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courtofjurdan · 4 years

Text

One Chance part 15

Jurdan College AU - previous chapter

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A/N: I wrote this three times and I think I still hate it. I hope you guys enjoy it and I promise the next one will be better.

Cardan saw her black out and fall over. He tried his hardest to get to her before she fell, but he was too far away. She fell on her side. Cardan was worried for her and the baby because Jude did have a hard impact with the ground and the side of her stomach took a lot of the blow.

He turned her over to lie on her back. He took her face in his hands.

“Jude, baby, wake up, please.” Cardan paused to think. He needs to call an ambulance. He pulls out his phone and dials 911.

“This is 911, what’s your emergency?”

Panting, Cardan replied, “My-” small pause then decided he could think of this later. “My girlfriend just fainted. She’s kinda sweaty and hot to the touch. And she’s 16 weeks pregnant.”

“Where are you at?”

“Elfhame University.”

“And did you say pregnant?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Okay. By any chance can you see any blood between her legs?”

Cardan looked at her leggings and saw no stains. “No there’s none.”

“Okay that’s a good sign. Put your hand on her stomach. Can you feel any small movements? You might not since she’s not too far along.”

Cardan did as told and he couldn’t even feel the slightest movement, which started to worry him despite what he’s been told. “No, I don’t feel anything.”

“Okay. That’s okay. The ambulance is on their way. If someone nearby can get a cold rag to put on her forehead that might help her wake up faster.”

“Okay.” Cardan looked over his shoulder to find some kids and the professor from their last class standing there. He asked the professor to get what he needed and he did. Cardan placed the rag on her forehead. Cardan thanked the operator and waited for the ambulance.

Jude was sliding in and out of consciousness. Never enough to speak but her eyes would move and then she would go back under.

Cardan kept one hand on her face and the other hand rubbing gentle circles on her bump. Reassuring her she was going to be okay.

In ten minutes the paramedics were there and loading her into the ambulance. Cardan followed them in his black mustang. Getting there at the same time she did. He parked and went back into the room with her. Because of their relationship and the fact that she was caring his baby, they let him stay with her.

She was still out when they got her to the hospital. They started to hook her to a whole bunch of monitors. They put these sticky pads in her chest to monitor her heart rate. They started putting this monitor around her stomach to monitor the baby’s heart rate. They started an IV and gave her fluids.

Cardan held her hand through all of it. Even though she had no idea. He sat in the chair beside her bed the whole time. They told him everything looked fine. Her’s and the baby’s heart rate were great. Her body just needs rest, she’ll wake up on her own time. Cardan let the sound of his baby momma and baby’s heartbeat lull him to sleep.

——-

Cardan awoke to his hand being moved. That means Jude is starting to wake. He opened his eyes and quickly stood onto his feet. Jude was just waking up. He cupped her face into his hand.

“Hey Jude, how are you feeling?”

She looked at him confused. Then started to look around.

“Wh-what happened?” Jude muttered.

Cardan took his hand off her face. “You passed out in the hallway after you were leaving your class. I saw you fall and I couldn’t get you to wake up so I called 911.”

“The baby?”

Trying to keep down his panic and keep his voice calm for her, “Um, they said the baby is okay but I’m not sure what caused your episode. They were waiting for you to wake up.”

Jude nodded her head. And realized she was holding Cardan’s hand so she took it back abruptly. She had Cardan go get the doctor while all the memories of why she was mad at him flooded back.

Dr. Tatterfell came into the room. Without Cardan.

She spoke, “Hey Jude, I’m glad to see you awake. I told Cardan to stay out there unless you want him in here?”

Jude shook her head no. Dr. Tatterfell continued, “We did some blood tests and your blood sugar was really low. Some women can get something called gestational diabetes. We check during the 24-28 week checkup. But you're only 16 weeks so we obviously haven’t checked for it. Some people have it more on the severe side and I would say you are one of them.” she paused. “Have you been feeling much more tired recently?” Jude nodded. “Nausea?” Jude nodded. “Bigger appetite and drinking more?” Jude nodded. “Okay well we can’t take all the symptoms away but we can sure try to manage them.”

“Are there any risks for the baby?” Jude asked hesitantly.

“They can have low blood sugar when they’re born. They can have jaundice. Pre-term birth. Can have some breathing problems. And you can get high blood pressure which can hurt the baby, try to be as stress free as possible. So If you ever feel off call us immediately.”

Jude shook her head yes. The doctor talked to her about the route of treatment they would go, and some diet changes she can make. After that, Cardan came in while the doctor left.

Cardan asked, “Are you okay? Is the baby?”

Jude told him the rundown of things.

“Jude, you should have told me you felt bad. I would have tried to help.”

“Well I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Cardan, or if you’ve had your tongue down to many people's throats, but I’ve been distant.”

Cardan sat down in the chair beside the bed and watched Jude as she rubbed her hand in circles on her bump.

“I’m sorry, Jude. I forgot who I was. I’m not the kid who mocked and tortured you anymore. I don’t want to be. I messed up, and I messed up bad.”

“Yeah no joke.” She paused. “Cardan I need you. I can’t do all this alone. I can’t raise a kid alone.”

Cardan looked up, voice thick with emotion, “You will never be alone.”

“Let's take a break. I will go back to my dorm.”

“Jude, you can’t stay alone. If I overheard right, the doctor said it was wise for someone to stay with you. I’ll sleep on the couch. You get the bed. I’ll keep to myself.”

“Okay. But if I get annoyed, I’m leaving.”

Soon Jude got to go leave. Her body was weak and she just didn’t feel good. Cardan got her back to the dorm and to bed. After that he left to go get Jude some food for her newly formed diet plan.

————

Cardan helped Jude and was as friendly as he could be. Jude had good days and bad days with him. If she felt bad, she was a butthole. If she felt okay, her attitude was more playful with him. Things were beginning to heal between them. The bitterness was slowly leaving them. It was back to cuddling and playful banter.

One night watching a movie on the couch, Cardan spoke up, “Jude, are we good? Will we ever be what we used to be? Well we started to be?”

Jude didn’t know if this was the hormones talking or not, “Yeah Cardan were good. I love you too much to give you up over a mistake. A drunken mistake at that. Just don’t do anything stupid, okay? Then I may not forgive you.”

Cardan chuckled. “Okay. I love you, Jude.” He dropped a kiss to Jude’s head which was laying on his shoulder.

————

It’s been two weeks, which makes today November 13th. Not only is it Jude’s birthday, but they get to find out the gender of their baby today. Well they won’t find out but the bakery that will make a cake blue or pink cake will find out today.

They decided to have a small get-together with their friends to reveal the gender. It was Cardan’s idea. Jude just wanted to know at the appointment, but Cardan wanted to have a small party. Jude relented. It can’t be that bad. She just hates surprises. Waiting another day won’t hurt.

On top of the gender reveal party, Cardan wanted to celebrate Jude’s birthday on the same day, to which she also relented because Cardan’s puppy dog eyes are charming. But she said yes on the behalf Taryn gets celebrated also.

Jude doesn’t like to celebrate her birthday. The memories of birthday parties as a young kid with her mom and dad are what come to her mind. But Cardan wants to make her birthday different. A happy day.

They are waiting in the waiting room of the doctor office. Jude has missed the last appointment in being busy which she knows is bad but since she was at the hospital and everything was fine, she saw no need in coming in sooner.

She is 18 weeks. Almost half way through her pregnancy. Her stomach doesn’t just look like she’s gained weight, it's obvious that she is pregnant.

She cradles her bump with one hand and holds Cardan’s hand in the other. She is rather anxious for this appointment. She doesn’t care if it’s a boy or a girl, but she is just nervous anyway.

“Jude Duarte.”

Cardan gives her a hand and helps her up even though she can get up easy-ish. She goes back and lays down on the table and pulls the hem of her t-shirt up. Dr. Tatterfell comes in.

“Hello, Jude how are you?”

Jude gives a sweet smile, “I’m doing good. Feeling huge.”

Dr, Tatterfell laughs at that. “Well, darling, it only gets worse from here. Have you been eating, drinking, and resting well?”

“Umm yeah I have.”

Dr, Tatterfell gives her a look of disbelief and looks to Cardan, standing beside Jude.

Cardan clears his throat. “Well she has definitely been eating well. More like raiding my kitchen. Drinking lots of water. The rest is…. complicated. Some days she rests, and other days I can’t get her to stay still. She is stubborn.”

“Yes, I do pick up on that. Jude, rest is very important. You are almost halfway through your pregnancy. You are going to be really tired. Your body is working for two people. With gestational diabetes on top of that, it’s important to rest.”

Jude nods her head in understanding. Dr. Tatterfell continues with a genuine smile, “Well now, would you like to know the sex of your baby?”

Cardan and Jude look at each other, Cardan speaks, “We would not. We want to have a gender reveal party to reveal it. So could you put the results in an envelope?”

“Yes I can. I can also give you pictures of the baby today without the gender so it will still be a surprise but you can still have pictures of your baby.”

They both nod their heads. The doctor squeezes the cold gel into Jude’s bump. Cardan grabs a hold of Jude's hand and they look at the screen together. Jude looks over at Cardan with admiration in her eyes. He shows so much love for someone he hasn’t even met or felt. She loves him for that.

They look at their baby’s head, nose, arms, fingers and then Dr, Tatterfell asks them to close their eyes for the next part so she can find out the sex. After she’s done, she looks at them both and says, “Congratulations.”

