#in my head there are paw on glass tapping noises whenever he raises the paw

[st-hedge]

I may be burned out but I can still use my skills for evil (making a Nya-ier emote for a friends server)

[mintaka14]

For the Lady’s Favour

A Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction

By Mintaka14

Chapter One

 Alya made soothing noises while Marinette moaned softly.

“It was just a setback,” Alya reassured her.

“It was a disaster was what it was,” Marinette mumbled into her desk, and wrapped her arms over her head. “Why does it always have to be so hard? Maybe the universe just doesn’t want me to be with Adrien.”

“I am not letting the universe dictate to us!” Alya insisted, and anyone watching would have felt for the universe in the face of Alya’s expression. As it was, Marinette didn’t look up.

“I’m just so tired,” Marinette muttered. “I’m tired of trying so hard to just speak to him without turning into a babbling mess. I’m tired of trying to get him to notice me.”

Alya patted her on her back.

“Why can’t someone chase me for a change? Where’s a knight in shining armour when you need one? Every anime heroine has one, why can’t I?”

Alya’s hand slowed. “You might be onto something there,” she said thoughtfully, but Marinette didn’t hear her.

“Someone willing to do brave deeds to win me,” Marinette said wistfully. “Go on quests, and do stuff to prove that I’m more than a good friend.”

Alya was sitting out of her line of sight. It sounded like she was writing something, but when Marinette turned to look Alya waved her away.

“You were saying about brave deeds?”

“I’d settle for a cup of coffee and someone who actually wants to spend time with me.”

“Got it,” Alya said, and Marinette swivelled around at the sound of tearing paper, but Alya had folded whatever it was out of sight. She reached across Marinette and snagged an envelope from the stationery drawer. As an afterthought, Alya snatched up a tiny sticker of a ladybug and added it to the envelope.

“Listen, I’ve got to meet Nino in a minute,” Alya told her a little guiltily. “You gonna be okay? I can come back later…”

Marinette waved her away with one hand. “I’m fine.” She sighed. “It’s not like I’m not used to crushing humiliation.”

She was engulfed in a hug, and then Alya whirled away to the staircase, the envelope in her hand.

“You will be fine,” her friend insisted. “Trust me.”

The door clicked shut, and Marinette frowned.

