugh. When the guy in the leather jacket walked past their table and looked her up and down, his breath caught and he knew that it was better if he turned around but for whatever reason, he couldn’t.

He felt the briefest relief when she didn’t even bother looking at the man in the leather jacket, choosing instead to focus on the bottle of tequila in front of her that she was apparently drinking straight from.

He eyed the situation carefully, trying to gauge her current mood. Trying to prove to himself that hooking up with him had been a one-time thing and no, she wasn’t currently beating herself up or losing her mind over what happened like he was lately on top of everything else.

,, People are sayin that night is just somethin’ she does. And I don’t wanna believe that because somethin about it don’t seem right, but it’s not like she’s in a hurry to talk about what happened between us either…” Adam thought to himself, scowling and promptly trying to vanquish the thought from his head by pouring himself another measure of whiskey from the bottle sitting in front of him into his glass.

The older country that had been playing on a jukebox towards the back switched to Five Finger Death Punch and he grumbled to himself, right up to the point in which he saw Rosalie slinking back from the area, the bottle in her hand and a smirk in her face. When she climbed over the back of the booth seat to settle back between Swole and Rosa, he chuckled quietly, shaking his head. “How the hell does she listen to this shit?”

By the fourth round, he nearly had himself convinced to just walk over and talk to her. He kept telling himself he’d do it when her friends left. Then her friends left and he sat there, hesitantly perched on the edge of his stool.

From beside him, MJF spoke up, a taunting laugh as he did so. “Crashed and burned already, hm? From talk backstage, you two were going to be the next it couple. But like usual, you can’t help yourself. You just like to watch the world burn.”

Adam’s fists clenched and he glared at MJF. Then he remembered some of the guy’s past exchanges with her and he rubbed his chin, chuckling quietly. He’d overlook all the other stuff the asshole said that hit a little too head on at the moment.. About him being incapable of just being happy until the world was burning all around him. He chose instead to focus on the fact that obviously, if the guy was sitting here next to him, then the guy hadn’t made all the progress he told anyone in back who would listen that he was making with Rosalie.

“Aw, she shoot you down again, little boy?”

“She’s a teasing bitch. But no. In fact..” Maxwell waved over a bartender and ordered himself a glass of bourbon, “I think I might have figured out a way to break down those so called walls she has. I mean.. I figure as long as I’m not you and I don’t do whatever you apparently did, I have a shot, right?”

Adam leaned in to Maxwell in the blink of an eye. Maxwell gaped as Adam gripped his shirt front and flashed a mean smirk. “Go ahead, little boy. Go right ahead. But I promise you. I swear. If you do one thing to hurt her, I’m gonna kick your damn head off.”

He let go and settled completely back on the stool, the two men having an intent staredown until Adam tossed wadded cash on the top of the bar and shoved his way out. He needed to get to the sanctuary of his own hotel room.

He needed to think. There had to be some way to fix everything. There had to be. He stubbornly refused to believe there wasn’t. He’d been through worse with the guys before. They were okay.

,, maybe this time you pushed too far, man. And if you don’t do something about the other now, it’s going to eat at you too… But that’s the catch 22… Doing somethin means you might get an answer you don’t wanna hear...that you might not be able to handle right now.” the thought was an unsettling one and it had him punching the wall by the elevator lightly.

[ ROSALIE ]

“Girl, the man was staring a hole right through you. How much more proof do you need?”

Rosa’s question had me pausing, leaning against the hallway wall as I raised the bottle to my lips and shrugged. Swallowing the tequila, I grimaced at the lazy burn when it crept down my throat. It wasn’t Tito’s, but tonight it would have to suffice. I mulled over what she said. I knew he’d been watching me. I could feel him staring. The thing of it was, every time I got the idea in my head to get up and walk over, I remembered the current rumors going around about me backstage. And I remembered that I have a tendency to make a mess of everything I touch according to most. Or that I’m not and never will be good enough, according to others.

Yeah, maybe it’s stupid, but… Maybe this is just one of those things that’s better left untouched. Besides, the guy probably thinks I’m a whore now, I mean… I’ve heard the rumors. I’ve heard them and if I didn’t know myself better? I’d think I was a whore.

Pretty sure Maxwell’s been stirring around in shit because I won’t just crawl into bed with him. He wants me to have no other option. And if he thinks even remotely I won’t just die alone before letting it, he’s a goddamn fool.

“It’s not that easy, Rosa.” I finally answered, taking another long pull from the bottle in my hand. Letting my head rest against the wall. I was dizzy and tipsy and yet... I wasn’t numb. I hadn’t magically forgotten everything that’s always on my mind and any of the newest invasive thoughts that had cropped up lately either.

Brains should come with an on/off reset feature. You don’t like your mind one day? Reset button. It’d be one hell of a lot easier than being stuck with all the doubt and loathing and irrational fears and invasive thoughts.

“It is! All you have to do is walk over, sit down and talk to the guy.” Rosa insisted.

I eyed her and laughed. “After the shit Maxwell’s been saying this week? I don’t see that going well. He probably believes it all like everyone else. I mean hey… The upside of this whole shit-show is that if I get lonely, I have plenty of offers. Only for one night because naturally..” I trailed off, shaking my head. No, nope.. I was going to bind my legs if I had to. Not even going to consider meeting a guy at a bar and taking him back to my room anymore because whew boy... Did this whole rumor going around about me really make me stop and think. And I didn’t want to be seen as that kind of girl. ,, even though there’s not a goddamn thing wrong with enjoying life and you don’t owe anyone a goddamn thing. christ, you’re pathetic. a real dumpster fire, rosalie.” the thought came and I shoved it out, wincing at it’s invasive brutality.

“But none of them are the one you want. God, you’re so fucking stubborn.” Rosa grumbled, the back of her head hitting the wall behind us lightly as she sank down to sit beside me. I laughed a little and I couldn’t tell whether it was the tequila in my hands or the absurdity of this entire situation that would literally be so much easier if I were anyone but me right now. If I had better confidence. If I dared to believe or hope that I could have a great guy that I truly loved without that guy merely settling because I was there and made myself available like I used to all the time.

Like I did that one night I had Adam Page. It had been so easy to fall back into old habits, natural as breathing. That in itself had me terrified.

“I picked one hell of a year to quit smoking.” I groaned quietly, letting my head butt back against the wall as I laughed and sat there, trying to imagine every single scenario that might arise if I did just talk to him about that night.

But when all your mind will cook up are the bad ones. The absolute worst of the worst. You see my problem, yes?

I couldn’t be the first to say something. I knew for a fact I couldn’t take hearing him casually dismiss our night as a one-time thing. I couldn’t take him saying what I’ve heard so much now that it’s ingrained in me deep and keeps me doubting myself at least eighty-five percent of the time. I couldn’t take a risk and have him turn out to be just like the rest.

But I knew at the same time that sooner or later... somehow.. I was going to crack. Because as much as I feared the worst, I couldn’t keep sitting on any of this either.

#adam hangman page #adam hangman page fanfiction #adam hangman page fanfic #adam hangman page imagine #adam hangman page imagines #my fics; adam hangman page #my writing; hangman page #// strong self esteem issues present throughout this #// anxiety cw #// alcohol cw #// coping mechanisms cw #// angst #// slowest burn to ever slow burn if i do this right #part 2 of ?#// god i hope this doesn't wind up being a massive flop

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boogiewrites · 6 years

Text

Reports and Repertoire Pt. 4

Characters: Eddie Brock x Candace Miller (OFC)

Word Count: 6700+

Summary: *NSFW* Candy and Eddie's hard work pays off, but not without a close call first. They go back to her place to celebrate a job well done with whiskey.Candy decides the rule of not sleeping with people she works with no longer applies.

Warnings/Tags: Language.Fluffy, Smutty. Descriptions of police brutality and violence. Drinking. Explicit Sexual Content. Touch of Dirty Talk. Dominant Candy.

Positive feedback is MUCH appreciated! Reblogs, likes, asks and comments feed me to write more! Let me know if you’d like tagged in my work.

My Masterlist.

It'd been hours of holding their breath every time a cop car would come into their line of vision. They were hunkered down in an alleyway covered by a line of thick bushes and boxes that ran the length of a brick-walled building that made up one side of the camp. Candace had her camcorder tight in her hand, strapped to her wrist. She stands at the corner of the wall under the cover of night and a broken street light on top of a crate to give her a vantage point. When a cop car rolls by and slows on the street that ran the width of the camp, she reaches back and smacks at Eddie to get his attention. He peels around the corner, both looking much like a Scooby Doo sketch with their heads right under the other, her torso over his head and shoulders as they press themselves against the wall.

"This might be it." she whispers, looking down to meet Eddie's face before she takes out the camcorder to engage it. He only gives a nod in response.

The scenario plays out as it should. The cops with their nightsticks strut around the camp, knocking things over nonchalantly and in general being total dicks. Candace keeps her breathing steady, holding the camera up to catch it all. They find two men to isolate, neither of which they knew, but Eddie feels that pang of guilt again as they get shoved together by the two policemen. They antagonize them, one getting hit about the face first, then shoved at each other again, the uniformed men barking illegal orders to figure out which one gets taken in for public intoxication and indecency, neither of which were true.

"I'm gonna get closer." Candace whispers, moving slowly along the wall behind the brush and various garbage. Eddie slinks behind her, not willing to let her out of reach.

The perfect shot is just out of reach it seemed, no matter how much she crept, she lines up the angles in thirds, the cops lit with an overhead light, the men fought reluctantly in front of them as they laughed and egged them on.

"Candy." Eddie whispers, holding her elbow as she kept creeping closer and he was starting to get nervous.

"I got it," she says, confident as always. "I have to get their faces." she informs, the zoom making the shot too shaky and blurred, she had to get to this final piece and it needed to be perfect.

She crept up the edge of the wall and brush, Eddie behind a pile of boxes, her hunched and shooting through a large, dead bush, the cover of night and the black hoodies they wore pulled over their heads their main ally at this point. One man hits the ground and doesn't get up. The scene was hard to watch, Eddie had turned his head away already, the sounds were bad enough. He kept his eye on Candy instead, one hand out and ready to grab her if she stumbled. She had the shot, it even looked good, not merely capturing the events but looking almost cinematic. Her heart was already pounding in her ears, she could taste the end of this endeavor being near.

One cop drags the man to the car, cuffing and opening the door to roughly shove him in. The other takes a last look out at the perimeter, and just as she's about to look down at the screen again, the dead battery light flashes, a beeping noise of warning comes from the camera and she curses. The cops flashlight beams directly on her, eyes caught in the light with a hood up and camera pointed directly at them.

"Shit." Eddie says yanking her back immediately.

"HEY!" they hear from the cop as Eddie picks her up and shoves her in front of him, making their way back to the alley. "HEY COME BACK HERE!" they hear him louder and closer. As soon as their feet start hitting and running across the wet pavement of the alley again, they hear him break through the brush, seeing the spotlight of the flashlight moving haphazardly over the grimy walls, garbage cans, and broken fire escapes. She stumbles, hitting her knees and hips as she runs as fast as she can down the small space, Eddie just a breath behind her. They move towards the more populated areas, the cop still shouting behind them.

They move small lane to small street, bobbing, weaving and jumping over obstacles, both in tune and looking out for the other as they meet a well lit, populated street. Their feet are still hitting hard and fast when she's jerked by the wrist suddenly, then an arm around her ribs Eddie grabs her up and they spin fast into another alleyway before she can ask anything he has her shoved against a recessed part of a wall, just out of sight behind a large dumpster. His body is pressed against hers, her head turned towards the slight even though she couldn't see anything. His arm is between her back and the wall, his hand rests on her arm, holding it tightly as his heavy brow is lowered, mouth open and breathing hard as his eyes stay on the street.

They say nothing, only their breathing and the loud drip of something making noise in the small space. Even though it's not even a full minute, the moments drag on forever before he finally slumps, closing his eyes and letting out a noisy exhale.

"He kept going down the street." he whispers, before looking back up with wide eyes and an open mouth of exasperation.

She lets out a heavy breath, letting her forehead hit his chest, "Oh thank god." she almost whines. His arm moves from around her and to her head.