She prints the photos and the results and puts them in an envelope and gives them the “safe” picture, meaning it doesn’t show the gender.

She gives Jude a tissue to clean herself off with and says she will see her in a few weeks. Before she leaves the room, Dr. Tatterfell mutters, “Happy Birthday by the way.”

————

They drop the results off at the bakery and Cardan takes Jude to lunch for her birthday.

They were walking back to the car when Jude stopped suddenly and put a hand to the side of her stomach.

Cardan whirls around, “Jude, what’s wrong?”

Jude grabs his hand and places it over the spot where their little baby kicked. Realization dawns in Cardan and he muttered quietly, “Did the baby just kick?”

Jude nodded her head. Cardan’s grin widened. He bent over and kissed the little bump saying, “I love you, little one.” He captured Jude’s lips and walked to the car.

He and Jude watched a movie marathon and went to sleep. They were now sleeping together again. Now that forgiveness was bound.

They were both excited about tomorrow. Not only was it Jude’s birthday party, but it was the day they would finally learn the gender of their little one.

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#jurdan fanfic #jurdan #jurdan fic #jurdan pregnancy #tfota fanfic #tfota #The Folk of the Air #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #queen jude #king cardan #cardan x jude #jude x cardan #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #abigail writes

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ad1thi · 4 years

Text

the one where steve discovers new york

(insp)

set sometime after tws, established relationship, harley keener and tony stark feels, fluff and crack, au where tony knows everything because he and steve are mature adults who discuss shit and don’t keep secrets. ive also aged up harley just go with it please

Tony’s excited when he finally confirms that Harley’s coming to town. So excited that he plans out the entire weekend, clearing his schedule so that he can be free to take his newly legal not-son around to the best haunts and give him the true tourist experience - and completely forgets that Steve is going to be in town for the first time in almost three months.

Which is why when he feels a pair of arms wrap around his waist while he’s in the middle of a project in his workshop, he does the reasonable thing and puts the wrench in his hand to good use.

“Ouch!” Steve stumbles back, clutching his head morosely, and Tony is caught between comforting him and looking for the closest ice pack.

Fortunately, DUM-E takes the decision out of his hands, wheeling towards Steve and dropping an icepack into his hands, which he presses to his forehead instantly.

Tony helps him over to the couch, pressing kisses to the side of his head and muttering a string of apologies everytime he winces. Once they’re both settled on the couch, he takes over ice-pack duty from it, sitting half across his lap and cupping his face with his free palm so he can angle his face just right.

“I really am sorry,” he says, lifting the ice pack intermittently to check the swelling, “I just, completely forgot that I was supposed to see you this weekend”

“It’s fine honey,” Steve says, attempting a smile but it comes out more like a grimace, “give it a few hours and it would’ve healed up. Perks of the serum. Plus, you’ve got all weekend to make it up to me”

“About that,” Tony says, stretching out his words, “So you remember how I forgot you were coming this weekend?”

“Yeah,” Steve says hesitantly, and Tony might truly be the worst boyfriend around.

“So, under this misguided belief that you weren’t coming this weekend and I was therefore, free, I might’ve accidentally made plans for this weekend. Of the non-refundable variety”

“Do you have another boyfriend I should know about?” Steve says with a smirk, and Tony pinches him in response.

“No you oaf,” he pulls off the ice pack to check the bruising again, relaxing when he sees its turned into a slightly yellow-ish hue instead of its earlier purple, “You remember Harley Keener? The kid from Tennessee?”

“The one with the potato gun right?” Tony nods, “What about him?”

“Well it was his 18th birthday a couple months back, and I promised him I’d fly him out to New York for a couple of days the first chance that I got free -”

“- and that happened to be this weekend,” Steve finishes up. Tony nods contritely, eyes cast downward as if not looking at Steve would somehow better the situation.

“Hey,” Steve tips his chin up, forcing Tony to look at him, “hey I’m not mad babe. It’s a mistake, these things happen. This is the kid that Jim swears is like your child, right?”

Tony nods, unsure of where Steve’s going with this. It would quite frankly be better for the both of them if he just got his yelling over with so he can move onto the ‘making it up to you’ portion of the evening.

“Well then I’d be happy to meet him. Who knows, it could be fun. Never really got a chance to see New York after I got out of the ice, and now I finally have a reason to”

Tony tries to keep his surprise to himself, he does, but it must show on his face because something in Steve’s gaze softens.

“I’m not mad at you sweetheart,” he says in an earnest tone and Tony would really appreciate it if his boyfriend would stop reading his like an open book, “mistakes happen. It isn’t like you purposely went out of your way to make yourself busy, and I don’t care how we spend our time together, just that we spend our time together”

“I don’t deserve you,” Tony says in a hushed tone, but Steve shakes his head in response, “you deserve a lot better than me. But I’m never going to stop trying to show you how much I love you”

Steve isn’t one to judge people based on their looks, but he definitely had an, image in mind whenever Tony described the child that he’d pseudo adopted from Tennessee. Tony had made him out to be fiercely brave and resourceful, and Steve had imagined - well the essence of it was that he certainly hadn’t pictured the stick thin brooding teenager that was currently standing in the Common Room, bag slung across his shoulder.

“You must be Harley,” he says, sticking out his hand in hello and trying his very best to not take it personally when Harley just glares at it mutinously.

“You must be the centurion that’s taking advantage of the mechanic,” he replies with a glare and Steve is saved from replying by Tony’s appearance.

“Harls!” he shouts, and Steve watches as his face changes, splitting open into a smile.

Somehow, Steve gets the feeling that the teenager doesn’t smile all that much.

Harley squirms under Tony’s embrace but doesn’t try and pull out of his hug; instead letting his hands fall to the side like he doesn’t know what do with them as he pulls him in and ruffles his hair, pressing absent kisses to his face and fussing over him like he’s truly his child.

“How was your flight?” Tony’s voice brings him out of his musings, “Did you get in okay?”

“It’s remarkably hard to complain about the flight when you’ve been upgraded to first class,” Harley drawls with a raised eyebrow and Tony looks back at him defiantly, “but the food was questionable. I think I prefer economy”

Tony pinches his sides, “you just don’t know what luxury feels like,” he says with a huff - before noticing Steve standing in front of them.

“Oh!” Tony gestures Steve over, “Harley - this is Steve. Steve, this is Harley”

“We’ve met,” Steve says with a tight smile before Harley can get a word in, “I’m glad you could make the trip this weekend, and I’m sorry for crashing in on your hands”

“I was hoping to get the mechanic to myself,” Harley says with an expression that Steve can swear he’s seen on Tony’s face before, “but I suppose having Captain America around isn’t the worst thing ever”

“Don’t be a grouch kid,” Tony says, before leading him down towards the workshop, “now let me show you all my new toys”

He’s almost towards the lift before he turns back to Steve with a frown, “Babe? Aren’t you coming?”

Steve waves him off, “you two have fun, I’m going to be cramping on your style tomorrow when we explore New York anyway”

Tony looks like he wants to argue, but the lift dings open, and Harley pulls his aside. If Steve was a betting man, he would say that he just earned a morsel of respect with his boyfriend’s not-son.

If nothing else, this weekend was definitely going to be interesting.

“Well,” Tony says as the elevator dings open, “I’m glad you like New York Harls but I swear, I wasn’t expecting Steve to react like that”

Behind them, Steve ambles in with his bags of merchandise, eyes gleaming with excitement.

“How is it,” he says with a huff, “that I’ve liked in New York for this long and never been able to appreciate how amazing it is?”

He points a finger at Tony with a glare, “I blame you for not introducing me to the wonders of this city”

“That hardly seems fair,” Tony sniffs delicately, “you don’t technically live in New York, you just visit. And when you do visit you’re too busy with, other activities to be gallivanting around New York like a tourist that just hopped off the boat”

“Too many details,” Harley says with a wrinkled nose, “I don’t need to know what you and your geriatric boyfriend get up to”

“I wouldn’t say he’s geriatric,” Tony says, smirking, “not when -”

He gets cut off by Steve cupping his mouth, and it's a testament to his strength that he manages to do that despite all the bags adorning his forearms.

“I apologise for him,” Steve says to Harley, “we’re still working on getting him house-trained. Why don’t you freshen up, and we’ll meet you back down here for dinner?”

He removes his hand with a yelp when Tony licks his palm, and Harley looks for the quickest route away from them because he no longer wants to be anywhere near them. One whole day of barely disguised flirting on the streets of New York was more than enough.

“If I may Young Sir,” JARVIS pipes up, and Harley looks up to the ceiling despite himself, “there’s a staircase on the left corner that you might find of use since Sir and Captain Rogers are currently blocking the lift”

Harley looks back at Tony and Steve, at the bags abandoned at their feet now that Steve’s hands have found other things to grab onto, and then turns back towards the stairs - sending a salute to the ceiling.