“Why did that sound so ominous?” she asked the suddenly silent bedroom.

~~~~~

Once the afternoon rush in Café des Fleurs started to settle, Luka paused to flick his blue-dyed hair out of his eyes and glanced around the tables. Everything seemed under control for the moment, no one needing refills, no empty tables that needed to be cleared. Most of the faces that afternoon were new to him, but one of the tables near the counter was occupied by three teenagers laughing over something.

The blond boy looked familiar, and Luka frowned, trying to remember where he knew him from. He wasn’t a regular customer. The kid with the headphones around his neck and the amiable expression was, though, and Luka remembered Nino because he had good taste in music and sometimes stopped to chat whenever the counter wasn’t too busy. Nino’s girlfriend, the sharp-eyed girl with the glasses, was pointing at the noticeboard beside the counter, and Luka turned to look.

The envelope pinned to the board that she was gesturing at hadn’t been there at the start of his shift, he was sure of that. He’d put up a flyer for his band’s gig on Friday, and there definitely hadn’t been an envelope of any sort there then. In fact, he could have sworn it wasn’t there before Nino and his girlfriend arrived in the middle of the afternoon rush.

He narrowed his eyes, leaning on the counter, as the girl unpinned it with overdone surprise and handed it to the blond boy.

“I wonder what this is, Adrien?” she asked disingenuously.

Radiant. Carefree. Dreamy. Adrien the Fragrance.

Luka’s eyebrow rose as he made the connection. Huh. That explained why the blond boy was so familiar. He’d been plastered on every billboard in Paris, and played out on every media site for what felt like months. Pretty enough, Luka supposed, but a little too synthetic for his taste.

“Are you brave enough?” the girl was reading from the envelope. “Well, are you going to open it, Adrien?”

“What if it’s for someone else?” the blond boy responded, turning it in his hands.

“There’s no name on it. Go on, you should open it.”

Egged on by his friends, Adrien opened the envelope, and Luka watched the the boy’s eyes go wide as he read the letter inside. He was looking for all the world as though every Christmas had come at once. And Nino’s girlfriend was trying to suppress a satisfied, and rather smug, smirk.

Luka bit back an amused smile, and turned away to deal with another customer, too busy to pay them any more mind for a while until he looked up from the coffee he was pouring to find the blond boy standing in front of the counter.

Radiant. Carefree… Damn. He was going to have that stuck in his head all day now. Hadn’t his sister said something about going to school with Adrien Agreste, the model?

The boy tapped the envelope on the edge of the counter, and then slid it towards Luka.

“I don’t suppose you saw who left this on the noticeboard, did you?” he asked hopefully. Luka sent a quick glance towards the table where Nino and his girlfriend wer sitting.

Pretty sure that was your friend’s girlfriend. He didn’t voice the thought, and, after all, he didn’t know for sure. Were they playing some kind of prank on the blond model?

“Sorry, mate,” he told Adrien. “But it can’t have been that long ago. It wasn’t there before the rush started.”

Adrien spun around to eye off the busy tables, but there were mostly middle-aged office workers and a couple of families with very young children, and he slumped noticeably.

“She’s not here,” he muttered. He turned back to Luka with a smile that looked a little too practised to be genuine. “Thanks, though.”

The girl leaned in as Adrien slid back into the chair beside her, and she seemed to be insisting on something. In the glimpses he had of the table between customers, Luka could see her talking hard at Adrien while the model scribbled something on a piece of paper in front of him with a look of deep concentration. Nino seemed to be staying out of it.

Luka was sliding a tray of coffee and pain au chocolat across the counter for the waitress to collect when Adrien approached the counter again, looking nervous now.

“Excuse me?”

Luka gave him an easy smile, and a raised eyebrow.

“Can I… put something on the noticeboard?”

“Feel free,” Luka said, and then his attention was claimed by a woman ordering café crème to go. When he finally had a moment to glance up, Adrien seemed to be getting ready leave, and there was a folded piece of paper pinned to the spot where the envelope had been. Luka leaned on the counter, waiting for the next move.

Sure enough, as soon as the model was out the door and into the expensive-looking black car that had pulled up outside the café, Nino’s girlfriend was taking down the note Adrien had left on the board. Nino didn’t look happy about it, Luka noticed.

“Alya,” the boy said, “are you sure this is a good idea?”

She gave him a dismissive wave of her hand. “It’s fine, Nino. It’s genius. You’ll see.”

They gathered their bags and headed for the door, neither of them seeing the sceptical lift of Luka’s eyebrow as he collected up their empty cups and gave the table a wipe. The customers got stranger every day.

~~~~~

Marinette hadn’t been expecting to see Alya again that afternoon, and when her bedroom trapdoor crashed open, the pencil swerved across the design she’d been sketching. Marinette muttered under her breath, and reached for the eraser.

“Tadah!” Alya announced, producing a folded page with a flourish and a smug grin. She held it out to Marinette. “You can thank me later.”

“What?” Marinette turned it in her hands, frowning at the little paw print drawn in one corner. “Alya, what is this?”

“This is your very own secret knight. Go on, read it!”

“Alya, what are you talking about?”

“Remember you were talking about wanting someone to do heroic deeds for you? So you don’t have to trip over yourself trying to get them to notice you?”

“Alya –“

“Just read it!” her friend said impatiently, and Marinette unfolded the page, reading the message inside.

‘My lady, Your bravery in issuing the challenge shall not go unmarked. I would be honoured to try for your favour with heroic deeds …’

“Alya, what the hell is this?!”