"You alright?" he asks, a genuinely concerned look on his face. "You hit a bunch of stuff back there." he says, looking her over. The gesture makes her give him a slightly dopey smile at the sweetness of it and the way his hands were so gentle.

"No, I'm... fine Eddie." her tone is quiet as their breathing slows. He looks down as she looks up, faces a little too close to go unnoticed by either of them.

"You sure?" he asks, chin dipping back. As her eyes move across his face, he feels his heart speed up again, as his do the same. The moment is heavy and drags on before she responds back.

"Yeah I'm sure." she whispers, eyes back to his. "Eddie?" her voice is still soft and he stutters slightly.

"Yeah?" his lip turns up in question, his face would've flushed if it hadn't already been from exertion.

"We uh...we need to get moving." she says with her eyes large and catching the light as they look up at him.

"Oh, shit. Yeah," he says with a shake of his head, trying to get it back on straight. He steps back and starts taking off his hoodie. "Gotta get rid of these." he says laying it the dumpster. They'd both planned ahead, or rather Candace had by buying cheap black hoodies to ditch in case this exact situation went down. She follows suit and does the same, letting her hair down that had been pulled back to make herself look like they were just out together as they walked down the street side by side.

"Let's grab something in here real quick and check the video." she suggests, tugging him by the hand into a Kebab joint.

They sit in a tiny seat together, his arm on the chair back behind her, leaning into each other as they focus on the small screen.

"We did it." a huge grin spreads across her face. She turns her head fast towards his. "We fuckin' did it Eddie." her voice almost a squeak, a sound he'd never heard come from her before.

"We did." he smiles back proudly, stubbly cheeks rising to make his eyes smaller in an adorable expression that's half confident and have in disbelief. A win for him, something he knew he'd wanted but didn't know how desperately he'd needed it until now.

"We have to celebrate." she says obviously.

"What d'ya got in mind?" he raises his chin, supporting the almost childlike excitement she had on display.

"Food and booze." she says with a chuckle, shutting the camera and standing.

"I like the way you think, Candy, I really do." he laughs, holding the door open for her as they walk out onto the street in the direction of the place they left his bike.

"I'm gonna use postmates, and get us some nice ass whiskey...and we'll order some good food, and we'll start putting this video together." her hands wring together, her eyes bright and a smile plastered on her face.

"Sounds like a good time."

"Oh it's gonna be." she grins, he could hear the happiness in her voice and it was contagious.

It's a few blocks to the bike and in that time the sweat on their bodies starts to cool and chill, and in only t-shirts he notices her shiver, rubbing her arms as they walk.

"I can help with that if you want?" he asks hesitantly.

"Hmmm?" she asks, turning her head while she chews on her bottom lip.

"You're cold." he says, moving to put his arm around her shoulders as they keep walking.

"Was cold." she says with a chuckle. "It's like fifty degrees out here, how are you so damn warm?" she says shifting her shoulders, her casual response to his offer once again eases any nerves he had around her.

He shrugs. "Your guess is as good as mine." They reach the bike and he pulls out a hoodie from one of the bags. "Here, take this." he says, tossing it to her as he grabs his helmet.

"No, you take it," she says handing it back. "All the wind will be hitting you while you drive." she takes the helmet he offers her. "I'll have it all blocked by you, plus I'll have my arms around a human space heater, I'll be fine." she laughs, putting on the helmet.

"You sure? Don't wanna get to your place and turn around to find you frozen on my bike." he jokes.

"A Candy-sicle." she almost snorts. "That sounds delicious." she tilts her head as if in thought. "And now I want something sweet," she says like it's a complaint and he grins and shakes his head at her good mood. He settles in on the bike with her sliding in behind him. "C'mon Brock." she says wrapping her arms around without hesitation, a total change from the first time she'd done it she recalls. "Let's take ourselves a victory lap." she proclaims, her chin resting on his shoulder. ----------- They crash on the couch together, deciding to order expensive whiskey and cheap food, a great combination. With high ball glasses, she pours a drink, and they both let themselves relax. They eat, they decide to put the work away, announcing it was finished for tonight and now was a time to celebrate the hard work together.

More drinks and less food as the night went on made them both drunk and a touch giggly. Candace loves his high pitched little laugh, the way his nose scrunches and his chin pushes back into his neck. With the veil of drunkenness coming over her, he looked more attractive than he ever had before. She thinks back to the day she came over and he was working out, feeling the warmth gather between her thighs. She watches him laid back, hand around his glass on the couch arm, his other lazily scratching his lower stomach, leaving his shirt up and slightly exposing the strip of skin that was currently distracting her.

She knew she'd get like this if she drank and she couldn't really bring herself to care. She also knows that the sweetheart sitting next to her wouldn't be trying to sleep with her and she sat and chewed her lip as to what she wanted to do. They were at that nice spot of drunk and happy, not over the edge and messy yet. If she didn't ask, if she didn't try, she'd be yelled at tomorrow by both Steph and herself. She pulled her legs onto the couch, turning herself to face him, inching closer.

"You okay over there Eddie?" she asks, as he looks just slightly melted, the creases around his mouth settled in heavy.

He swings his head towards her, "I'm great over here. How are you over there?" he grins.

She can't help but laugh, biting her lip in a bit of an obvious sign as to her mood. "I'm okay...rather be over there though."

He notices the look in her eyes, a new one that he hasn't seen. "Over here?" he asks innocently, putting his hand on his chest and she nods in response. "Oh are you...ya cold again or somethin'?" he suggests, raising his arm. "I got some to spare, y'know." the alcohol helps keep him loose and not get his hopes up before she made any glaringly obvious moves. He wasn't about to let his neglected sex drive ruin this by assuming anything just yet.

She slinks over without a word, "You looked a little sad." she says as she sighs and settles next to him, his arm behind her back with her knees pulled up, their faces at the same height.

"Nah," he shakes his head. "That's just my face." he lets out that raspy chuckle. "I always look like this."

"What? Cute?" she says in a teasing voice that makes him sputter out another laugh. She watches the lines in his forehead shift, the crows feet forming at the edges of his eyes under his heavy brows wondering how she'd been able to wait so long to make a move on a man as sweet and good looking as he was.

"Cute? You think I'm cute?" he turns his face to meet hers, his eyes were bright with amusement.

"Yeah." she states obviously, a slow-growing smile catches as she's watching his expressive face pass through being flattered and embarrassed. "Among other things." she looks away with a smirk, a single shrug of her shoulder makes his smile fall and his brows raise. Oh, that didn't sound so innocent, he realizes.

"Wh-Like what other things?" his voice drops, his accent coming out heavy.

She returns her eyes to his face, looking down his torso, a hand reaches up to touch the cowlick near the crown of his head as she speaks. "Like... smart. Funny. Sweet."

He lets out a nervous chuckle, suddenly very aware of his arm around her. "Aw, Candy you..." he shakes his head quickly, a quirky little smile on his lips. "You goin' hard on the praise there, huh?"

"I might've even drunk enough to admit how handsome you are." she says with a calm, cool, collected smile that is the opposite of his.

"You think I'm handsome? That is..." he nods fast. "That is much preferred to cute."

"You are handsome." she coos. "You're also...." she takes a deep inhale, her words coming out breathily in an exhale. "Do you know how sexy you are Eddie?" she asks with a tilt of her head.

Another nervous laugh, this one softer, his pulse quickened under her praise. He watches her lick her lips and he feels a groan grow in his chest. "You are... you're all those things too y'know." he offers.

"You think so?" her smile is much cockier as she takes another sip of whiskey.

"Yeah. Yeah I do." he gathers the courage to admit.

"You think I'm sexy?" she says more playfully, a wrinkle of her nose as she raises her chin.

"Well, yeah." his brows are high and his mouth hangs open slightly, nothing but honesty to be found in his expression. "I just didn't...y'know...we were workin'."

"I have a rule, you see..." she begins, taking another drink of whiskey before setting it down on the coffee table. "To not fuck people I work with."

"That's...that's smart." he nods in agreement.

"But we finished our job tonight didn't we?" her eyes swing up to his, bold and fearless.

"Yeah," he whispers, a few slow nods. She sees his Adam's apple bob up and down.

Her hand moves up his chest, lips pouted just slightly. "So what do you think I want to do now that we're finished working?" she says, leaning in teasingly close to his face before pulling back.

"I bet I could guess." he whispers.

His response hits her as very funny with his obvious but nervous tone and she starts laughing, burying her face in his shoulder and it cuts the tension, the seriousness that'd been building. He laughs because she is, not having heard this sound from her before.

"Oh, Eddie." she sighs out, hand moving to the side of his face, a half smile on her face, hiding how she wanted to swoon over how adorable he could be when he wasn't trying. "You're too charming for your own good." she says thumb stroking his cheek. He blushes at the words and she feels the hunger for him growing inside her. "Do you wanna fuck, Eddie?" she whispers just inches away from those big plush lips. "Because I wanna fuck you." she nods slowly, their eyes meet and she shifts her weight to face him more head-on. "So bad." she says in a breathy exhale.

He feels a shudder run through his body. "Yeah." he says without hesitation, exactly in the strong out way she wanted to hear it.

"Yeah?" she says with a sweet tone and a sexy smile that travels right down to his balls as she moves closer.

"So bad." he huffs out and she feels that cold tingly rush down her spine. The words are exhaled by him and taken into her mouth as she closes in for a kiss they've both been waiting for. Their eyes flutter shut, a noisy exhale, a slumping of posture that gives away how much they'd both wanted it. She feels the arm around her backs grip tighten, holding her close to his side. She moves her other hand to his face, gripping his stubbled jaw with both hands. He might've had the softest lips she'd ever kissed, she left any reservations behind as she fully indulged in him. His other arm shifts, reaching over to grab her thigh. His hands bring her closer to him, and she swings her leg over his lap, straddling him on the couch.

He lets out a soft moan as she starts to kiss him harshly, sucking and biting his lower lip as their breathing picked up and started to match each other. His hands timidly rest on her back, one hand moving to cup the back of her head on occasion as she raked her nails through his hair. She reaches down to around his torso, kisses trailing down his jaw to his neck, her hand exploring the broad expanse of lean muscle that tensed under her touch.

She broke the kiss, his head pulling forward and keeping to her lips as long as he could. He'd been in a trance at the feeling of being wanted, having someone touch and taste him so needfully again. It was something he knew he'd missed but hadn't realized how much. He hadn't stopped to think about having it again, not realistically, not when it wasn't with Anne. Shit, don't think about her, anything but her, he whined to himself. He squeezes his eyes shut for a brief moment. But as he sees Candy's body stretch, taking off her shirt, those previous things that haunted him dissipated and his eyes were only for her.

She leans in, lips ghosting over his, hands pulling up his hoodie over his stomach, "I want you Eddie." she whispers and he lets out a groan. She tosses it onto the other end of the couch before dipping down to kiss him again. He lets himself get lost in the heat from her smooth skin under his hands, feeling her ribs shift under them as she put her whole body into kissing him, something he appreciated more than he could properly express. She sucks his lower lip into her mouth, a wet pop on release as she hums. "Let's take this to bed, baby." she whispers in his ears and his eyes roll back at the soft sound of her, the feel of her breath on the shell of his ear makes his foot want to twitch like a dog getting an itch scratched.

She stands, turning off the tv and the lamp, leaving them with just the neon lights from the signs on the streets burning through her thin curtains over the window next to her bed. She hums again, pulling him up by the front of his shirt, fisted in her hand. Walking backward the short distance to the bed, she gives him a wicked grin and shoves him back with both hands onto it. He watches her like a goddess, mouth slack and eyes half-lidded. She stands and looks him over, licking her lips and smiling before taking off her jeans, he watches with a hypnotic bob of his head. Tugging his shirt over his head quickly, she points behind him.