“Appreciate it JARVIS,” he says as he pushes open the door, smiling when he hears the AI demurely reply, “Anytime”

Fin

#my writing #stevetony #superhusbands #steve x tony #steve rogers/tony stark #steve rogers x tony stark #steve rogers #tony stark #harley keener #irondad and ironson #established relationship #fluff #fluff and crack #the one where steve discovers new york #i rly tag my tumblr posts like its ao3 love that for me #inspired by that one friends episode where chandler goes batshit crazy for NYC #disclaimer: i dont know much about NYC because the last time i was there i was in a pram #so all of my knowledge comes from tv shows #i would like everyone to appreciate that i made a conscious effort to not make this angsty and keep it completely fluffy #that was very hard for me #i had like 500 words worth of post tws angst written up #where harley accuses steve for sleeping with tony just so that tony will help him find bucky - which is immoral cuz bucky killed his parents #but i cut it OUT and i want that to be appreciated #i wrote the intro of my essay and then rewarded myself by writing 1.5k of stevetony

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dwaynepride · 4 years

Text

the unfortunate case of nonchalance

PART V - BLOOD WAS OUR INHERITANCE

summary: jethro’s heart is pulling him two ways, and it’s hard to navigate the right direction.

words: 3,335

warnings: female reader

tags: @fairytale07 @jrenn10 @f4nboi @purplestarsr5 @ladyzombiielove @littlemiss3ma @minikate--24-05 @consultingdoctorwholock @dressed-up-just-like-z1ggy @ms-allenbrown @ikbenplant @dylpickles1267 @diaryofafan17 @specialagentlokitty @pageofultron @stanathanxoox @kittenlittle24

author’s note: part 5 of the cowboy!au series. this is a part of meg’s 11k challenge. the prompts are cowboy au and secret relationship trope.

part IV | part VI

March 7th, 1889

Once again, I am a wanted man.

The botched bank job was nearly five days ago, and I’ve felt every single second of it. Anthony’s wound is worse than I feared - Doctor Mallard is doing all he can, but I know that man. His hopes are not high. Anthony’s got a fever and he still bleeds from time to time.

That boy is strong, but even I’m starting to worry.

And we can’t leave while Anthony’s so weak. Everybody’s been packing up, ready to turn tail, but a journey may very well kill Anthony, if his infection doesn’t.

I know my thoughts should be on finding a way to leave, but they’re not. Not all of them. When it’s quiet, I find myself wondering if Y/N is safe. She was far from the shooting, I know that. But that doesn’t stop my concerns.

I need to make sure she’s alright; that’s the only way I’ll be able to concentrate on anything else. I’ll ride to her home at night and no one’s gotta know I was back in town.

Plus, I feel that maybe she’ll help get my head on straight.

The night is so silent, Jethro barely lets himself breathe.

Even taking the long route all the way around the outskirts of town, he was nervous. Every shadow, every noise had him instinctively reaching for his pistol. It was some sort of miracle that he hadn’t run into any law yet, but seeing the pure white paint of your home made Jethro’s stomach tight.

All the windows were dark, except for one. A candle flickers on the windowsill; its light is warm and inviting and it draws Jethro in to search for you. Though, with his luck, your bedroom would be on the second floor.

His footfalls are silent against the ground. He still keeps a hand on his pistol, but Jethro’s eyes are locked on the candle in the window. He reaches the house, leaning his back against the wood. And slowly, carefully, his head creeps forward to peer in through the window.

His eyes take a moment to adjust to the light, but the image he finds when Jethro looks in makes his heart tight. There, on the bed, you’re laying with a book in hand. You haven’t noticed him, too focused on reading, but Jethro’s just pleased that he’s found you so easily. He’s already been in town for too long.

A hand comes up, and he gently knocks his knuckles against the glass. Instantly, you jump, eyes wide as they flicker up to look in his direction.

That look of recognition makes this whole journey worth it.

Jethro sees his name leave your lips, and he quickly motions for you to come outside. You’re reluctant, he can tell. And he can’t really blame you, neither. But again, he beckons you out. Eventually you nod, and he watches you scurry out of your room.

His hands curl into fists, and Jethro reminds himself to breathe. But try as he might, he can’t seem to calm himself. Five long days of wondering and worrying, only to find you home; safe and sound and reading a book in your bed. Now, he just wants to talk to you. Hear your voice and simply be in your presence.

After what feels like minutes, the back door of your home finally squeaks open. He hears it, and Jethro immediately moves toward the back of the house. And there, in the light of a half-moon, you’re standing there looking at him and Jethro suddenly can’t remember how to use his own words.

“Jethro,” you breathe out. It’s almost inaudible, but he catches it. And when you run up to him with open arms, he catches you, too. You smell of wildflowers and Jethro’s instantly taken back to that day by the river. When you kissed him softly and he felt your lips for days after

That feels like a lifetime ago.

“I’m okay. I’m right here,” he mumbles. And Jethro’s not afraid to squeeze you just a little too hard. God, as much as he says he’s been worried about you - he’s missed you a hell of a lot more. As crazy and scary as things have been the last few days, this is the first time Jethro feels a sense of normalcy. Like everything is suddenly right in the world.

He wants to stay in this hug forever, but you’re the one to pull away. And when Jethro looks in your eyes, he doesn’t find the happiness he expects to see. He isn’t barraged with questions of if he’s alright or what happened or if everyone was safe.

Instead, you step away from him. Still within arm’s reach, but no longer holding him. “The bank...all those lawmen....Jethro...?”

His eyes fall away. Perhaps Jethro was naive to think you wouldn’t have questions about the heist. Perhaps he was stupid in thinking your happiness to see him would somehow overshadow why he did what he did. But that explanation would take too long and Jethro simply wanted to be here with you.

Your face was taut. Unmovable. And he knows you deserve to know who he is.

His thumbs trail over your forearms, grip still tight in case you decide to pull yourself from his grasp. “I’m not exactly who you think I am, sweetheart,” he says lowly.

You look confused - as if not properly understanding what he means. “You’re Jethro Gibbs,” you tell him firmly. “You came into town with your friends-”

“My gang,” he cuts in. And as your eyes go wide, Jethro’s gaze falls once again. “We aren’t just moving into town, we came here to hide. We....we did some bad things out West. Things that I regret.” The words felt like poison on his tongue. It felt like every syllable was just pushing you farther and farther away from him. But Jethro finally looks back up, watching your shocked expression. “Things that got Shannon killed, and ain’t been ‘till now that I wanted to change. My gang’s not quite there yet - they’re still convinced we gotta rob folk. The bank wasn’t my idea.”

Finally, you wrench your arms out of his grasp. And your eyes had gotten harder. Almost angry; it’s the first time Jethro’s seen you like this. Not even at the saloon when the barkeep threatened to call the law on him. “I have a hard time believing you didn’t know anything about it, Jethro. They’re your friends,” you bite out. Jethro’s never felt quite so small. “My father works there. What if he’d been-”

“My people aren’t killers.”

“And how should I believe you? Seems like everything you’ve told me is a lie. Is your name actually Leroy Jethro Gibbs, or is it something you’ve made up?”

Jethro is silent for a moment. “You think I can make up a name quite so ridiculous?”

You huff and turn away from him to walk back into the house. Truthfully, that smartass comment was reflexive, and Jethro’s kicking himself for saying it. “Hey, hold on,” he says, reaching out and grabbing your hand. And you try once again to pull free, but Jethro’s much too strong. He comes around to face you, eyes intense and serious and you even stop struggling when you meet them. “Not everything’s a lie. I do care ‘bout you - a whole hell of a lot,” he says softly.

He can tell that makes you think. The way you watch him, reluctant to believe him, but also wanting to. And God, Jethro wants you to. His stomach’s painfully tight at the thought of his foolishness being what drives you away.

And his fears are realized.

This time, when you pull your hand back, he lets you go. “You’re an outlaw, Jethro. A criminal.” Your voice is so hard, so harsh against his ears, that Jethro can’t really believe that he heard it.

But he’s not stupid nor deaf.

“Well, you let this outlaw teach you how to shoot, sweetheart. And better yet, you kissed a criminal. Don’t act so high, like your hands are clean.” The words are sharp and terrible, he knows. He spits them out with the poison on his tongue and Jethro’s too angry to feel bad about it.

The light of the half-moon reflects off your tears in the split second he can see your face, because you’re walking away from him toward the back door. “Get out of here, Jethro GIbbs, or I swear I’ll start screaming and get the law down here!”

You don’t even look at him. Not one measly glance as you pull the door open to rush inside. For a few seconds, his feet are rooted to the dirt. And as mad as he is, Jethro doesn’t quite want to leave. That pull that drove him here is still in his gut, much to his annoyance. Buried under the heat of the argument. Plus, he made you cry - some of that anger is pointed to himself.

He turns away from your perfect white house, disappearing back into the darkness so the law can’t see him. And Jethro doesn’t look back, not once.

If he had, he knows he would’ve seen your sad face in the window.

Anthony’s infection was like a cough that just couldn’t be shaken.

None of Doctor Mallard’s tonics seem to be working. And as Anthony’s condition worsened, it seems like the gang’s morale faltered, too. Jethro felt that change; he is not immune to the mood that wily young Italian brings to the gang. And with the argument he had with you last night - well, he doesn’t want to admit how much he misses Anthony’s bad jokes.

His hand runs slowly up and down the muzzle of his horse as Jethero waits on Abigail. Their plan is foolish. Could likely get them locked up, or worse. But with Anthony on death’s doorstep, there’s little choice.

Abigail had not been involved in the bank heist. She’s the one who will walk into the general store and buy the things Mallard needs. Jethro’s going along to keep an eye on her, much to the gang’s distress. Because if they lose Anthony, could they really afford to lose Jethro, as well?

Perhaps not. But Jethro wasn’t going to let his foolishness get Abigail into trouble. And letting her go alone would be dangerous.

As they ride into town, he keeps his hat low. Doesn’t look anybody in the eye. It’s been some years since he’s had to ride through a town where he’s wanted, and he hasn’t missed the way it feels. The urge to run, or the sensation that everybody’s staring at him. Having to keep his ears pricked, waiting to hear a lawman shout his name, or the crack of a rifle.

“There’s the general store,” Abigail points out.

He nods without a word, and to his surprise, Abigail has kept a lid on her usual chatterbox self. He knows she’s no fool; this is too important, and her nervous talking may likely draw attention. Even her usual frilly black lace attire has been replaced with a much less noticeable dress. Truly a sacrifice.

But Anthony’s life is more important, right now.

They climb off their horses, and Abigail makes a beeline for the door. “I’ll stay out here. To keep watch,” Jethro mumbles out. His eyes flicker around the street, relieved that everything seems normal.

Abigail nods. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

Her words bring little comfort. Jethro doesn’t like feeling so exposed.

Jethro tries not to watch people as they walk by. That would only make him look suspicious - on the other hand, he needs to keep an eye out. Be it paranoia or caution, Jethro watches the townspeople from under the wide brim of his hat. For him, it’s unusual how normal they all act when Anthony is back at camp dying.

And he’s not sure what powers are at play. Whether God or the Universe or just bad karma coming to bite him in the ass. But Jethro’s gaze wonders over across the street, a few buildings down. His heart stops dead, and limbs go cold. Not even the scariest lawman in the state could make Jethro quite so scared.

You haven’t noticed him, of course. Nobody has. But Jethro noticed you instantly. Like his heart was a compass.

He watches you, deep in conversation with the owner of the store you just walked out of. And it’s no wonder - your last name is on the top of that store. This must be some kind of business meeting.

And Jethro’s well aware he’s staring. He knows he outta be on the look out. Knows he really shouldn’t care whether or not you’re in town because of some bank business that your father likely roped you into. The argument was still fresh in his head - there was nary a time Jethro didn’t think back on that night with a hole in his heart. Or a fire in his belly.

Despite his mixed feelings, Jethro’s certain you’ll still be cross with him. Would tell him that you never want to see him again, and he’s not sure he can take hearing that, right now.

But God, how he misses you.

Losing the privilege of talking and spending afternoons with you felt like losing a limb. Jethro missed being able to escape his lowly life for a few hours and feel almost free. And you make him feel good, too. Like he can be a decent, respectable man with a decent, respectable life.

If he apologized, can Jethro even hope you’d forgive him?

Finally, you seem to conclude the conversation with the store owner and begin walking away. Jethro’s first instinct is to follow, and for once, he’s well-aware of how misguided his instincts have been, lately. His head swivels around to the door - Abigail would be fine for a few minutes, surely. He only needs to say a few words to you. And that’s still assuming you would stop and listen.

Jethro is careful about how fast he walks - slow enough to not attract attention, but fast enough to catch up. His stomach is tight, palms are clammy, and Jethro finds he can’t hardly breathe once he’s a mere foot away.

But he needs to concentrate. Needs to stay calm to get your attention.

Slowly, he walks up to your side. And before you could turn and look at him, Jethro leans his head over. “It’s me,” he mumbles out. You jump in surprise, give a gasp, and Jethro’s worried you might say his name and out him. Perhaps this was a mistake.

You don’t say a word. You just stare at him, mouth agape, and he knows this is the perfect time to pull you away from public eye.

With a hand on your arm, he discreetly pulls you into the space between two buildings. Just wide enough to fit the both of them, but provides the perfect privacy he needs. Away from the high society he loathes so much - the only attention he seeks is yours, and now he’s got it.

It comes with a price, though. Your face isn’t so bright and alive as it usually is, and Jethro knows he’s the cause of that. Your eyes watch him carefully, and he notices dark circles that were never there previously. Haven’t you been sleeping?

“What are you doing in town?” You ask him harshly. Jethro’s head backs away from the ferocity of your words. “If the law catches you, you’ll be hanged.”

He knows that. And he knows the stupid decision he made leaving the shop to chase after you. “My friend was shot. We’re here getting some medicine for him, but I think we might be too late,” Jethro says flatly.

And to your credit, you look sad. Sympathetic for his problems, and Jethro doesn’t miss the way your hand comes to grip his arm. As if comforting him, but too afraid to really commit to it. “I’m sorry, Jethro. I really am. I do hope he gets better. But we should not be talking, and you should not be here.”

You’re inching away from him, eyes downcast. And it isn’t until Jethro sticks his arm up to block your path do you stop. “So that’s it? After everything,” he asks. You don’t respond, and that only flares up his old anger from the previous fight. “I know I can never measure up to you and your family. I know I’m some lowlife, no-good cowboy-”

“Jethro, I didn’t mean what I said.”

Your words drain the anger from him. Maybe they shouldn’t; Jethro is never so easily swayed by words. But you look back up to him, meeting his eyes. “I was just....angry and confused and frightened. My father was going mad with everything that happened. You’re a good man, I know that. And I’m so sorry about what I said.”

The apology wasn’t expected. Jethro sooner prepared for a slap to the face than your honest regret. And a small flare of hope rises - that maybe this doesn’t have to end.

You’re still staring. Watching his expression soften, and eventually, your hand reaches out to grip his. A gentle squeeze that Jethro’s been craving. The soft touch that somehow manages to mend some of the cracks that these last few days have inflicted on him.

The seconds tick by, and Jethro knows he’s already been away for too long. It was a gamble to leave the store, and now he’s just being foolish for staying this long.

Regardless, Jethro leans in and presses his lips against yours with fervor. If the first kiss were as gentle and slow as a stream, than this kiss was a raging river. It knocks the wind out of him. Makes him feel like he’s drowning and you’re keeping him afloat. And you....you’re grabbing onto him. Clutching him tight by his coat, unwilling to let him leave this little bubble you’ve created.

Acting like this is the final kiss you’ll ever share.

Jethro promises himself that won’t be the case.

Your lips are soft and pliable against his. Jethro would happily stay in this crevice for the rest of his life, but he breaks the kiss. As he leans back, he sees small tears trickle down your cheeks. With a heavy heart, he wipes them away. “I need to go now. But I need you to do something,” he says, voice somehow sturdy after that kiss.

You look reluctant. “Jethro-”

“Tell your father about us. About everything,” Jethro states. And he ignores the way your eyes flicker away briefly before returning. “Once Anthony’s fit to travel, we’re leaving. And I want you to leave with us.”

It was a tall order, he knew. Leaving everything you knew. Everyone you love. But Jethro knows he wants you with him. Feels it in his bones that you’re meant to be with him, always. And the way you’re still gripping onto him, you must feel the same. That undeniable tug, like a rope around his neck.

His hand runs along your cheek one final time before he pulls away. Unfurls your hands from his coat and squeezes out of the crevice. On his way back to the store, Jethro doesn’t look back. And yet, he feels your eyes on him.

Just as he returns, Abigail is exiting the store. And she’s isn’t stupid; she knows he was gone. Instead of scolding him for such a stupid move, she just furrows her eyebrows at him. “Where did you go?” She asks.

Jethro keeps his hat down, unwilling to look her in the eye. His answer was too long. Too complex.

“Something important I had to take care of,” he answers simply. Not a great answer, but the only one he’ll provide. “C’mon, let’s get back to camp.��

#ncis reader insert #ncis x reader #leroy jethro gibbs x reader #leroy jethro gibbs imagine

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kyufiber-moved · 5 years

Note

I feel like u have a lot of amazing ideas. Can u list them all our do u wanna keep them secret? Like a big masterlist of all the types of aus u wanna write someday. I know i have like 3 pages of ideas. I've actually written down plots to a lot of them, but i don't get much father than that 😬 -🐖

wkjefkwej i do have lots of ideas ((idk about AMAZING damn ily) but most of them are just swirling around my head tbh,,, i have an 18 page google doc with old ideas but then i didnt keep writing ideas down there so ,,, it would be like 30 pages long if i had kept at it ksjdfkjefj

i do want to ((for the most part)) keep my ideas secret so that 1. ppl wont use them before i can SKFKJE and 2. so that if i do post / write / etc them, ppl won’t have alr seen them before !!! but i can post vague-ish ?? summaries of them !!!! also this turned out to be way longer than i thought so . apologies

modern cinderella sns au

hanahaki au

ao haru ride au

modernized jane eyre au

love alarm au

stoic tsundere chef!kyungsoo (see here)

au based off of shinee’s view music video (which i alr kinda did with runaways but . still ive had this idea for years)

tatbilb au

teacher x student au

fashion blogger!y/n

bad bitch!y/n and nerd!main lead

false memories au ((a lot more complicated but hard to explain simply so,,, ill leave it at that))

au based off of the dawnguard quest in skyrim ((but just the ‘100′s of years old vampire locked in a crypt gets found by random human’ part))

au based off groupie love by lana del rey

something with the title “1-800-CUPID” ((if someone takes this i will literally cry just . dont do it . im gonna use it at some point))

something with the title “101 ways to get the girl” AGAIN DONT TAKE IT

guy takes nerdy girls and turns them into bad bitches formula au

ur new teacher / teaching assistant / boss / etc is the one night stand you had the previous night OOPS

secretly dating au

boarding school au

harry potter au

au based off airplane by ikon

fuckboy!heejun

au based off she’s a baby by zico

halloween party costume... turns out to not be a costume :> im mostly a romance writer but this could go a horror route idk

this svt series i was gonna do where each of them had a love story... i can list them if you want but i think i deleted the drafts bc im ocd and have a need to clean out my drafts smh... ok they are as follows ((ill prob end up writing some of these and maybe/probably changing the idol but who knows)) :