"Scoot up the bed, Eddie." she purrs, both of them love the way his name sounded coming out her mouth, especially when it dripped with need like she currently was. He does as he's told and quickly. She crawls up the bed, sitting on his hips, feeling even more drunk with the way he stared and licked his lips, hand hovering cautiously over her thighs. She takes off her bra, throwing it blindly, he bites his lip and lets out a small moan at the sight. She gently takes his wrists, placing his hands to her chest. His nostrils flare slightly at the sharp exhale before he cups gently and squeezes. She smiles through a bitten lip of her own before leaning down slowly, hands running up his soft but strong stomach to the broad expanse of his chest. As his hands move across her breasts, thumbs brushing with pressure across her nipples, she moans lightly in his ear and he lets out a noisy breath of appreciation.

She nibbles his earlobe, plants kisses to his neck. She bites and sucks on his shoulders, marked with tattoos she didn't know he had, licking and nibbling across his collarbones and nipples as he lets his arms go limp, one raising to push her hair back from her face. He looked so tough but he was so gentle and the juxtaposition was fueling her lust. As she sinks her teeth just slightly into the pink hardened nipples on his perfectly fuzzy chest. He moans, letting his head fall back and she shuts her eyes, letting them roll back and listen to the helpless whine in his voice that she was the cause of. She could feel him pressing against her ass as his hips twitched and he grew harder, licking her way with a long stroke up to his thick neck where she sucks before joining their lips again. Her hands move up his big arms, bringing them above his head.

With one hand she holds down his wrists, the other taking one of her breasts that hovered over his face, taking the sensitive peak and running it across his lips. His arms shift under her weight, his tongue peeking out to graze her nipple and he hears that low hum of approval from her. "Suck on my tits, babe." she whispers out, placing her other hand on top of the one on his wrists. He makes a hungry sound, a breathy chomp as those luscious lips of his get to work. "Good boy." she says, grinding her hips against his. His eyes flutter behind his lids, groaning into the soft skin that smelled sweet from her perfume. "Fuck." she sighs out, arching her back and taking away his toys, noticing how his tongue reached out as she pulled away. "More of that later." she coos, running her fingertips across his wet lips. "My mouth is impatient to get on you." she says with a mischievous grin.

"Ah, fuck." he groans, watching her crawl down his body, kissing her way to the top of his jeans. She smiles and laps below his belly button, hands wasting no time in undoing his pants. She gives him a tiny noisy bite, fingers hooking under both his layers before she yanks them off. Standing for a brief moment, she makes herself also completely naked before settling between his legs. Running her hands up his thick thighs she sucks on her bottom lip and moans.

"You're so fucking hot, Eddie." she growls, hands grabbing his hips. Randomly placed kisses adorn his stomach, hips, and thighs as she watches him greedily grow and twich. "And look at this cock." she praises, her lips ghosting over the leaking tip as she speaks.

"Fuck, Candy." he whines, his brow low but no look of anger, only of want and adoration. She felt like a queen under his watch and she felt compelled to treat him like the loyal subject he was.

"That what you want Eddie?" she whispers, looking into his eyes and kissing the sides of his length. "For me to fuck you?" his lip snarls just slightly and he melts, she was...absolutely fantastic. He opens his mouth to speak, but she interrupts him. "What if I want to suck your cock first, huh?" she asks with an air of faux innocence that makes him give up and let his head fall back with a groan.

"Please." he moans out.

"Such a nice boy." she coos, kissing and licking her way back up before sucking on his head.

He hisses in approval, a whine released as she cups his balls, the other hand wrapping around his base as she gets him wet and slowly takes him into her mouth. "Shit." he whispers, moving her hair out of her face. She works her hands and mouth in tandem, stroking and following her mouths rhythm. "You're so good at th-aaaaaaat." he groans as she runs her tongue over his balls. He didn't need her down here any longer, she could already feel him pulsing under her tongue, his balls tighten as she sucked him off.

She slinks back up, rubbing herself back and forth over his length. "You feel how wet this pussy is for you, Eddie?" her voice low and teasing, rubbing herself frictionless against him.

"Fuck...yes, I do." he moans, one hand rubbing down his face before she takes them both and brushes his fingertips across her lips.

"You want it Eddie?" she gives him a devilish smile he hadn't thought her sweet face was capable of.

"Yes." he nods, watching her lips suck on his fingertips.

"Ask me." she directs. "Ask me real nice for it." she looks into his eyes, lapping away at his index finger and he can barely remember to breathe let alone form coherent requests.

"Please." he pants out. "Please, Candy, I want it so bad." he whimpers, chest rising and falling fast.

She releases his hands, moving hers to his face to hold his chin, rubbing her thumb over his lips. "Such a good boy, aren't you baby?" she coos again, her other hands raising and notching his head inside her. "Such." she pants out. "A good." her eyes shut, her head starting to fall back. "Boy." she sighs out, lowering herself onto him. Her composure breaks for a moment. It'd been too long, he was giving her a good stretch. "Fuck." she whimpers, mouth falling open, licking before biting her lips. She whines slightly, wiggling her hips and finding a pace. Resting her hands on his chest, his hands find hers and rest on top of them. "Oh, shit." she lets out a deep chuckle, hips now steady, the sound of breathing and skin to skin the only thing in the space around them. The lights from the shop signs outside, the red, blue's and yellows fade and change and shift across their bodies as they move together. A slow unfamiliar pace changes to something more frantic, less calculated as she leans forward, connecting their mouths again as they feverishly kiss. His hands on her hips, one of hers gripped in his hair, the other on the bed for support as she arches and bows against him.

Every helpless noise is passed back and forth between their mouths, everything turning messy, wet and urgent as they both drank each other in. Tongues stayed outside of their mouths as their breathing grew too fast, the moans forced out too often to bother with lips. As he held his head up to meet her, their foreheads pressed together as one of his hands move up to pinch at her breasts and she lets out a loud moan.

"Fuck, I'm close." she pants out. The moan tears out of him at the confession, other hand moving to the side of her face to hold it still and try to kiss her again and they briefly succeed. She raises up, hands on his chest and determined expression, she gritted her teeth and rode him as hard as she could. "C'mon." she growls, smacking her hand on his chest. "Fuck me." she orders, a yelp escaping as she throws her head back as he moves his feet to pump up into her. "That's it." a drawn out, low moan as she hangs her head. As they did in business, they do in bed as they work together so well. Her nails grip into him but he barely notices, his brow low and focused, trying to not come too soon and also give her anything she wanted. He watches her move, entranced as her hair stuck to her face with sweat, tits bouncing and ass pounding away at his hips. He'd needed this so fucking bad, she knew what she was doing, she was fun, it felt easy and this was what he needed. She chants "Fuck. Yes, Eddie." moving from growls to high pitched squeaks. Her eyes open, they swing down to meet his. Out of her open panting mouth, she says so helplessly, "Don't stop. So close." a sharp intake of breath and her hips stutter. He focuses, forcing his hand between their bodies, his thumb pushing between her lips, watching her face fight against the pleasure. "Make me come, baby. Yes, make me." her voice almost sound like a plea and he moans, feeling her start to shake. He hadn't felt so powerful in so long time. With a few swipes of his thumb and thrusts of his hips, she fell to pieces on top of him. A building moan with every breath, her hips stutter, trying to keep going but soon the convulsions took her body over. With loud, feminine gasps, she rolls her head back forward from its position of shouting towards the ceiling. He watches her eyes focus again before she dives down on him, the hungriest kisses of the night so far between them. Needy moans and groans as he met her with equal fervor. Although her hips have slowed they have not stopped, still riding him with the intention to end him. She moves to his neck, sucking and licking and kissing up into his ear and back to his shoulder, he lays back and enjoys it. With the pressure off now to perform gone, he lets everything come as it pleases. "You wanna come now, baby?" she whispers between licks to the shell of his ear.

He nods, "Mmmph, please." he grits out, his hips not working as hard as they had.

"Then come for me." she purrs, a hand tugging his hair, hips moving faster again.

"In...Inside?" he manages to ask.

"Yeah, I've got an IUD don't worry about it." she says in a more more controlled way than he was capable of at the moment. "You can fill this pussy up if you want to, Eddie." she coos, back to her low sexual tone that he was finding he was already conditioned to respond to.

"Fuck, Candy." he moans, a high pitched gasp coming after.

"I came all over that cock now you come for this tight little pussy, yeah?" his head falls back, eyes shut and lolling about behind their lids. He was going to follow whatever that mouth told him to do. And as if he could forget, the mention of the word tight makes him focus on how she felt, how wet, how warm and soft she was. Not just between her legs, her chest bounced against his chest, thighs and ass still bobbing as he grips her hips again, letting himself get overwhelmed.

"Shit, baby, gonna come." he whines, teeth gritting together, eyes screwed shut as he lets out a loud grunt that fills her with pride for her work.

"That's it." she whispers, her hips still working away at him, his hip pulsing as he gave over to it with grunts and wanton moans. He was very vocal, possibly the most vocal man she'd been with and not that he was exceptionally so, she just found his willingness to give in rather intoxicating. Once his eyes open again, she presses her lips against his softly and finds him wanting as he groans, one hand to the back of her head, the other moving from her hip to back. It was slow and indulgent and directionless and soft. She was charmed entirely.

Their lips pause and slow, soft breathy laughs as they part, looking at each other in the afterglow, both their heads much clearer. She shifts herself and winces. "Be right back." she says with one last peck before she rises and walks to the bathroom. He lays there, one arm behind his head after watching her naked form move across the room. They'd really done that, huh? He thinks, scratching his head, his hair down on his forehead, messy from her hands and sweat. He doesn't have much time to gather his thoughts as to what to do now as she reappears, washcloth in hand, reaching out to run it over his wet and now sticky bits as the air got to him.

He lets out a low groan that makes her smile and chuckle as she gently wipes him down before he can give any rejection to the action. She tosses the cloth into the hamper in the corner, he watches her throw her clothes in after, moving naked and confident about her apartment, he was fully enjoying the sight of her body and the acknowledgment of her confidence to walk around totally bare with someone seeing her in such a state for the first time. She puts his clothes across the back of her desk chair that was against the wall opposite the bed. "I like having everything put up before I go to sleep." she says with a half smile, tugging at the covers. He takes the hint, rolling and sitting up on the edge of the bed, not as confident as she was to stroll around naked, even in the dim light.

"I'm gonna..." he points in the direction of the bathroom. She nods in response, turning down the covers as she watches him walk to the bathroom with a smirk on her face. He reemerges, looking around to find the food put up, the whiskey closed and a glass of water and his phone by the bed on her nightstand, already plugged in. Man, she was thorough in every part of her life, wasn't she? He finds her on her side, comforter over her naked body, under her arms, her head resting on her hand. He reaches for his boxer briefs and tugs them on.

"Don't feel like you have to leave or anything. It's late, we drank, you can stay if you want." she says it casually with a shrug but she's more nervous about his response than she shows.

"I planned on stayin'." he says softly, moving towards the bed. "I just felt better with these on." he says with a shy smile, snapping the band of his underwear. She quietly sighs with relief, she wouldn't have been insulted exactly, but it was always nice to have the reassurance he wasn't appalled at what they'd just done. He lifts the covers, the sight verified she was in fact still naked. He notices bruises forming on her. "Oh shit, I didn't do that did I?" his face twists with worry, reaching out to run his fingertips across her hip where one of the spots were developing.

"No, I don't think so. These are from running from the cops I think." she chuckles, watching his lips pout.

"Good. I'd feel like an asshole if I did that." he admits, looking back up to her eyes, covering them both gently with the blanket.

"Man..." she sighs. "You really are sweet aren't you?" she smiles and he blushes.

"If me not wanting to leave bruises on you is the bar for sweetness for you for men I'd like to apologize on behalf of all of 'em." he says with humor in his voice as he settles back into the covers.

Ugh, how was a grown man so cute? She tries to make sure the oxytocin from the good sex doesn't cloud her brain too much. "Yeah...you're one of the good ones." she smiles, kissing his cheek.

He makes a groaned sound, not really works but it felt the equivalent of 'aw, shucks'.

"Night Eddie." she whispers, smiling down at him.