(minghao) ur bff tags you and the boy u like in an ig pic and the pic says “tag ur best friend and their crush to ruin their life”

(jun) FAKE fake dating au ((aka guy gets girl to fake date him so his parents will back off of asking him if he has a gf except he actually likes her and its a plan to get her to fall in love w him LOL))

(jeonghan) ice cream shop summer job au feat. flirty main lead

(chan) girl and guy have a prank war that’s been ongoing for two years ever since he accidentally did smth to her and they’re rivals but then he witnesses a moment right after her bf breaks up with her and is like ok we r bffs now and yeah . its cute in theory

(wonwoo) girl is at a party and kisses someone but bc she was intoxicated she doesn’t remember who it was and the plot is her narrowing down who kissed her etc

(mingyu) best friends to lovers bc of a game of spin the bottle HAH ik its cliche but idc

(seungkwan) girl is a prim and proper student but parties over the summer and makes a whOLE fool out of herself in front of guy at one such party but she’s like eh im embarrassed but ill never see him again so its ok except . he turns out to be a transfer to her school

(woozi) guy and girl are main leads and romantic partners etc in play / movie / whatever and while they film / practice an actual behind the scenes romance develops

(dk) guy who is energetic and spastic meets rlly stoic and cold girl bc they’re lab partners and he melts her cold ass exterior

(hoshi) girl is the only daughter of a super rich family and boy is the son of the family’s maid / etc and they run into each other and end up falling for each other despite the class difference, which causes conflict later on when they want to be together yeehaw

(joshua) girl and guy are close friends n one time their friend who is an aspiring youtuber is filming and he’s like listen i want views yall should kiss . and the girl is like no ??? what . and the guy is like surprise ! and kisses her and it changes their relationship oop

(hansol) brother’s best friend!au . simple as that tbh skejfke

and lastly (scoups) famous idol!guy and company intern!girl who definitely shouldnt like each other but . totally do

ok anyways continuing on bc my ideas never fucking stop . oblivious! popular boy taehyung and lovesick!y/n desperately trying to get it into his rock dumb brain that she likes him

i also had this idea for kim doyoung and kim gongmyung like . about the girl liking one of them and then him breaking her heart and its like a year later and she ends up with his little brother . yanno . ok

arranged relationship au BUT with a twist bc the girl also has a bf at school (basically,, something similar to my little bride??? but not the same,, just similar)

cute new boy vs bff boy who has a secret crush on oc

au based off boys by charli xcx

au based off in your pocket by maroon 5

sugar daddy!au

then ofc i have ones ive actually started which are:

au based off mistakes like this by prelow

au based off leave your lover by echos

au based off the mv for view by shinee yanno yanno i mentioned that

royalty!dawon and bodyguard!y/n whose real identity turns out to b something nobody knew about oops

wow i didnt know i had so many ideas when will i chill

#asks #🐖 anon #story ideas #anonymous

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gwennhadu-bug · 5 years

Text

Bon Route (part...3ish?)

@alyanette-april 4: Travel

Remember that Alyanette college road trip AU I have in the freezer? I pulled out a chunk of it again! This doesn’t directly follow the first posted installment, but it makes for good, long, dialogue and plotless reading on its own. And honestly, you can start to see why I keep this in the freezer, but how could I not post it for the theme of “travel”...??

“Road trip!” Marinette chirped , following Alya’s rough tug out to their waiting van.

The T&S Boulangerie van was an old white Renault van with their logo emblazoned on the side. Tom had splurged for an automatic van, deciding that it would be less likely to jostle any catered goods on the inside. Alya and Marinette had filled the back with the materials for Rome, of course, as well as their own suitcases. The front seats were ready for a long trip with a blanket and pillow for the passenger, bin of snacks, and plenty of music. Alya had done her research and was as ready for this as she figured she could be.

Marinette’s parents had flown out the night before and it wasn’t hard for their daughter to sneak home, explain the secret plan to their cover shift manager, get the van, and drive it to Alya and Marinette’s apartment early that morning. They still had a few fresh croissants aromatizing the van when the two girls left Adrien and Nino’s place. Marinette jumped into the driver’s seat and Alya buckled in next to her. “Alright, Mari. Recapping our plan… Day one, we’re driving to Chloe’s in Geneva. It’s about a 6 hour drive, but since we need to stop every 2 hours for safety, we’re stopping in...Auxerre, and Saint-Albain. So accounting for the time it takes to stop, we’ll probably be there around...15 or 16 o’clock. An entire evening with Chloé, like you wanted.” She rolled her eyes and added, “For some reason.”

Marinette started the van and didn’t immediately reply. She drove down the street, rolling over the old stone roads and into the busy traffic. With expert confidence, Marinette weaved in and out of the slow or stopped cars, through the old, small side streets. “We owe it to her. She moved away two years ago, Geneva’s only 3 hours by train, and no one but Adrien has visited her once!”

“Because we’re broke university students and she’s a salope,” Alya responded. “This is your right turn.” Marinette turned on to Boulevard Saint-Germain with a pleased sigh. This was a main road, not a side-street, and the van wasn’t as terrifyingly large here. “Take Pont de Sully, then we’re taking a sharp right to Quai Henri IV.”

“She’s not a salope. She’s gotten so much better. She got so much better through all of lycée, you know that!”

“She just learned how to use underhanded compliments instead of outright insults. And don’t you remember all that shit she pulled in lycée? Especially when you first got together with Adrien? No, she was still a salope then.” The car loudly rolled over Pont de Sully and Alya took the opportunity to look out at the Seine. Early morning light reflected over the river, lighting up their city that she wouldn’t see for almost two weeks. Marinette took her sharp right onto the next street. “Okay, we just follow this road until the A4 ramp towards Orly Airport and merge onto Périphérique.”

“Got it,” Marinette answered. Their road took them parallel along the Seine and with early morning Paris traffic, they had plenty of time to admire the city and chew on breakfast. Cars impatiently honked, like they always did on this road, so Marinette dutifully ignored her fellow Parisians’ complaints. “She wasn’t ever nice, I’ll agree. But Alya, you saw her at her worst; before you moved in, she was a pretty sweet girl in Primary school. She just got worse as we got older and closer to college. Maybe that’s why I actually believe she’s improved...I know what she used to be.”

“You sound like Adrien,” Alya complained.

“Is that a bad thing?”

Maybe not to Marinette it wasn’t. Maybe not to the girl who still loved him madly and deeply despite her claims otherwise. Alya sighed, not wanting to answer that. But their conversation didn’t feel finished. “When it comes to Chloé, I think it’s bad. He coddles her too much.”

“Adrien has never once coddled Chloé! He is always trying to make her a better person.”

“Marinette, Chloé has spent the majority of every year since I’ve met her trying to make my very best friend, which is YOU, by the way, miserable. I won’t apologize for not trusting her.” She turned away from Marinette, looking out her own window at the city instead. Eventually, she spoke up again. “Here’s your exit. Okay, follow this for 2 kilometers, then take the A6B exit.”

Marinette seemed a little visibly stressed at this point. She had told Alya many times as they prepared that she had never driven outside of Paris...beyond quick catering errands for her parents within tight, slow-speed city driving, Marinette didn’t drive much at all. But neither of them wanted Alya as the first driver at 7 am in an unfamiliar vehicle. Picking up on that, Alya kept quiet except for instructions. “Keep going here….yes, just keep on A6B. 8 kilometers here.”

“Eight kilometers?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a while…” Marinette agreed, her voice cautious. She seemed distracted by all the graffitti to the point that Marinette chirped in surprise when the van zoomed into a tunnel. But soon enough they were back in a small, one-lane road, speeding through the suburbs of Paris. Buildings were suddenly newer, smaller, and farther apart. Trees began to appear. “Okay, I think I’ve got this,” she finally said, a little more confident.

“Good, because our next exit is coming up in about a kilometer. Just stay to the left- follow the signs towards Lyon.”

Marinette leaned forward to read their approaching exit sign more clearly. “A6?”

“That’s it!” Alya looked back at Marinette and smiled, seeing her friend with a proud smile on her face.

“This is officially the farthest I’ve ever driven,” Marinette announced.

“Then I need to document this,” Alya said. She opened up her camera and panned the outside ‘scenery’ of graffitied highway walls and scrubby brushes. “We have just left Paris and are about to get onto highway A6. Marinette just announced...mind saying it again, Mari?”

“This is officially the farthest from Paris that I’ve ever driven!” Marinette turned to Alya and grinned, then dramatically flipped her blinker to the left and veered towards their exit.

“That’s amazing! But it was only thirty minutes!”

Marinette laughed. “I didn’t say the longest. I said the farthest.”

Alya grinned at Marinette’s wide smile. “Well, buckle up sugar, because our next turn isn’t for another 158 kilometers. Road trip!”

“Road trip!” Marinette screamed out. She laughed in delight. Next to her, Alya closed the recorder app. She could get more footage later on. “What about you, Alya? What’s the farthest you’ve ever driven?”

“Rouen. Two hours away, just past Giverny, with Alix. But I’ve gone on a lot of road trips with my family before I was 18. My longest was...When I was Ella and Etta’s age, my family took us from Rennes to Provence. God, they were both babies at the time. Do not drive twelve hours with toddlers, Marinette.” Alya’s eyes were wide and she shook her head. “I don’t remember much about that trip, but I remember that. Nora and I were basically babysitting the whole drive. Well, she was. I probably just complained about it.”

“So the real lesson is don’t take toddlers and you on a twelve hour road trip,”

“Excuse me,” Alya laughed, “I was ten! Give me a break, young lady!”

“Are you sure you won’t be complaining the entire time on our road trip?” Marinette teased, raising an eyebrow.

Alya couldn’t hold back her smile. “I’m sure,” she answered. “You are much better company than twin toddlers, Mari,” Alya added, reaching out to rub Marinette’s forearm.

Marinette’s smile in reply was wide and comfortable. “That’s not a very high bar, but I’ll take the compliment anyway. We don’t go on vacation very often. Maman and Papa hate leaving the boulangerie...I can only imagine how much Mami had to fight them to leave for this week,” Marinette said with a heavy shake of her head. “When we would go places, it was by train or plane. To visit family, usually...Flew to China, took a train to Central-Pays...I’ve been to Italy once before; it’s a lot faster by train. But this way we have all our stuff.” She turned to look at Alya for a moment. “And I have you!” Marinette added in a squeaky voice of delight before looking back at the road.

“You could go on a train with me too, Marinette,” Alya laughed.

“Sure, but this is much more cinematic. We get to look at all the scenery!” The two of them were still on the edges of the Paris Metropolitan area, passing signs for communes like Evry. “Like Disneyland!” Marinette explained, waving her hand at the brightly colored exit signs that they promptly drove right past. “Have you been to Disneyland?!”

“Of course I have; I’m not an animal,” Alya scoffed. “It’s been a second, though.”

“We should go together some time!”

Alya smiled, looking out at the Disneyland signs. She could imagine Marinette skipping and singing along to the music in Disneyland, wearing mouse ears, holding her hand, watching fireworks with Alya…”We should,” Alya agreed, feeling like she was digging her own grave with every romantic fantasy.

“But that one we’ll take the train for. After all, we’re not animals,” Marinette laughed.

“This isn’t exactly scenery, by the way,” Alya told Marinette with a giggle. “It’s ugly stores and graffitti and crummy houses.”

“It’s different than Paris,” Marinette defended. “Look! There’s...nature and stuff out that window!”

“Nature and stuff?” Alya repeated with a laugh. “Oh, my god, Girl. You know we’re going to be driving to the literal Alps today, right?”

“Exactly!” Marinette replied, hopping up and down in her chair. “Nature and stuff!”

“We’re not at at the alps yet. We’re just getting into the rural part.” Alya looked over at Marinette with a gentle, loving smile. “This part is going to be boring.”

“Please, Alya. It won’t be boring. You’re in the car.”

Alya felt her throat tighten and Marinette looked straight ahead. “I should record more for montage-ing.” She pulled out her phone, recording the fields and farms that they now drove through in silence. “Let’s, uh...put on some music,” Alya decided. She had made a playlist for their road trip, but suddenly got a wicked idea. “I know exactly what to listen to until we get to Auxerre.” She opened up her music app, flipping past the dozens of playlists Nino had made for her or sent her, finally deciding to use the search function again. “Weeee are going to listen to Clara Nightingale’s Miraculous album.”

“Yes!” Marinette gasped in amazement. “Oh, god, I don’t think I’ve listened to that since college!”

“Marinette, I live with you. That is a bald-faced lie. You mean no one else has listened to that since college.”

“It’s not like I know the words anymore, though. It’s such a- YES!!!!”

Alya laughed in delight. The moment the first note of the first song trilled out in peppy, poppy major key, Marinette was singing along to the instrumentals and drumming on the steering wheel. And that adorable liar knew every word.

The two girls sang along to the pop anthems of their teenage years, crooning our to one another dramatically, drumming the dashboard and steering wheel, even rolling the windows down to sing at passing cars. At least until they passed pastures of cows: the windows rolled up real fast right then.

When the titular song, “Miraculous”, played, Alya screamed in delight. “Marinette! It’s your song!”

“Oh, god,” Marinette laughed. “That was an insane day. I’m glad it just ended up being Everyone's song.”

“Don’t lie, Mari. You would have loved to have a song with Adrien back then. The Ladybug to his Chat Noir,” Alya fluttered her eyelashes, adding, “they did get together, after all. For a little bit.”

Marinette squinted as she drove forward. “Was that ever really official though? I mean, you never reported on it.”

Right, because Ladybug and Chat Noir had both specifically asked Alya not to. “Do you mean the relationship or the breakup? Because they were caught kissing like, a lot.”

“People kiss!” Marinette sputtered.

“I don’t know many people who kiss their friends like that,” Alya laughed. If she kissed her friends like that, Marinette would absolutely know. “And That DID end up on the Ladyblog. I know because you nearly had a conniption.”

“I just want to make sure you’re reporting factual, hard-hitting news! Not… gossip!”

“Yeah, I know, we had this exact argument two and a half years ago,” Alya laughed. “There’s nothing there for me to report on anymore. Hardly anyone sees the Miraculous heroes out together.”

Marinette was quiet for a moment, letting Clara Nightingale sing her sad song and fill the car with music. Then she said, “would you report on it? If some of them got together? Romantically?”

“I’d secure an exclusive interview and do it that way.” For some reason, Alya’s answer amused Marinette. “That’s what I always try and do,” she continued. “The Ladyblog functions the way it does because the Heroes trust me, so I need to keep that trust. It’s more important to maintain a trusting, professional relationship than to run a gossip piece.”

“That’s very mature of you, Alya.”

“It’s cause I’m a fuckin adult now,” she said, putting her feet up on the dashboard and grinning wildly at Marinette. “Adults are mature and shit.”

“You’re usually more of the ‘and shit’,” Marinette giggled.

“Hey! Pétasse!” Alya yelled, throwing a crumpled croissant napkin at her best friend.

Marinette squealed in giggles. The song continued in the background and Marinette exclaimed, “This is your part!”

On cue, Alya performed the tiny segment of the dance where she had been filmed...at least the part that involved her arms. “It was pretty cool. But I still think you would have been amazing as Ladybug.”

Marinette blinked in surprise. “Really? You weren’t just saying that?”

“No, girl. You totally have the Ladybug spirit and look down.”

“That’s high praise, coming from you...wasn’t she your celebrity crush?”

“Putain, she still is!” Alya laughed easily. She wasn’t dumb; she knew she was just as likely to land someone like Ladybug as she was to land a straight girl like Marinette. Even if Ladybug saw her as Rena fairly often...that was too big of a fish to try and catch for real. Ladybug wasn’t exactly the warm and cozy, ‘talk about our feelings’ type and still demanded no one tell each other their identities. It was largely why she didn’t let her feelings for Ladybug deepen. But that didn’t mean her attraction hadn’t. “Have you seen her new outfit? And the way she’s grown into it?” Alya whistled low.

She looked over at Marinette and saw her friend’s face was quickly turning scarlet...probably embarrassed by Alya’s gay talk. So she upped the ante, staring right at Marinette. “I mean, damn. She looks mature now, not an innocent little girl. Someone who can consent and downright control. Those little black spanx she got now? Over that ass?” Marinette turned even redder. Alya grinned. “And her fucking legs. Ladybug is strong as hell, but her legs...she redefines thick. She could crush a watermelon between those thighs. And let me tell you, I would love to be that watermelon crushed betwee-”

“Look, our exit sign!” Marinette squeaked, her voice several octaves higher than it normally was.

Alya grinned, pleased that she won their unofficial game of chicken. “Coq a l’ane,” she muttered at the abrupt subject change, smiling as she noticed the sign for Auxerre. She turned her recording back on and pointed it out the window. “Take a look at that! We’re only 5 kilometers from the exit to Auxerre! It’s 9:30 am, and we are making great time. What do you have to say, Marinette?”

Marinette grinned at the camera, her face slowly returning to its normal coloration. “I am ready to get up and stretch; that’s what I have to say!”

“And see the town?”

“Yes, and see the town. It’s supposed to be very pretty, right?”

“Sure is!” She could have kept filming Marinette- god knows she was prettier than the scrubby brush and trees around them. But she turned the camera frontwards anyway, hoping to catch more of the signs as they went. The music played on in the background, Alya and Marinette singing along again as Marinette took the exits into town.

Past a round-a-bout, trees hung over the street (Marinette squealed in delight) and the scenery quickly changed to include more buildings of varying ages. Alya recorded the sights of the town as they drove through, as well as a few shots of her very excited friend. She took a third exit at a roundabout, following the road until they drove next to the Yonne river. Marinette looked from the river to the other side and gasped. “Marinette, the car! You took your foot off the gas. There are people behind us...the car!”

“Oh...oh, shit. Right!” She gassed the car again and quickly found a parking place, then bounded out of her seat before Alya could even narrate what was going on. Marinette bounced up and down.