"Night Candy." he says softly, a yawn creeping up as she turned and laid on her stomach and settled into the soft bed. The sheet's smelled nice and fresh despite the dirty things that had gone down on them. They were cool and soft and he felt a welcome calm he hadn't in a long time. It'd be too much to reach out and touch her, he thought. But man did he miss having someone to cuddle up to as he fell asleep. Maybe next time he thought. Would there be a next time? He questioned. He wasn't sure what this meant. It was two friends sleeping together. Maybe it was was a fuck buddy situation. There weren't any romantic words spoken, just praise and lust beforehand. He feels sleep coming for him, another yawn as he turned to his side, facing her, looking over her soft features in the faint light before shutting his eyes for good. They were both wondering the same thing, both hoping it wasn't the last time they'd spend the night together like this.

Pt. 5 (NSFW)

@raceylacy @emerald-bijou @negansdirtygirl22 @brianaisasongbird @vale0413 @izzy-the-ginger@chortletortoise @onomatopoetic-aesthetic @anrm1 @jademox @nightcraver @venomous-possibiities

#Eddie brock #Venom #Tom hardy #Eddie brock x reader #eddie brock x ofc #eddie brock fan fiction #eddie brock fic #eddie brock fanfic #eddie brock fan fic #venom fan fiction #venom fic #venom fanfic #venom fan fic #venom smut #eddie brock smut #eddie brock x reader smut #writing #fan fiction

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agustdef · 5 years

Text

Here & Now - Chapter 12

Pairing: Yoongi x OC

Genre: Fluff; Chill romance

Word Count: 2,490

Warning: None.

Banner Marker: @dee-ehn

A/N: Posting this early because it’s my birthday and I wanted to. Another chapter will still be posted tomorrow because it’s the regular posting day (Wednesday).

That lovely urge to burn my manuscript was back and in full force. Everything I read felt like it was already a dumpster fire, so adding actual fire wasn’t a wild concept.

I only had myself to blame for the feeling though. I’d finished the first draft in record time and Ara, the awesome woman she was, allowed me to keep the initial timeline to churn out the book. So when I had so much time left over instead of handing it over, I thought I could rewrite it so it’s less disaster. Told myself I didn’t mind having to do it and then do it however many times Ara or my editor for the series decided.

There was no greater lie.

The first ten chapters were a breeze, nothing major I needed to fix and the words just flowed out of me; better than the first draft. However, work started to hit hard and then before I knew it I’d hit a block wall with it. My music and work on other things were going fine, but the will to touch the particular story dissipated.

I’d finally reached the sixteenth chapter after a week and a half on the struggle bus that was chapter fifteen. And by some miracle, it was all flowing again. For the first time in like a month, I’d been able to pump out a rewrite in a day. It felt like heaven.

So when someone came knocking on my door like they were the police in the midst of the last five hundred word stretch I wasn’t amused.

On the other side of my door was Hals, who pushed her way inside and immediately went to my laptop. She bent down and stared for a few seconds.

“Can I help you?” I asked.

“Hm…” Another few seconds of nothing and then she turned to me. “The boys got here yesterday.”

“I know that.”

We stared at each other for several seconds, as if waiting on the other to expound on our statements. I was so deep into the fictional world that I couldn’t possibly pick up what she was putting down.

“So… you were texted that this was their day off before things got hectic and you were summoned.”

“Am I a demon?”

She rolled her eyes, clearly fed up with me. “Sometimes, but that’s not the point. The point is that you are also off today, minus the writing which I can see is almost done. Meaning you’re coming with me, since you failed to answer or look at any texts from Yoongi, Joon or the group chat.”

“I have writing to…”

“We both know that it will take less than an hour to finish that and you planned to nap the rest of the day.”

I opened my mouth to interject but had nothing. “You not wrong.”

Hals smiled, grabbing her phone and taking a seat on my couch. “Then I’ll wait and then we’ll go. Oh… you’re driving.”

Sighing, I retook my seat and got back to work. There was little time for me to internally cuss her out as I slipped back into the moment. Making sure that my main character ended the chapter full or rage and holding a knife to someone’s throat was the priority.

Before I knew it my fingers finished typing and the chapter was done. The clock on my computer alerted me it had only been fifteen minutes, which was a rare occurrence with pumping out six hundred and twenty-three words. I was pleased regardless.

“Now go change,” she said without even looking my way.

“Why am I letting you order me around?” I asked as I shut down my laptop.

“Because it would be pointless to argue with me. You’d be wasting time when we both know you want to go, even though you don’t like that I just popped up and interrupted.” The way she smiled so sweetly after made me want to throw a pillow at her.

I ended up just flipping her off and heading to my room to get dressed. With the lack of need to impress anyone, I threw on a pair of ripped gray jeans, a lilac crop top that said ‘The sky is not the limit’ and one of my million dark gray sweaters. My hair was already in two braids, so after laying my edges I grabbed a beanie and reentered the living room.

Halsey was already at the door, holding up a pair of shoes for me. I brushed her aside, grabbed the galaxy Converse I had and slipped them on. I’d swiped my phone and bag on the way to the door.

“Also you’re driving,” I said, shoving the keys into her hand and exiting the apartment.

The entire drive their she grumbled about it. It was hilarious, even more so when we pulled up at the house the boys were staying at when she jumped out without a glance my way.

We walked to the door in silence and before she could even knock Namjoon was yanking it open. The big dork was smiling way too hard when he saw us and without a word pulled us inside. I almost ended up knocking into the small table in the foyer but was able to stop myself last minute.

“Damn dude.”

“Sorry,” he said bashfully.

Shaking my head I just proceeded to kick off my shoes and then follow the two of them deeper into the house. We entered the living room/kitchen/dining room area where there were already five people: Jin, Hoseok, Jimin, Jungkook, and Taehyung.

They were scattered on the couches and chairs, all watching some show on the TV. When Joon clapped they all turned our way, smiles immediately gracing their faces as they got up to greet her.

Nerves kicked in immediately. Meeting people was always awkward as hell for me and I tended to overthink, so meeting five new people was weird.

While hiding I hadn’t noticed Hoseok slink over to me, arms wide and smile bright as ever. “Why are you hiding?”

The smile that tugged on my lips was because his was so contagious. Though hesitant I stepped into the hug. “Hi, Hoseok.”

Though we’d never met in person I’d spoken to him many times. First, when Joon had come over and they’d video chat while we worked. More so when Yoongi and I started, they talked often as well and when he’d returned back rap line tended to speak to me as a group. We clicked well and just like any in-person bonding it solidified and friendship.

“They’re nice,” he stage whispered to me.

We pulled away and I laughed, then realized eyes were on me now. They were all still smiling, waiting patiently.

“Hi.” I gave the most awkward wave of my life.

“Say it with you chest,” Joon said.

Whipping around to look at him I gave what I assumed was a look that said, ‘what the actual fuck.’ The man lacked shame though and just pushed me closer to the half-circle.

Sighing I put on my best, genuine smile and made eye contact with all four boys. “Hi. I’m Kendall.”

Before I knew it all four moved forward and spoke at the same time, but stopped when they realized. After several more seconds, they stared at each other and then tried again.

“Hello, I’m Jin.”

“Nice to meet you, Kendall. I’m Jimin.” He did that cute smile of his and I almost gushed.

“I’m Taehyung. Hello.”

“I’m Jungkook,” he blurted out. “I mean hi, I’m Jungkook.”

In the corner of my eye, I could see Joon roll his eyes and Hals trying not to laugh. I myself wanted to laugh, but Jungkook looked a little embarrassed.

“It’s nice to meet all of you.”

Before I could say anything else there was a jab to my side that made me jump. Whipping around my finger was already raised and inches from Yoongi’s face.

“You need to stop doing that. You pretend it’s a light poke, but it’s like your trying to push that bony finger of yours in between my ribs.”

All he did was shrug and smirk. Then he pulled me into a hug I wanted to reject but didn’t. His hugs were always nice and we always lingered longer than normal, but when I remembered where we are I casually pull away.

Hals, being the awesome person she is, directs attention to her so there’s no weird silence afterward.

“Sorry, would have been here on time but she was writing and I know better than pulling her away without finishing,” she said.

“Writing? I thought you were on a break after finishing the draft?” Yoongi asked in Korean.

I froze. Part of me thought I’d told him, but then I remembered I’d chosen not to. He’d been lecturing on taking a break of some kind because of all the projects I had, and I’d pretended to consider that.

“I’m rewriting it,” I mumbled.

“What did she say?” I heard Jin ask Joon in Korean.

Joon just shook his head, taking a step closer to me. He was only a few inches taller so he didn’t completely tower over me, but it felt like he was; staring down at me menacing. Hell, the same feeling was created when Yoongi also stepped closer and we were just about the same height.

“She said she’s rewriting it,” Joon said.

In the background, I could see Hals watching intently with a smirk on her face. The jerk knew what was coming next for me, I was very sure that the entire situation was a set-up at that point.

“Thought you were going to take a break?” Yoongi stepped closer again and I tried to step back, but Hoseok just pushed me forward again.

I made a mental note to beat his ass at a later time.

“What I said was that I would try to. But then I breezed through those last chapters and thought a rewrite wouldn’t kill me.” I tried to play it cool. Tried.

His eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms as he moved closer; Joon doing the same.

“She also is exceeding her producing limit which is three projects at a time to five as of last week. Plus she’s still working on that anthology,” Hals added.

Whipping around I glared at her. She just continued to smirk at me, especially when the boys moved even closer leaving me no escape.

“Why do I tell your punk ass anything? Why?”

Joon tapped my shoulder to bring my attention back to them and while he looked more amused than before Yoongi did not. His brow was raised and he was making that face he made when he was genuinely upset.

I was ninety-five percent sure if I made the wrong move I’d be murdered.

“Wait. It’s not that bad. Yes, it’s a lot but I’m handling it. The projects are at varying stages, two of them almost done. The anthology is just editing and rewriting certain parts of it. And I just finished the sixteenth chapter of the rewrite, leaving me with eight chapters left.”

Even though I was appealing to both of them I focused on Yoongi. I’d even given my little mercy pleading in Korean, though that hadn’t been intentional.

If nothing else showed how close I was to them and how I genuinely cared allowing them to scold me about being a knucklehead did. For over a year Joon had already been like a brother figure, we’d clicked and he’d asserted himself that way. Yoongi had made it clear at the beginning of our friendship how he’d operate if I was doing something slightly stupid. Hell, even Hoseok had grown comfortable enough to call me out on my bullshit.

For a second I thought I saw Yoongi’s expression soften, Joon’s did, but I was proven wrong.

Yoongi huffed. “You overwork your brain too much. You need to rest.”

“I promise things clear up in like a month. My mom and Marcus talked me into making myself unavailable for a month. Most of my stuff will be done by then and I’m restricted from starting new things. Plus it gives me time to truly sit and think about contract stuff.”

For a moment we just stood there, but then he sighed and he shoulders dropped. “Fine.”

With that, I let out a sigh of relief and then was aware of those around us. Most of them wore a confused expression, while Joon and Hoseok were trying not to smile. Halsey was hiding behind Joon was I couldn’t see her.

“So, back to the movie?” Jungkook asked, breaking the silence.

Everyone nodded and headed towards the seating. They all gave me brief smiles as they went by, but Jimin had this weird little smirk on his face that I didn’t have time to decipher. Hals tried to run past me quickly, but I pinched her arm and flipped her off as she went.

When Joon went past he paused to throat chop me, which I failed to block. “Stop being hard-headed.”

Hoseok walked by and I immediately punched his arm, to which he dramatically gasped. But he knew what he did, so he went on his merry way. It left me and Yoongi who just stared for a moment and then inclined his head so I would follow. I ended up on a smaller couch between him and Hoseok.

The atmosphere was nice and I got to know the other guys a little better. From my point of view, they were cool and none of them seemed to hate me. I knew I’d been awkward to start, but as time went on it became more comfortable.

We went through a few movies and ordered food at some point because no one was in the mood to cook anything. Everyone tired for one reason or another. Before I knew it though, I was drifting off to sleep on the couch. My body falling to the side and onto Yoongi’s arm. I was aware of it, but sleep had its hooks deep in me and I couldn’t move.

In my half-sleep state, Yoongi had adjusted me so I leaned comfortably on him. And just as I almost went over my phone went off, startling me awake. Fumbling for a bit I pulled it out to see it was Marcus, meaning I should answer. Before I could the phone was taken and tossed to Joon.

“Handle that,” Yoongi said.