“She is so cute,” Alya laughed. She got out of her own seat and took a nice, slow pan of where they were. On one side of the girls, the beautiful, narrow Yonne river glittered with boats moored along the edges. Across the river were charming white houses with red-brick roofs and trees, trees, and trees as the horizon line. Blue skies and puffy clouds soared overhead, not tall buildings or intimidating history. On the other side though, it was a sight to behold. The buildings stood side-by-side, only visibly unique from one another by their white stone French coin corners. They were all topped in gorgeous tudor woods of bright colors- reds, yellows, and browns. A cathedral towered just above that view. Gothic, like the cathedral the girls grew up with, but so unfamiliar and so unique and so, so much larger and more impressive in this relatively small town. “And this is Auxerre! What a pretty medieval town!” Alya narrated.

Just on time, Marinette came bounding back into the camera’s view. “Auxerre!” she cheered. “Look at the cathedral! And the river! And the tiny, tiny buildings! Let’s explore, Alya! How do we park?”

“Marinette, we already parked.”

“No, I mean...where do we register to park here?”

Alya giggled. “Mari, we don’t. It’s free. We just leave the car and walk.”

“Oh. That seems...wrong.”

“Welcome to literally anywhere but Paris!”

“Okay, then. Let’s go!” Marinette rushed forward and grabbed Alya’s hand, pulling her towards the bridge over the Yonne river. She was giggling the entire time as if this poor girl hadn’t gotten out of the city for years.

Once Marinette pulled Alya to the center of the bridge, they both turned to face the city and gasped. Alya put up her phone, recording the view. Just across the river and reflected into it stood a wall of two-story medieval buildings. Stone, tudor, and charming. The cathedral and nearby clocktower stood above them, providing a beautiful postcard view...and one that could fit on said postcard. Yes, the city sprawled to the sides, but not in any overwhelming fashion. It was all Right There.

Alya dictated to her camera a little bit of information about Auxerre, then turned to film Marinette. But her friend was sitting cross-legged on the bridge, sketchbook in hand and tongue partially out of her mouth as she sketched the skyline. She smiled softly and turned off the video. It might be awhile.

Alya sat herself down next to Marinette and looked over at the city across the Yonne. It wasn’t a small city by any means; one of the largest in the area. But compared to their home, it was a hamlet. And Marinette was truly inspired. Alya loved to watch Marinette work. Their work ethic had always been one of their earliest connections; few other girls in college would spend hours working on their professional dreams. And as they got older, Marinette was the good influence Alya needed and vice-versa. Even now on vacation, Marinette couldn’t stop her mind from creating and taking inspiration.

They sat together as dozens of people crossed the bridge around them for almost twenty minutes; Marinette drawing under the morning sun, Alya watching the city, the water, and reviewing her videos so far. Finally, Marinette sighed in satisfaction and shut her sketchbook. “Let’s keep exploring.”

“Excellent. And we’re not leaving here without buying a good Burgundy wine!” Alya stood up and offered a hand to help up her friend.

“Fine with me, Alya!” Marinette cheered. “To the clocktower?”

“Absolutely. It’s calling to you, isn’t it?”

Marinette turned to Alya and smiled the way she did when she was in love with an idea. “I’ve not seen anything like it before. I can’t wait to meet it!” She squeezed Alya’s hand and turned to the city, tugging her friend along.

They wove in between people, down alleys, past old shutters and painted doors, around cafes, and up to the clocktower. Alya filmed the entire time, recording all the details of their exploration and the girls’ comments on the old town. She filmed the clock tower, then eventually their visit to the cathedral, Marinette’s scathing commentary on the outside of one of the local boulangeries (as well as her apology after seeing the interior and buying a baguette), their experience buying some fresh, local Morbier cheese and sliced meat, and finally handed the camera over to Marinette so Alya could pick out the Burgundy wine.

Exploring Auxerre, Alya felt like she and Marinette were free for the first time in a long time. They had no home to take care of, no careful relationships to dance around, no schoolwork to feel guilty over. And everything was new. Every building they saw, it was the first time for both girls, and every shared experience was taken while hand-in-hand. It ended up being nearly two hours later before the girls finally realized they ought to eat their lunch and get back on the road. Still, they meandered their way back to the van, pointing out tiny details in the city and the old stones beneath them.

Having parked near a patch of grass, they did not have to go far to eat their picnic lunch. Marinette carried the fresh purchases over to the grassy knoll while Alya rummaged in the back for their cooler.

Trixx poked her head out, taking a look at their new city while finally away from Marinette. “Wow, pretty place! Did you like it here, Alya?”

“You know, I did. Marinette got a real kick out of how trusting all the citizens are. She fits right in with that part...And the streets are really fun to explore.”

“Didja get me ice cream?”

“No, not this time,” Alya laughed. She bent over and picked up their cooler and shut the van back doors. Turning back around, she could see Marinette fussing with their fresh food and talking to herself. “Let me get you some cream before we go over, though.” She kept her eyes on Marinette as Aya bent into the cooler, pulled out a small pop-top jug of cream fraiche, and handed it to her hungry kwami. Trixx took it in both hands, knocking the drink back as she floated in the air as guzzled. Soon enough, she handed the remaining half back to Alya with only a semi-satisfied pout.

“It’s not ice cream.”

“I told you it wasn’t! Just...trick yourself.”

“I can’t trick myself, Rena. It doesn’t work like that. Pah. You’ll just have to make it up to me with some really great ice cream in your next stop.”

“Hey! You don’t even get ice cream every day in Paris. Don’t get greedy, ya little punk!” She took a single finger and pushed Trixx back into her shirt, making Trixx giggle in fake protest. Then, Alya looked back up at Marinette. She had finished laying out their fresh food, only waiting on the fruit, butter, cutlery, cookies, and drinks in Alya’s cooler. Marinette’s back was turned to Alya, the sun directly overhead, as she looked at the shimmering river.

Alya carried over the cooler quietly, not wanting to disturb Marinette. But still, when she was closer, Marinette looked over her shoulder, readjusting her cascading raven hair, and smiled softly at Alya. “This was a great place to stop,” Marinette cooed. She patted the grass next to her.

And Alya absolutely did not want to continue her vlog. She wanted a moment alone with Marinette, to enjoy their picnic, their quiet moment away from the town and all the Auxerre people who had been so kind. But regardless, she pulled out her camera, recording with great animation all the fresh Burgundy region delicacies they bought for their sandwiches. At Marinette’s absolute insistence, the wine remained corked, since they planned to drive.

Lunch consumed half their baguette, most of their Morbier, all of their meat, and only about fifteen minutes of their time. And then they packed all their leftovers into the cooler and headed back to the van.

“I’ll take the next leg,” Alya promised. She filmed their approach to the van but nearly dropped the camera when Marinette tossed her the keys. “Auxerre to….Saint Albain, two hours away. It’s 12:30 now, so if all goes well, we should pull in about 2:30.”

“Wait, we need gas,” Marinette corrected, “so don’t pull onto the highway just yet.”

Alya handed her the camera. “We’re supposed to film the road trip side to this all, so make sure you get as many hilarious shots of me as possible.” And so, the start of the second leg began with Alya lurching forward in the van and pulling through a local gas station.

Marinette dutifully recorded the monotony of Alya putting the nozzle of gas in the van, also catching her amused smile when she saw the camera turned on her. “You’re recording this, Mari?”

“It’s a crucial part of the road trip experience! It isn’t all Clara Nightingale sing alongs and climbing clocktowers,” Marinette explained.

Alya smiled and leaned against the car. “I guess you’re right. I’m not sure if I should be proud you’ve learned to be so thorough in recording from me, or a little embarrassed.”

“You should be proud! I couldn’t have a better teacher,” Marinette gushed. Alya looked down, hoping to hide her blush. Enough Buzzfeed watchers were already shipping Alya and Marinette and she didn’t want to give them any more ammo.

That was a lie. Alya was captain of that fan club and absolutely hoped this trip included as many moments between them as possible. But still. It carried a little weight of embarrassment back at the office.

“So you learn to record everything in your life from me and I learn to be a little more coordinated in my outfits from you. That seems symbiotic,” Alya decided aloud.

“And you’re lucky you have me, Alya. You do well dressing for yourself sometimes, but the level of sophistication…?”

“Is this a crack at my flannel plaid?” Alya asked, putting a saucy hand on her hip.

Marinette laughed. “It absolutely is! You look like a Canadian lumberjack!”

Alya shook her head. “You will pry my flannel out of my cold dead hands. It’s my mating display for fellow gays!”

“Oh, please. You don’t need to dress a certain way to attract girls,” Marinette disagreed.

The gas clanked with completion. Scoffing at Marinette, Alya unplugged the nozzle and hung it back up. “Like you know squat about that. I’m actually queer and need all the help I can get.”

“I just think you can get a girlfriend in any outfit, Alya,” Marinette explained, fussing with Alya’s collar with one hand, holding the camera loosely with the other. She returned to behind the camera, leaving her best friend breathless. Marinette returned to the passenger seat, camera still in hand, giving Alya just enough time to compose herself and return to the driver’s seat.

They pulled away from the gas pump and to the pay station, Alya rolling down her window as the young man gave them their price. He leaned a little farther out, looking at their van. As Alya fiddled around for the card with Mami Dupain’s stipend on it, he said, “So, you ladies are from Paris? Where are you two taking this big van?”

“Rome,” Alya replied, handing the attendant their credit card.

“Rome! Ahh, what do they say there? Belladonna. You’ll fit right in, my belladonna.” He ram the card and winked at Alya. She forced a smile and heard Marinette giggling behind her.

As she accepted the card back, she said, “Yes, I hear the eligible crowd is much more on our level there in Rome than you find in gas stations.”

“Uh...well, bonne route,” the attendant said, clearly a little shaken at Alya’s clap back.

Marinette was giggling even harder. But still, both girls chorused ‘thank you’ and the van eased back onto the main road, headed for the highway. “That poor boy did not know what he was doing when he hit on you. La pauvre! But he totally proved my point, before you killer him,” Marinette laughed, “you’re hot stuff! You can get it!”

“And that’s why I need the plaid!” Alya fired back. “I don’t want dudes like that to hit on me. I want girls to hit on me! I can get guys all I want. But a gay shirt says ‘you’re barking up the wrong tree’ and I like that.”

“Then why not something else, like...like an American undercut?”

Alya looked over at Marinette questioningly, then back to the road. They were approaching a roundabout with their exit towards the autoroute clearly marked, fields visible after their exit. “You think I could pull that off?”

“Well, I would never tell you to cut your hair, Alya. You have the most beautiful hair of anyone I know. Color, texture, softness...don’t cut it,” Marinette gushed. “But you could make any hair style look amazing.” Out of the corner of her eye, Alya could see Marinette panning the camera to show off her hair. “Now flip it, like a shampoo commercial.”

“Girl, you don’t need to ask twice.” Alya tossed her hair; the bounce was restricted by her headrest, but it made Marinette giggle, and that was more important than any video clip.

“What about me? Do you think I could pull off an undercut?”

Alya imagined it in her mind's eye. And as Marinette appeared before her with short hair, pushed to one side with that gorgeous fringe, the other side shaved, looking every centimeter as someone who wasn’t straight and every centimeter hot as hell, her throat tightened and legs squeezed together. Alya cleared her throat as casually as possible. “Yes. Yes, you could absolutely pull it off. You should. You should get one.”

“A few kids in my major have fun haircuts like that. I’ve had this length for years...maybe I should do something dramatic.”

“Yes. It will be amazing. Yes, girl, do it.”

Marinette sounded newly confident and she replied happily, “maybe I will!”

“Just be prepared to have to crawl through suitors because damn, you will look hot.”

“That’s the idea of a haircut, right? Attracting people?”

Alya laughed thickly. “Babe, you have never had a problem being attractive. You are the prettiest girl I know.”

“You’re my best friend. Unfair and biased.”

“Nuh-uh, girl. Gay’s honor; I’m saying that as someone very sexually attracted to the female gender. You are attractive as hell.”

Marinette flushed pink and Alya wished she wasn’t in the driver’s seat. She loved to watch how her face changed with a pleasant blush. “Well, Thanks, Alya.” She fiddled with the camera and Alya knew she’d have to edit that part out. The car was silent for a moment, neither girl exactly knowing how to follow that kind of remark. Usually when Alya said something like that, there was more than fields and empty sky around them. Here, all they had was the toll booth.

They pulled into the toll booth kiosk and Alya grabbed their ticket, ready to be punched when they got off the highway eventually. Taking the opportunity, Alya changed the subject. “Alright, back on the road for another two hours!” Alya cheered.

Marinette looked up from the map and shut the app. “Yep, and we just stay on A6 until we get to Saint Albain. No exits, even. Just….lots and lots of fields.”

“Aw, not all fields. There are some forests.” Alya grinned impishly.

Marinette didn’t reply, but shut off the camera and pulled out her sketchbook. She flipped a few pages and said conversationally, “I liked Auxerre. That was a cute little city.”

“Yeah, it was,” Alya agreed. “It reminded me of the small towns around Rennes.”

Marinette gasped lightly in recognition. “Oh, I bet it did. They’re both very medieval. The tudor, the small streets…” she flipped past her Auxerre drawings and to a new page. “I think I could live in a city that size.”

“Yeah? Wow, I can’t imagine you anywhere but Paris,” Alya admitted, eyes forward.

“I usually can’t either. Paris is my home. It’s my inspiration, it’s who I am, and it’s what I do. But sometimes those rent prices...you know? I wonder how much more comfortable it would be to live in a smaller town where you get to know more of it. Mainly with less tourists.”

“I thought you loved tourists! You’re like the only Parisian I know who doesn’t get mad at them!”

Marinette shrugged. “Everyone in Paris, almost everyone, is there because they love it. We have that in common, so...I can excuse some bad manners. I mean, most of those manners are just people not understanding our culture. But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like having more people who know what they’re doing. But they still deserve to experience the city I love!”

Alya sighed. Was it even possible for Marinette to be so loving? So kind? To absolutely everyone?? “Damn. You are something else, girl. You are incredible. If you do leave Paris for a place like Auxerre, the entire city’s level of kindness is going to sink like a rock. Murder will sky rocket! People will fight in the street for no reason! Ladybug and crew will have to work overtime and the Fashion Headquarters of the world will move from Paris to whatever buttfuck city you’re in.”

Marinette giggled, hiding briefly behind her sketchbook. She opened a blank page and started sketching. “I don’t know if I’d ever really move, though. Especially since it really is Fashion Headquarters and no matter what you say, that isn’t changing. But traveling more like this would be nice. Would you ever move?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. My career isn’t tied to Paris or any city; it’s actually best if I get a wide variety of experiences for my writing. I’ve lived in Paris way longer than any other city, so it’s weird to imagine leaving. And I don’t think I could leave you. Or our other friends.” It was really just Marinette. No part of Alya could imagine living without Marinette. She didn’t even want to return to a world without her as a roommate...she wanted to spend the rest of her life bumping sleepy elbows as they brushed teeth, taking turns doing dishes and making dinner, and cuddling much too close on the couch for movie nights.

Fuck, she probably should move out of Paris one day.

“Where would you move?”

“New York City would be fun! Or Los Angeles!” Alya answered automatically. They had played this game before. But life as university students gave the girls different perspectives than they had in lycée and collège. “But definitely a bigger city if I can afford it. Although I can see the appeal of a smaller town, depending on who is with me.”

“Who is with you?”

“You know, if I get in a serious relationship.”

“What do you mean ‘if’? Gas station man and I both just proved you are totally going to find love.” Marinette leaned into Alya’s space, grinning as she crooned in a low, sexy voice, “Belladonna, Belladooooonnaaaaa,” And it was absolutely unfair that her breath on Alya’s cheek and that low voice could make Alya squirm and make her foot push down just a little bit more on the accelerator, but what part of life was ever fair?

“Weirdo,” Alya said, trying to laugh it off as she put her entire hand on Marinette’s face and pushed her away. Her favorite tinkling giggle replied. “I’m just saying, you’re my most stable, longest relationship and that isn’t exactly what I meant.”

“At least you have dated. You were with Victoria for awhile...seven months, wasn’t it?”

Ahh, yes. Victoria. The third Marinette clone in the two years since they started university. Her second longest relationship after Nino, and also one of the most hollow. “I’m not marrying Victoria,” Alya sassed back.

“Oh, that’s not what I meant. I just meant that you’ve actually had real, important relationships. I’ve dated Adrien and...oh yeah, that’s it. One lycée romance and nothing after that. Just some first and second dates.”

Nine first dates, to be exact, and five second dates. And if she was pressed, the stubborn part of Alya’s brain could probably recall every single one of those boys’ names. “Marinette, if there is one thing on Earth that I know, it’s that you’re going to be just fine in the romance department.”

“Alya, that’s so sweet, but you don’t really know that…”

Alya turned towards Marinette and looked at her seriously, just over the top of her glasses. “But I do know that, Mari. You are incredible, amazing, and absolutely breathtakingly beautiful. You make the world a better place and you make every person you know a better person. Any b-boy,” Alya cleared her throat twice, determined to cough out all the emotion that was trying to betray her. “Any boy would be lucky to have you as a girlfriend.”

Alya was very glad that she could keep her eye on the road and avoid the intense look Marinette was giving her now. “Thank you, Alya,” she said softly. “You’re the best hypewoman a girl could have.”

Gripping the steering wheel a little too tight, Alya replied, “Yep, that’s me. The best damn hypewoman around. I’m printing business cards and everything.”

“I’ll design them for you!” Marinette offered, turning the page in her sketchbook and making the broad strokes Alya recognized as the start of a new design. “Alya Cesaire...Hypewoman. What other titles do you want? Journalist, obviously. Hmm...Ladyblog Editor in Chief… best friend in the world...wearer of amazing hair...Actually, we’ll run out of room on the card if I list all of your great qualities. That’s what the resume is for, right? We’ll just focus on the hypewoman part.”

“I expect 5,000 of these printed and embossed for all my future employers.”

“What, you don’t plan on a life-long career at Buzzfeed France?” Marinette asked, mirth in her voice. “But I was so looking forward to your article on ‘Which Character from Asterix am I Most Likely To Meet In A Shady Bar’!”

“You’re a shady bitch, Marinette. You know that?”

“I thought I was incredible and amazing! Alya, where is your consistency?”

“You’re all three things!” Alya laughed.

The girls continued to talk about cities, moving, and life and slowly, the conversation grew sillier and sillier. Topics flew by almost as fast as the fields and forests.

They had a long drive ahead of them and many, many more conversations to have.

#alyanette april #alyanette #fanfiction

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