I went to protest, but Joon was already on the phone greeting him. The haze of sleep was already reclaiming me, so I could barely make out what they were saying. I tried to shake it off, but then I was pushed back down onto Yoongi’s shoulder.

“Go to sleep, Kendall,” Yoongi said.

It was that last thing I heard before my body finally gave in.

#min yoongi #yoongi #suga #min suga #original character #oc #sugaxoc #yoo #producer!oc #writer!oc #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #yoongi fanfic #suga fanfic #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction

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handstitchedcircuitboards · 7 years

Text

No Good Deed

Fareeha has a reputation to maintain, but she can't just let Jesse suffer through a cold on whatever MREs he had in his bunk. You know what they say about good deeds, though.

Cross posted from AO3

Given that Fareeha had spent a not insignificant amount of her childhood around special forces and black ops, you’d think she’d have learned a certain amount of stealth by diffusion.

You’d be wrong.

Fareeha is the type of woman who straps a jet engine to her back and then, because that’s not quite loud enough, fires high-explosive ordinance from low altitude. Fareeha is the type of woman who had her car outfitted with aftermarket kits to replicate the roar of the vintage internal combustion motors. Fareeha is the type of woman who got tossed in the campus pond for playing thrash metal during study hours in college.

Fareeha isn’t one for subtlety or sneaking around, in short. So, she’s out of her depth creeping around in any capacity, but especially loaded down with a tray and bowl of chicken noodle soup. It slops around and it’s hot and she needs to be quiet and watch where she’s going and she needs to do it all quickly. It’s a lot to keep up with. Flying the Raptora suit is leagues easier.

By virtue of luck and careful timing, she’d managed to actually make the soup without encountering anyone else. She’s only doing it because Angie had told her Jesse had been knocked on his ass by a cold. She hadn’t said it quite like that, of course, but if Jesse had been willingly in medical, that’s how bad it must have been. So, out of familial instinct Fareeha had made chicken noodle soup the way her mother had done for Jesse (and then her) years ago. (Jesse had looked like a wet, kicked dog the first time he got really sick after his recruitment, made worse by how skinny and scruffy and baby faced he was normally. Even Fareeha had felt bad for him, so it wasn’t any surprise Ana had taken it on herself to make him some familiar comfort food. Ana wasn’t much of a cook, however, so she’d opened a can and added handfuls of spices when she’d realized how bland it was, but she still sparked a tradition.) So, because Jesse is her brother in every way but blood, Fareeha is here doing the unthinkable: bringing him soup in his time of need.

She stands beside the kitchen door, listening intently. The coast appears clear. She steps around the door and hugs the wall. She’s barefoot, because her boots squeak on the metal floors and socks slide to much for the kind of stability she needs. The smell of the soup is pungent, and if nothing else, it’ll definitely clear Jesse’s sinuses. He’d better appreciate it.

Fareeha freezes in place when she thinks she hears voices. Oh, yeah, that’s voices. Shit. She looks around, trying to pinpoint where they’re coming from. It’s definitely Lucio and Hana. Hana is a hell of a pilot and Lucio is one of nature’s medics, not even delving into his musical talent, but they both practically shout all the time, even indoors, and they have the kinds of voices that just carry. Fareeha ducks into a door and leans against the wall, praying to that amorphous thing out there all soldiers beseech when trying to get away with something that they don’t notice her.

Fareeha doesn’t breathe as they approach, but she could swear her heartbeat is echoing off the walls. They’re laughing though, and that could drown out gunfire. Based on the bouncing shadows, she’d picked the right side of the door to hide in. Fareeha’s grip is steady but white knuckled on the tray as they pass her by. She doesn’t move until their voices fade into unintelligible echoes. Fareeha lets out the breath she’s holding. That was much closer than she wanted.

Just, oh, loads of cramped hallways between her and the barracks. She’s never wished she could scramble across the outsides of buildings like Genji more than she does in this moment. He’d have been able to ferry a bowl of soup from the kitchen to barracks in a couple of minutes without spilling any. He can certainly pull off a feat like that with an open drink, because Jesse had dared him to once, and Genji doesn’t turn down a dare. It had been impressive, even if Fareeha would never admit it to his face. Her brother’s best friend is insufferable enough.

There aren’t any more close calls after that, which is good, because there’s less in the way of convenient side passages near the barracks. At 1100 they’re essentially empty. Everyone should be off doing work, but, well, you never know. It’s not like Winston is a stickler about keeping everyone busy. Fareeha slinks past another door, just in case. Most of the paranoid fucks here will wake up if you breathe too hard three rooms down.

She approaches her target, a bunk door just like the others. She looks around one last time, but there’s no one. Fareeha punches in the code to Jesse’s door, the same one he’d used in Blackwatch because Jesse is a lot of things but good at passwords isn’t one of them, and it slides open.

She almost drops the tray on the floor.

Staring at her, wide eyed and pale, is Hanzo Shimada. He’s sitting propped up on pillows sideways in Jesse’s bed. Jesse is laying in his lap, bundled up in blankets. Hanzo’s hand is in Jesse’s hair. There’s an old movie playing on a tablet propped up on Jesse’s desk chair.

Hanzo opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again. Fareeha stares. Several thoughts vie for dominance. Grossgrossgross. Jesse can breathe better propped up good thinking. How many fucking times has Jesse watched that movie. Seriously he’s banging Genji’s brother that’s nasty.

Fuckfuckfuckhecaughtme.

“H’nzuh, why’d ya stop?” Jesse rasps. Hanzo resumes petting Jesse’s greasy hair while still staring at Fareeha, with—How does Jesse put it?—a deer-in-headlights expression. Fareeha is no better, gawking at them. There is no explanation for Hanzo being here, except he and Jesse have a thing. More importantly, however, there is no explanation for her being here with soup that isn’t her doing something nice for her brother. Imagine if anyone found out. Imagine if Genji found out. She’d never hear the end of it.

“’Reeha?” Jesse grumbles. “’S that soup?”

“The Amari special.”

“Han. Hey, Han, that’s what they call it when they upend the spice cabinet into somethin’.”

“I see,” Hanzo croaks.

“Quiet, sugar, or she’ll hear you. Yer worried ‘bout that, ‘member?”

“Can’t have that,” Fareeha says without thinking. Hanzo shoots her a black look, but it’s hard to take him seriously with a lap full of sniffling dork. (It’s hard to take him seriously, period, because he’s related to Genji and Genji willingly glows fucking neon. Fareeha vividly remembers the discussion on the merits of various shades of awful.)

And yeah, now she won’t be able to look at Hanzo without thinking about him banging her brother, and she never, ever wants to be thinking about her brother’s sex life. They’re even slated for the same op in two weeks, which, great. There goes that lovely professional tolerance they’d shared. Also really, what is Hanzo doing? He’s an obsessive, perfectionist freak and Jesse has spent more than one night sleeping in a dumpster, and only one time because Fareeha locked him in after he’d jumped in for Jesse Reasons.

Fareeha, stops, mentally regroups, and considers her options for meeting her objective. Jesse’s room is a disaster, like usual, because Jesse’s idea of housekeeping is moving to a new safe house with only a backpack full of things he actually likes. Fear of Reyes was pretty much the only reason he’d ever seen the inside of his own closet back in the day. Fareeha shoves all the detritus on Jesse’s desk to the floor and sets the tray there. It’s what Jesse would have done. She turns to Hanzo.

“I wasn’t here.”

“Neither was I.”

“I ain’t seen shit,” Jesse adds, helpfully. Then he sneezes.

Fareeha nods. That’s settled then. She stands up a little straighter, hoping to convey my brother’s a dick, but you better watch yourself because I’ll fucking launch you into orbit if he ever asks with her posture alone, and then she beats a hasty retreat.

#mchanzo #background pharmercy #jesse mccree #hanzo shimada #fareeha amari #humor #justice siblings #overwatch #fic

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themurphyzone · 8 years

Text

Spend the Day with Someone You Love Ch 3

Storm in the Room killed me internally. I’m just gonna go binge eat chocolate now...

Ch 3- Diogee-ogee Doo, Where are You?

“We can cover more ground on foot than we can in Sara’s car,” Melissa said. “I doubt Sara wants to risk her tires with all these potholes.” She threw the stick she’d been using as a pointer away. A dry erase board depicted several ideas of how they could locate Diogee, ranging from luring him with food to Sara dressing up as a monster and chasing the others until Diogee arrived to rescue them.

“I don’t mind risking tires for a family member,” Sara responded. “I do like your idea though.”

“Really? I always thought the group splitting up was a bad idea. Sometimes television can teach you things that can be used in the real world,” Zack objected.

“Nah, that’s only a bad idea if you’re in a horror movie,” Milo said.

“It’s settled then!” Melissa declared. “Milo and I will follow those potholes. I have the impression they aren’t natural. Zack and Sara, I want you to search in the opposite direction. Let’s find Diogee, people!” Everyone cheered.

“Before we go, we need safety precautions!” Sara exclaimed, opening the trunk of her car. “Milo, do you have everything?”

Milo opened his backpack to check. “I still haven’t replaced my anchor. I lost it on Career Day.”

“Shoot. I don’t have an anchor in here, but I do have velvet rope and bungee cords. Can you make do with those?”

“Sure! Thanks!” Milo stuffed the items in his backpack, closing it tightly.

“I’m all right, I made sure to bring bottled water,” Melissa said.

“Zack and I probably won’t need as much material since we’ll be out of Milo’s range. Which is good, because we have more room for these!” Sara stuck a stopwatch hat on Zack’s head, then put on a jacket resembling Dr. Zone’s outfit.

“Is this necessary?” Zack pulled at the fabric of his hat, blushing. “I look completely ridiculous.”

“Nonsense! We might as well have fun while performing a task of the utmost importance!” Sara declared. “Time’s a-wasting!” She enthusiastically dragged a reluctant Zack down the street. “Text us if you find Diogee!” Sara shouted before disappearing behind a bush.

After they left, Milo and Melissa followed the trail of potholes. Milo scratched his arm nervously. “Hey, Melissa. Do you think these holes will really lead us to Diogee? I don’t want anything to happen to him.”

“Worth a shot,” Melissa smiled. “Diogee’s always trying to protect you from danger, if he perceived whatever made these holes as a threat, then he would’ve chased it as far from you as possible.”

The trail led out of the neighborhood, towards downtown Swamp City. Milo and Melissa were about to cross the street when someone shoved a stop sign into Milo’s face. “Stop!” he shouted, holding up a stop sign. “Murphy, street’s closed. I saw a robot rampaging through here, and it is my job as safety czar to protect the innocent denizens of this fair city.”

“Oh, hey Elliot!!” Milo said. “A robot, huh? Cool! But seriously, we need to search this area. My dog is missing.”

“You and your girlfriend aren’t getting through here. I’ll look for your dog though if you promise to not move a muscle through,” Elliot shrugged.

“Melissa’s not my-” Milo never finished his sentence because Melissa gently shoved him out of the way.

“Oh darn, well that’s too bad,” she said in resignation. “I really wanted this to be the best Valentine’s date ever, but now we can’t look for Diogee in this area and share a chocolate sundae at the mall. Shame. They’re half-price too.” As she spoke, Melissa tilted her head towards Elliot. Her eyes drooped sadly, blue irises perfectly round. A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Elliot tugged at his collar, sweating even though it was February and not hot at all. “I...y-you can’t-” he stammered. After several tense minutes, he finally caved. “All right, all right! You can go through! And don’t destroy anything! Got that, Milo?” Elliot snapped.

“I make no promises!” Milo saluted a seething Elliot.

Melissa instantly perked up, smirking happily. “Cool, thanks Elliot! Though I must ask, why exactly are you working when it’s not a school day?”

Elliot laughed nervously. “Funny story, actually. My sister’s visiting from out of town and for some reason she brought all twenty-four of her cats with her...long story short, I’m allergic so I grabbed all my crossing guard gear and high-tailed it outta there-” his face turned red as realization hit. “Hey, you tricked me!”

“Doe eyes,” Melissa said, confidently leaning on a nearby mailbox. “You have to admit, I am a pretty good actress. By the way, you might want to duck.”

Milo and Melissa quickly put on safety helmets and visors, hiding behind an umbrella just as several pipes fell from a construction site onto Elliot’s head. He sunk to his knees, rubbing his head in pain. “This is all your-gah!” he shrieked as a duck approached him, then bit his leg. “Get off!” He tried to dislodge the duck, but it held on tightly.

“Now that he’s occupied, let’s move!” Melissa and Milo ran, keeping an eye out for falling debris as they searched for Diogee. As they were passing by an alley, Melissa stopped. “Milo, I think I hear barking,” Melissa said. “Diogee?”

“Is that him?” Milo asked, taking a few steps into the alley. The barking continued for only a few more seconds, then abruptly switched to growling menacingly.

“I’m starting to think otherwise,” Melissa grabbed Milo’s arm and quickly backed up. A large brown dog emerged from the shadows, slinking and growling at them. “We need a diversionary tactic,” she said anxiously.

“I was planning to feed this beef jerky to Diogee once we found him, but now’s probably a good time to use it,” Milo said, holding up a pack of beef jerky. “Here, boy! Or girl!” Milo tossed the pack. It bounced off the wall of the alley, then landed on a dumpster lid, and a flock of hungry crows descended upon the food in a frenzy.

“Next time we need to throw something to save our skins, let me do it. For now, run!” Melissa and Milo took off, the dog snapping at their heels. They disregarded traffic completely, dodging and weaving around cars as they tried to get away. Drivers honked and swore angrily at them and the dog, pedestrians gathering to watch the spectacle.

Milo pointed to a fire escape on an office building. “Up there! Come on!” he grabbed the ladder and climbed to the top quickly, pulling Melissa onto the landing beside him. Below, the dog growled and attempted to climb up too, but couldn’t make it past the first two steps.

“Elevator?” Milo asked.

“Stairs. Much safer,” Melissa replied.

They checked the window before heading outside. Thankfully, there was no sign of their pursuer. Milo sighed, barely noticing the door snagging a strap on his backpack. “We’re still not any closer to finding Diogee.”

“Don’t you give up on me,” Melissa jabbed a finger into Milo’s chest. “This is not the Milo Danger Murphy I know and- shoot, where was I going with this?” Melissa scratched her head in confusion.

“Thanks, Melissa,” Milo smiled.

“What? Oh, no prob,” she grinned. “We should backtrack. Maybe Diogee’s finding his way home as we speak. I just hope we don’t run into Elliot on the way back.”

“We will!” Milo said, walking forward only to suddenly snap back towards the entrance. Milo untangled the backpack, running his finger along the strap to make sure there was no damage.

“Wishful thinking.” Melissa paused, listening intently. “Do you hear something?”

“The man lecturing a giant robot over there?” Milo pointed, and a man in an ascot and green overcoat panicked.

“Our position’s compromised! Abort mission!” he yelled in a British accent, a giant robot and a man in a tracksuit fleeing in different directions. As the giant robot fled, its circular feet left cracks in the pavement.

“Guess we know who’s been leaving the potholes,” Milo commented. “I was not expecting a robot with pistachio arm cannons though-”

“As peculiar as that was, I meant that crumbling noise,” Melissa said, stunned.

A hole across the street caved in, swallowing two cars. Then it began to widen and spread, quickly making its way towards Milo and Melissa. Before they could make a break for it, the ground under Milo collapsed. Milo held onto the edge, gravel hitting his face as it slid down. Melissa grabbed Milo’s hands and pulled, but was swept in the hole as well. They tumbled to the bottom of the pit, Melissa landing on top of Milo.

At least they weren’t being buried alive.

She stood up, dusting off her skirt.”Any injuries?” she asked.

“No, I’m all right,” Milo said, digging around in his backpack. He found the velvet rope and bungee cords. “I don’t see anything for these to latch onto,” he said.

“I’ll text Sara and Zack,” Melissa typed out a message and tried to send it, but it failed. “That’s odd, it’s not working. Something’s jamming the signal. I don’t think I can contact Dad either and ask him to send someone to get us out of here.”

“We need a messenger. Hey!” Milo waved his arms, calling for someone outside the pit to come and save them. “Can anyone hear me? Hello?”

Curious passersby came to investigate, but every time they tried to call for help on their phones, they had the the same issues as Melissa. Milo attempted to toss the makeshift rope to them, the rope unable to reach the edge since it was far too short. None of them had the equipment necessary to pull them out.

“It’s no good. We need Zack and Sara,” Melissa stopped him before he could tire himself out. “Or-”

“Arf!”

Milo knew that bark. Could it be? “Diogee!” he shouted happily. A small dog nosed his way through the crowd, tail wagging. “Diogee, go find Sara and Zack! Bring them here!” he ordered. Diogee took off immediately.

“I got cards,” Melissa offered, holding out a pack. “Might as well pass the time.”

Sara groaned. “We’re no closer to finding Diogee! I’m giving that pup a piece of my mind when we find him!” She looked through her binoculars, scanning rooftops, squirrel holes, and backyards. There was nothing of interest except for an elderly Mr. Goldman yelling at troublesome kids to get off his property.

Zack sighed. “I knew we should’ve stayed together. Bad things always happen when the group splits up.”

“I’ve got it!” Sara exclaimed. “We’ll stop searching!”

“Why?” Zack almost did a double-take. Was she insane?

“Duh! It’s a flawless plan! In Episode 117, Dr. Zone employs reverse psychology against the Okaponian herd so he could gain valuable information about the Temporal Arch!” Sara grabbed Zack’s shoulders. “Don’t you see? We do the exact opposite of what we set out to do, and the opposite of the exact opposite will happen!”

“I get it now,” Zack said, breaking out of Sara’s unusually strong grip. “Do nothing, and Diogee will just come to us.”

Sara made a noise that sounded like a cross between an eagle’s cry and crashing into a brick wall. Zack stared at her blankly. “That was ‘yes’ in the Aviku language,” she explained awkwardly.

“Ever consider getting a new obsession?”

“Maybe. There’s other science fiction titles I’ve been meaning to look at.”

“Arf!” a nearby bush shook, and Diogee popped out with a stick clutched in his mouth. He dropped it at Sara’s feet.

“I told you reverse psychology worked!” Sara stuck her tongue out at Zack, scooping Diogee up. “You need to stop running off like that, mister!” Diogee nudged her arm, whining. Sara frowned.“Is something wrong?”

Diogee broke the hug, gesturing with his nose to the other end of the street. “Hold on, I’ll text Milo to let him know we’re coming with Diogee.” He hit send, then frowned when a failed message popped up. “Never mind, let’s just go.”

Diogee led the way, barking at them to keep up. They passed by Elliot, who was too busy fending off a wild duck to notice them violating a dozen of his so-called safety regulations. He squeezed past a large crowd easily. Sara and Zack had to shove people out of the way so they could see him. They gasped at the sight of a large pit taking up a good portion of the street.

Milo and Melissa were playing cards in the center. Melissa waved at them, and Milo overturned the rock they were using as a table, praising Diogee’s actions. “Are you guys all right?” Sara called.

“We’re fine! No sprains, no dislocations surprisingly!” Milo shouted.

“That’s great!” Zack responded. “Do you need help getting out?”

“Zack, do you really think we want to be in here? We have materials from Sara’s car, but it can’t reach the top,” Melissa held out the velvet rope and bungee cords.

“That’s okay! I brought extra!” Sara tossed the end of a durable-looking rope to them. Melissa tied it onto the bungee cords and signaled she was ready to be pulled up.

Sara and Zack held the rope tightly, joined by several other people in the crowd. “Rock climbing lessons, don’t fail me now!” Melissa grunted. She grabbed the edge, smiling as she was helped to her feet. Sara tensed, praying for Murphy’s Law to stay away for a few precious seconds while they rescued Milo.

Sara, Zack, Melissa, and several other people pulled on the rope, giving Milo the momentum he needed to get to the top safely. Sara immediately hugged him, not caring about the clumps of dirt that clung to her shirt as she squished him. Diogee jumped into the middle of their embrace, licking their faces in relief. Milo giggled. “Good boy, Diogee. I promise I’ll find something extra special for you at the mall. But for now, you need to go home.”

Diogee gave Milo one last lick and scampered off.

“Mission number 1 accomplished!” Sara pumped her fist in the air.

“Time for the mall?” Melissa asked. “I really am craving a chocolate sundae at the food court.”

“So nobody’s going to acknowledge the giant pit in the middle of the street that needs to be cleaned up?” Zack wildly gestured to the hole.

“Oh, it’s fine. Most of the time cleanup takes care of itself,” Milo said.

“Takes care of itself? How? It’s not as if a neon pink laser is just going to fall out of the sky and magically clean everything up!” Zack took a few calming breaths.

Sara broke out the bronze shields. “Head’s up, everyone!” she called, a neon green laser beaming out of nowhere. Melissa and Zack took cover behind Sara and Milo. It reflected off their shields, striking the pit, which immediately vanished into thin air.

Once the danger passed, Melissa stopped the timer of her phone. “4.57 seconds. New record. Though I do have to dock three points for Zack on guessing the wrong color.”

“What just happened?” Zack asked, scratching his head in confusion.

“Does he not know?” Sara glanced at Milo and Melissa, who shrugged. “I’ll give you a crash course on the way to the mall about why you should never ask that question in these parts.”

End of Ch 3! Elliot’s mortal enemy is not Milo, it’s actually ducks.

I bet Sara is like one of those Harry Potter fans who always attribute real life events to stuff that happens in the books. Except she does it for Dr. Zone.

#spend the day with someone you love #milo murphy's law #sara murphy #melissa chase #diogee #zack underwood

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ellenlucasonlinedatingblog · 6 years

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Scarleteen Mix #3: We're Not Exactly Happy Right Now

In fact, like an awful lot of people, especially women, especially trans and nonbinary people, especially queer people, and especially survivor-people and survivor-advocating-people, we are furious; we are furies.

We are mad as hell.

Come rage with us on Apple Music or Spotify.

This third mix (you can find the first one here and the second one over here) is brought to you by myself and fellow Scarleteamsters Mo, Jacob, Sam, Alice, Al and Ruby.

What can we say? The world has been a raging dumpster fire, most certainly including all of the awful things the American government as led by the Trump administration and its various fellow bad guys have been doing, like continuing to personally profit from their positions to endlessly denying climate change at our great peril, to again picking up the horrifying colonial tradition of abducting people's -- and by that we mean mostly brown people's -- children and pretending like that isn't what they're doing (it is what they are doing, and it's more complex and also even much, much worse than it seems), just to name a few of the many big, bad things happening every single day in the country Scarleteen makes its home base.

And then, as if all that wasn't horrible and heartbreaking enough, there was the Kavanaugh nightmare. There was everything around it -- including all of the constant gaslighting we who are survivors had to keep listening to, much of it literally coming from the people in charge of this nation right now -- there was the hearing, and worst of all, because of course it was going to happen no matter what, the confirmation to a seat on the Supreme Court in spite of everyone knowing full well that Christine Blasey Ford, Deborah Ramirez, Julie Swetnick and others were telling the truth when they told us who Brett Kavanaugh was. Including because Brett Kavanaugh himself was showing us that same truth of who he was in his every response.

It's almost impossible to really give voice to the whole of our feelings and have them come out as anything but guttural screams. But s.e. smith wrote up a solid list of things we can do, and super-power with our sadness, our outrage, and our anger. Scarleteen supporter and all-around force of nature Deanna Zandt also came up with a way to give some wearable visibility to survivors and benefit Scarleteen in doing all we do to educate people about consent, to support survivors and to do all our other work here. So many people we admire have said and done so many things in the last few weeks, it would be impossible to chronicle them all, but one thing we think you probably shouldn't miss are the things Tarana Burke, founder of #metoo, had to say here, including this:

I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the rage because it’s a righteous rage. This is not people just angry to be angry. These are people who are hurt. One of the things I want to do at some point soon is to call for a healing. We rally around causes, and we protest and we march, but we don’t ever take time to just sit and focus on what we personally need. Some people need this in this moment.

Rebecca Traister had some things to say in the midst of all this awful that speak mighty well to some of the feelings we're trying to work out in this mix. She said:

If you are angry today, or if you have been angry for a while, and you’re wondering whether you’re allowed to be as angry as you feel, let me say: Yes. Yes, you are allowed. You are, in fact, compelled.

If you’ve been feeling a new rage at the flaws of this country, and if your anger is making you want to change your life in order to change the world, then I have something incredibly important to say: Don’t forget how this feels.

Tell a friend, write it down, explain it to your children now, so they will remember. And don’t let anyone persuade you it wasn’t right, or it was weird, or it was some quirky stage in your life when you went all political — remember that, honey, that year you went crazy? No. No. Don’t let it ever become that. Because people will try.

The future will come, we hope. If we survive this, if we make it better — even just a little bit better — the urgency will fade, perhaps the ire will subside, the relief may take you, briefly. And that’s good, that’s O.K.

But then the world will come and tell you that you shouldn’t get mad again, because you were kind of nuts and you never cooked dinner and you yelled at the TV and weren’t so pretty and life will be easier when you get fun again. And it will be awfully tempting to put away the pictures of yourself in your pussy hat, to stuff your protest signs in the attic, and to slink back, away from the raw bite of fury, to ease back into whatever new reality is made, and maybe you’ll still cry angry tears at your desk and laugh with sharp satisfaction in front of late-night television, but you won’t yell anymore.

What you’re angry about now — injustice — will still exist, even if you yourself are not experiencing it, or are tempted to stop thinking about how you experience it, and how you contribute to it. Others are still experiencing it, still mad; some of them are mad at you. Don’t forget them; don’t write off their anger. Stay mad for them, alongside them, let them lead you in anger.

This is a mix we made you for you to shout back to the world with when it has the audacity to tell you not to get mad again or stay mad. (There's a lot of swearing in it, because no shit there is.)

Smells Like Teen Spirit: Patti Smith

Bad Reputation: Joan Jett

Bad Girls: M.I.A.

Be Afraid Boy: The Foxies

Shit List: L7

Bitch Better Have My Money: Rihanna

Before He Cheats: Carrie Underwood

U + Ur Hand: P!nk

Hard out Here: Lily Allen

Men Explain Things to Me : Tacocat

No Respect: Destroy Boys

Screwed (feat. Zoë Kravitz): Janelle Monáe

Sit Still, Look Pretty: Daya

Not a Pretty Girl: Ani Difranco

Seashore: The Regrettes

B.M.F.A. : Martha Wainwright

Drunk Walk Home: Mitski

Gutless: Hole

We're Desperate: X

Outta Me Onto You: Ani Difranco

Come Through: The Regrettes

Not Ready To Make Nice: Dixie Chicks

La Bruja: Lila Downs

Little Earthquakes: Tori Amos

Scarleteen Mix

mixtapes

Kavanaugh

rage

anger

angry

feelings

injustice

survivors

sadness

united states

Trump administration

music

community

women

trans

nonbinary

queer

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the-wicked-beasts-that-roam-blog · 7 years

Text

Chapter 1

Bitter whiskey and old piss ripped the breath from Aidyn’s lungs. Loud music vibrated the walls and wooden floor of the bar called Pig’s as he pushed past bigger men than him—some measuring well past his 6’3. Glancing into the dark crooks and crannies of the small biker bar, he rubbed his chin with his forefinger and thumb.

Where the hell was he?

Usually, he could spot his brother from a mile away. You couldn’t miss the huge son of a bitch.

He paused, leaning against a wooden pillar, turquoise eyes shooting toward the men around the pool table. That was where he had expected his brother to be—drinking a pint and putting money on the table against the old bikers decked in leather. But … he wasn’t there.

After another long second, he pushed off the pillar and headed towards the back door, the night breeze hitting him as the screen door slammed shut. Another intake of breath had his chest rising with a giant sigh.

Yet again, no sign of him. His boot tapped the rotted planks of the porch as his eyes scanned the wheat field.

Bad things happened when his brother disappeared. Death. Havoc. Things of the like, usually ending with a body to burn and evidence to bury.

A strange popping noise from behind the dumpster had him stepping off the makeshift porch. It was a squishy, wet sound. And the closer he got, the louder it became. At first, he thought it was a couple getting freaky. He almost turned around—even twisting on his heel—but as he did, a tangy, coppery, distinct smell hit his nose. He pulled a one-eighty and shuffled around the corner. On the clay ground, his brother’s huge fists continued to bash in a blond body builder’s face.

The man was dead. Aidyn was sure of it. If he wasn’t, then he wouldn’t live much longer with his brains smeared across the gravel. Blood dripped from his brother’s face, soaked his hands as his fists continued to strike the crushed skull.

“Goddammit,” he muttered, reaching for his enraged brother, and gripping him by the arms. “Enough, Dom. Enough.”

Reluctant as hell, Dom let off and pushed up from the ground, stumbling a bit. Still drunken with rage, drops of blood stained Dom’s carved face, and his ebony eyes glowed with hellfire.

“Jesus Christ, his brains are everywhere.” Aidyn stared down at the sludge smeared in the dirt and gravel.

“Good.” His brother spit on the body, and then he peeled the t-shirt off his back and wiped his face.

“The hell did he do—cheat you out of money?”

Dom shook his head. “Don’t worry about what he did.”

“We gotta get out of here before his buddies come looking for him.” Aidyn grabbed the man’s limp arms and winced as more pink sludge oozed from his skull. “Get his legs.”

“Leave him. I want these humans to find him.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

In response, Dom put a cigarette in his mouth and bent down, picking up a full bottle of Jim Beam that leaned against the dumpster. He poured the contents over the man, and lit a pack of matches, lighting his cigarette, and then tossed the fire onto the body.

And then Dom walked away as if it never happened.

Aidyn glanced once more at the burning body before following his brother down the dirt path and around the building. About halfway, Dom paused and Aidyn nearly collided with his back. His brother tilted his head, peering toward an opening between two shacks, and with the little bit of streetlight that shined through the crevice, a small shadow moved. Aidyn’s breath hitched, his heart dropping into the pit of his stomach. A blonde girl, who didn’t look any older than seven, kneeled in the dirt, staring up at his brother, with her cheeks covered in dirt and tears, her nose and mouth a bloody mess.

His brother stared back at her, and for the first time in a while, a speck of sadness crept into their abyss. And just as fast as the emotion slipped in, Dom was on the move again, stalking toward the black ’70 dodge challenger that set in the corner of the parking lot.

His brother’s blood-stained hands yanked open the driver door, and he chucked the shirt into the floorboard as he dropped into the seat. A woman’s cry rang out and with one last look over his shoulder, Aidyn hopped in the passenger side. Their other brother sat in the back, his half-empty whiskey bottle sitting between his legs.

“You look like you had fun,” Zeke muttered, green eyes red and swollen.

Dom didn’t look back as he shoved the key in the ignition, his patience seeming to have built up over the trip.

“Shut up, Zeke.” Aidyn watched Dom from the side, a frown on his lips.

“Go ahead. Take up for him like always.”

“She told me about you.” The middle-aged man nodded as he cleaned the knife, the ten-inch shine of the steel reflecting the broken sunlight that gleamed through the trees. “She told me.”

The chirping birds settled in the trees above her head, their whistling a comforting sound. Jade glanced up, her top lip folded under her bottom lip as she watched the cardinal perched on the branch. Her grandmother had told her cardinals meant someone was visiting from heaven.

“I never believed before, but I do—I do now. I know. She showed me.” He smiled, tears glistening his brown eyes.

His fingers itched at the salt and pepper scruff on his cheeks. He sharpened the knife a few more times, the clash of steel gritting together like the teeth of a lion.

At the edge of the brush, Jade stood, afraid to step past the tree line in fear that it would swallow her up. Her honey colored eyes stared past the trees and into the darkness.

“I wouldn’t stand that close if I were you. These woods are alive in more ways than one,” a raspy older woman’s voice spoke from behind her.

With a deep breath, Jade glanced over her shoulder. Passing between the magnolia trees, Len hobbled her way toward her, using a wooden cane for support. Her gray, brittle hair hung loosely in a low ponytail, and her flowery gown fluttered in the breeze.

“Don’t tell me you have werewolves living in your backyard?” Jade smirked at her.

The old woman stopped and looked at the trees. “They’d be the least of my worries.”

“You forget I ran through those before.”

“Just because you got out once, doesn’t mean you’ll get out again.”

“Twice.”

Len looked over to her. “Two is a lucky number.”

“My lucky number is three.”

The old woman broke a smile. “Smartass.” She turned to look at the small cottage nestled meters away. “Still traveling with the circus?”

“Yeah, and in about,” Jade pulled her phone out her pocket and clicked on the screen, “forty minutes you’ll see the main attraction: a twenty-four year old pissing her daisy dukes.”

“Hm. Already drunk at four in the afternoon?”

“Oh no, she’s been drunk since 10 a.m.”

Len shook her head and sighed. “She doesn’t waste time.”

“Well, she’s mad. She had some dude in Ohio she was crazy over.”

“Why didn’t she stay?”

“His wife wasn’t too keen on her living with them.”

The old woman’s eyes widened. “That’s a good reason.”

Jade stuffed her hands in her pockets and nodded toward the ’06 red charger sitting in the driveway. “She’s in the grief stage until another man sweeps her off her feet.”

“She’ll have a nice list of men to choose from in a few days.”

“Just what we need—her getting a new boy toy.”

“At least she’ll find a new vice.” As if on cue, the right back door to the charger swung open and a pale foot slid out followed behind a long slender leg.

After a severe case of struggling and slinking in a less than graceful manner out of the car, Erica finally tumbled out of the back seat and onto the ground in nothing but a pair of daisy dukes and a pink bikini top. The entire five-hour ride from Cincinnati she’d sipped on a bottle of cheap peach schnapps stolen from her ex’s house, and in a less than a second she managed to puke all of it up on the back tire of Jason’s car.

“So, these guys … are they bodyguards or something?” Jade asked, cutting her eyes away from her sister and turning her attention back to Len. “Jason hasn’t said much about where we’re going or who we’re staying with.”

“Figures.” Len began walking toward a wooden bench, motioning with a finger for her to follow. “They’re cousins of his—technically. He doesn’t like asking them for help, but he’s out of options if you ask me.”

Maintaining the slow pace of the woman, Jade’s gaze shot to where Len pointed past the car and toward the range of large dark green mountains looming in the east.

“The house is secluded, and that’s what you need right now. Not to mention, Jason—as much as he loves you—can’t protect you on his own. He doesn’t have the strength.” She plopped down on the bench. “Just be careful around the oldest brother. He’s got attitude problems a mile long.“

“I’m surprised I haven’t met them before.” Jason usually introduced her to everyone in his family.

A ghost of a smile settled on Len’s face. “You probably crossed paths once or twice.”

The door of the house slammed, and Jason stepped off the porch, blonde hair wet and black circles beneath his annoyed amber eyes. If he were taller than 5’8, he’d look menacing.

“No more hiding bottles in your damn bag.”

“It was an accident. Do you think I would’ve wasted perfectly good liquor on you?” Erica asked, resting her head against the car door as she sat on the grass with her legs stretched out and her hands palming her flushed cheeks. Sweat matted red locks of hair to her pale face, and she looked the definition of a hot mess.

Jason ducked his head in the driver window. “My seat’s still soaking wet.”

“Towels are hanging up on the clothesline and cleaner under the sink,” Len called to him.

With a frown, Jade sat on the bench and eyed the poor guy. His patience had to be running thin—if he had any left at all.

“He looks worn out.”

Jade nodded. “The driving around is wearing him down.”

“The worry is eating him up too.” Len looked over to her, pale blue eyes staring straight through her. “And what about you—how are you holding up?”

“I’m here.” And she guessed that counted for something.

“Why’s the car running so rough? Sounds like it’s about to die.” Aidyn chucked his cigarette-butt out the window.

“I think someone might be fucking with it.” And that someone had a talent for witchcraft fuckery.

Dom watched the smoke rise from the exhaust, silently counting all the ways to kill a witch.

The cheap florescent lights of the gas station flickered as Aidyn jumped out the car and walked inside, his entire body twitching from withdrawals. Dom shook his head, feeling a headache coming on at the base of his temple. T would be getting his ass fed to him tomorrow. He was supposed to be weaning his brother off, not feeding him more. Aidyn had snorted less cocaine before they left Tennessee.

He glanced up at the clouds hanging low and stuck his hand out the window. A few cool drops of rain hit his palm, and then the few drops turned into a downpour. He rolled up the window and leaned his head back against his seat, fighting to keep his eyes open. For just a moment, he gave in and let them close.

He saw Zeke in the woods like he had three years before, covered in blood as he sat naked on the ground, cradling the girl who lay deathly still in his arms. Except this time, his fingers twisted in long dark curls instead of blonde tresses.

Dom blinked, realizing it wasn’t Zeke sitting there holding that girl … but himself.

The car door opened, and his head snapped up.

“I got two packs this time, so if the alcoholic decides he wants to drink us under the table again, he won’t leave us empty-handed.” Aidyn threw the cases on the floor and paused outside the door. “I gotta piss before we get back on the road though.”

Slamming the door, he jogged across the street to the woods and disappeared into the brush.

“Had the dream again, didn’t you?” Zeke’s rough voice broke the silence. “Guilty conscious starting to eat away at you, huh?”

Dom rubbed his eyes, trying hard to erase a pair of honey eyes from his memory. But three years later, here he was, still reeling from the effects of that one shit week.

“I hope that memory stays with you forever.” He accepted his brother’s hate like a burden to bear.

With a glance in the rearview mirror, he caught his brother’s disheveled appearance—glassy red eyes, two weeks’ worth of beard growth, and greasy hair. The depressed bastard was one step from being a hobo. God forbid a woman ever make him sink that low.

The door opened yet again and Aidyn jumped inside, soaking wet and smelling like a dog.

“Never felt so good to piss.” He laughed as he got comfortable. “You know when you wait to pee and your gut starts to hurt from holding it for so long? Yeah, totally just had that experience.” Aidyn then looked over, and his face changed as he realized Dom wasn’t laughing. “What’s a matter with you?”

Dom frowned, wishing he had the power to fade into thin air. He lived with these people. These idiots. They invaded his space like Martians, and stayed and thrived and threw up everywhere as if it were a common territorial marking.

He turned the key in the ignition and the car gave a pitiful knocking sound. He closed his eyes, swearing that if anyone ever touched his car again, he’d remove their bowels through their throat. He turned the key once again and the car came to life. He revved it, drowning out his brothers’ voices with the roar of the engine and backed out. Staring at the long road ahead, he couldn’t wait to be home and imagined himself barricaded in his room with nothing but liquor, a pack of Oreos, and a carton of cigarettes for company.

“So, you like it?” Jason asked.

Jade blinked, pulling her headphones out of her ears. “Huh?”

“The house?”

She looked over at it, barely taking it in before looking back to him. His amber eyes pleaded with her to say yes, but damn if she didn’t have the biggest urge to say no, just to see if it would matter.

In the last three years, she had lived in twenty different places. Twenty different towns. With twenty different people. She didn’t care if she liked it or not—she’d be leaving it soon anyway.

But for Jason’s sake, she nodded.

He smiled, raking his fingers through his dirty blond hair and nodding as if he’d done right by some degree. She glanced at the house and guessed he’d done better than the others. A finger-eating unicorn wasn’t trotting across the lawn, nor was a komodo dragon being used as a guard dog.

There was a catch though. There was always a catch.

A four-car garage connected to the side of the gothic-styled house made of gray stone. Gargoyles guarded the giant front porch and the lonely balcony on the top floor. Maybe Dracula was their landlord? The high king of bloodsuckers probably waited inside for a fresh, juicy throat to chomp on.

It could be no worse than Lola’s place. The bearded lady used to make her walk her talking pet gorilla to the beach daily. His name was Ralph. He smoked cigars, painted watercolors, slept in a hammock, and wrote sensuous poetry about butterflies.

A true artist at heart indeed, aside from the fact that he liked taking craps on sandcastles.

“Any dead bodies in there I should know about?” She picked her backpack off the floorboard.

Jason grinned. “Not this time.”

“You sure?”

At his aunt’s house, they had walked in and interrupted a séance one evening. The poor woman had been hell-bent on bringing her dead boyfriend back to life. Problem was: he’d been dead for a week and his body was starting to rot.

“That was one time. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

She shrugged. “If you say so.”

She stepped out the car, slinging her bag over her shoulder. When her sister didn’t move, she poked her head inside the vehicle. Erica lay spread-eagle with a night mask covering her eyes. There was no way she’d be waking up that woman. It wasn’t worth the risk of having her face mauled by a hyena. Jade shut the door and received a dead look from Jason.

“You wake her up. It’s not my job to wrestle a bear.” She tapped the roof of the car. “Pop the trunk.”

She headed to the rear of the Charger and the trunk sprung open. A suitcase fell out, and another one threatened to topple over. Jade shook her head as she threw her sisters suitcases to the ground, not caring if she broke the cheap crap inside them, and rummaged through the trunk until she came across her black suitcase and two green duffel bags that lay crushed at the bottom of the pile. Jason came to her side, holding a hand out to help.

“I’m good. Cinderella’s gonna need you to carry hers, though.”

He grimaced. “One of these days I’m going to drop her off on the side of the highway.”

“I’ll help you push her out.” She maneuvered her bags in one hand and dragged the suitcase in the other.

She wasn’t as adventurous as her sister. In fact, she could live a whole lifetime without any adrenaline rushes. She’d had plenty in her twenty-three years, and she was done with them.

And she swore if she had one more ankle sprain from a failed attempt on her life, she’d beat the living hell out of that conniving old witch with her bare hands.

Jason held open the oak door of the house, and she wobbled into the main hall, surveying the cherry-wood walls and the white marble floors. A barroom was to the left, along with a wide staircase, and a living room was to the right. Not bad, not bad. Had character, she supposed. Her almond gaze traveled back to the stairs, and she took a deep breath and shuffled her way toward them.

“What room?” she asked.

“Just pick one,” Jason said with a shrug as he disappeared into the barroom.

He’d been drinking more lately. She wondered if she needed to start drinking too since she was the only one left sober amid all the chaos.

Jade climbed the stairs, praying for someone to shoot her as she conquered them one step at a time, determined to get to the third floor. She veered to the right and paused in her tracks. Black iron lamps hung on the mahogany walls of the corridor. Shrugging, she walked the hall, eyeing each of the four doors, until she zeroed in on the last two.

A pie slice of light streamed from the last door on the right, and she nudged it with her elbow. With a slow creak, it opened, exposing a room void of color and personality. She dropped her things carelessly on the floor of the hall and stepped inside.

Two French doors led out to the balcony. And honestly, she would have picked the room for the balcony alone.

She was ready to get her things and drop them on the bed. Until her eyes landed on the closet. A lone jacket and a pair of black boots set on the floor. And that’s when she also noticed the bed had been laid in—the gray duvet crinkled and nearly falling off the mattress.

“You would go in the one room you can’t have.”

She looked over her shoulder. Jason leaned on the frame of the door, his gaze scanning over the empty, cold room.

Disappointment set in as she sighed. “Sorry, I couldn’t tell anyone was living in here.”

He gave a nod. “The one across the hall’s open. Promise it’s a lot better than this one.”

Jason picked up her bags, and she followed as he went into the other room. Sunlight spewed in from a large wall-sized window adorned in red drapes. Her eyes slid to the dark walls of wood, and then to the fireplace across from the bed. The room spoke to the inner part of her that leveled with Wednesday Adams, and called to all those little dark spots in her heart.

She put her things on the trunk at the foot of the black four-poster bed and glanced around, noticing the cobwebs that hung low in the corners and the spiders dangling from the ceiling. Her eyes swept over the claw tub by the window and the broken black iron chandelier swaying in the middle of the room.

“It needs a little work, but I think it fits you,” Jason said, wiping a finger along a dusty white writer’s desk in the corner.

“Where is he? He was supposed to be here three hours ago,” a woman’s shrill voice called from inside the room.

Leaning his shoulder on the wall outside the office, Lu glanced around the living room, noting Marcy had an expensive taste. A red chaise lounge set in front of the marble fireplace, along with a bear rug. Paintings covered the white walls, and a black grand piano stood in the corner next to the patio leading out to the inground pool.

He heard a young man mumble something incoherent.

“Give it here, you incompetent oaf.”

With a deep breath, Lu stepped from behind the wall and stood just outside the doorway.

“Always gotta do everything around here,” Marcy muttered under her breath as she signed her signature.

A deep chuckle left Lu’s chest. In an instant, Marcy’s gaze flicked from the paper to him.

An evil grin curled her chapped lips. “Well, you sure took your time.” She turned to the frazzled brown-haired boy and handed him the papers. “Leave.”

As the young man scurried from the room, Lu stepped in. “I’m not one to rush.”

For a second, he paused, realizing the tip of her usually pointy nose was missing. Along with her two pinky fingers. And it looked as if she’d caught a case of leprosy—bumps lining her chin and dead skin hanging from her forehead. Not to mention, the balding taking place on her scalp. Her blonde hair hung in thin clumps, and he had the urge to name her “Patches.”

Blinking off the shock, he strutted into her office, looking around with a holier-than-thou disposition. He was certain his arrogance pissed her off more than anything. Marcy glared but kept her smile.

“So, why’d you call?”

“I need your help with someone.”

Lu fiddled with the gnome ornaments on her desk. “Who?”

“A girl I can’t seem to catch.”

His eyes flicked to hers. “Gone soft, have you?” Her smile faded into gritting teeth. “What’s in it for me?”

“Did you seriously just ask that?” She cut her blue eyes and rubbed her forehead. “What do you think’s in it for you? A soul to add to your list.”

And he never said no to a free soul.

As her words sank in, he scowled, his eyes cold and calculating. “What do you have in mind?”

“You just do whatever you feel is necessary at the time. Knock her out, or do your little voodoo wonders on her. Hell, it doesn’t even have to be that creative, just as long as she gets back to me alive.”

“Body’s rotting that bad, huh?”

“What do you think?”

He paced in front of her desk. “So, who’s the girl?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, but she’s got the ingredient I need to finish my spell.”

He cocked a brow. “You don’t even know her name?”

“Do I look like a fucking detective, Lu? I know the elf’s name, and for me, that’s enough. I just wanna have her heart on a silver platter in front of me. I’m hungry, and literally falling apart.”

“And how do you expect me to find her?”

“You’re Satan, Prince of Darkness, King of the Underworld, do your voodoo and figure out where she is.”

“Exactly. I’m Satan, not God. Unless she’s made a deal with one of my minions, then I don’t know her off the top of my head, sweetness.” He played with his unruly black hair in the mirror on her wall. “I need something of hers to get an idea of where she is.”

Marcy sucked her teeth, her fingernails tapping the arms of her chair. “Really?”

The witch sighed loudly, leaned forward, and opened the bottom drawer of her desk. She dug around for a minute before sitting up straight and slamming down a single piece of paper in front him.

Lucifer lifted the vanilla paper, eyeing the sketch as an uncontrollable hatred stirred within him, his hands trembling with rage. Heat crawled up the collar of his white button-down shirt, along his neck and to his face.

“That good enough, Prince?”

His eyes turned into slits as he switched his fiery gaze to Marcy. “Where did you get this?”

In an instant, the witch’s face paled as if he’d stabbed her with his words.

“One of my men found it in a hotel room she stayed in.”

He breathed deep, closed his eyes, and a thousand memories flooded him, ones that weren’t his own. A tiny cottage, the dark woods, and a coarse river running between mountains—it all flashed to him in a matter of seconds.

But that’s not what piqued his interest or told him exactly where the girl was. It was the hazy outline of a man shrouded in darkness. He couldn’t see his face, but the power pouring off him in the memory alone told Lu exactly who he was.

“Well, hello,” Lu muttered as a wolfish grin spread across his face.

Marcy perked up like a girl scout. “You found her?”

He glared down at the sketch. “I found a lot more than just her.”

#The Wicked Beasts That Roam #Story #Writing #Romance #Fantasy #Supernatural #Reading

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