Alya’s grin grew wider and sharper. “Remember what you were talking about? Well, I just wrote it down and put it up on the public notice board at that coffee shop near the park. And someone took it!”

“Alya!”

Marinette stared at her friend in growing horror.

“How could you do this?! Someone wants to try for my favour? What kind of weirdo would do that?? What kind of friend would do that? I don’t even know who this is from! What if this is some creepy perv? What if –“

“Mari, calm down,” Alya cut off her rising panic. “Look, you’ve got nothing to lose here. They don’t know who you are, you don’t know who they are, you never have to even talk to them in person if you don’t want – it’s perfect.”

“Who – wha –“

“And of course I’m going to check them out for you, and make sure they’re not some skeev,” Alya added soothingly. She put her hands on Marinette’s shoulders, leaning down to meet her eyes. “I’ve got you covered. And, hey, what if it’s some really cute teenage boy who’ll love you forever? All you have to do is send a note back and get them to do something to show they’re serious.”

Marinette’s head was still spinning. “Like – what?”

Alya shrugged. “Coffee’s always a good start. Coffee’s a good first date, and you can find out a lot about a person by their taste in drinks. Ask them to send a coffee to wherever you want, and I’ll even deliver your request to the noticeboard myself. You don’t have to do a thing except wait for it to turn up. I’ve got you.”

“Coffee?” Marinette found herself repeating stupidly, and Alya gave her a grin.

“Or something like that.”

“I can do coffee. One drink can’t hurt, can it?”

[breziarchive]

beach majimako plz ty ilu!!!!

just for you, after i said “catch me never writing this”. superficial typos remain because i didn’t have time to edit asdflj

toying around with extending requests since I couldn’t work on them for almost a full day due to being sick, so stay tuned!

valentine’s day boogaloo - guidelines - ko-fi - majimako zine

~~

“Stopfidgeting,” Makoto implored with a smile as she brushed a straystreak of sunscreen on Majima’s cheek, “No one can see anything,”

“Sure,” Majima grumbled, clearly upset, “But, what if—,”

“It’ll be fine. Just enjoy the summer day,”

Majimahuffed, glancing around the array of colorful towels, umbrellas, andswimsuits as families relaxed, played, and wandered about the beach.The sun was warm but not oppressive, the breeze brisk and refreshing,and the water clear and calm. Makotowas wearing the swimsuit they had bought together, simple and paleblue. He wore trunks and a white button down shirt, all long enoughto cover the tattoos that would ban him from so friendly a beach.Frowning at her from behind sunglasses that barely concealed hisruined eye, he sighed and flopped back on the towel.

“Fine. Ya win this round.”

“Do I?” Makoto asked, amused as she rummaged in their bag, “Tothink, Majima Goro admitting defeat so easily!”

“Oi,watch it,” Majima grunted, “Or I’m gonna start keepin’ scoreand then you’ll be in trouble!”

“WillI be, I wonder,” Makoto mused under her breath as she finally foundthe book she had brought to read. Majima made a noise that suggestedhe had heard her but ultimately the conversation ended in favor ofthe playful sounds of kids running about the beach with the undertoneof the rhythmic waves. Majimadozed. Makoto read.

Thespray of kicked sand jolted Majima awake.

Rowdy, drunk youths cackled as they passed by, carelessly kickingmore sand onto him as they went. Makoto yelped, first in shock thenin worry as Majima started coughing and heaving, curling in panic.

“Goro? Goro!” she brushed sand off his shoulders as he tore hissunglasses off and pawed at his eyes. Taking one of his wrists as herother hand dove into the bag, she started to coo as he cussed andhissed.

“Don’t scratch! Don’t scratch at it, just blink!”

“Blink,”Majima rasped, angry but not at her, “Itfuckin’ burns!!”

“Iknow,” she pulled a water bottle out and frantically twisted thecap off, “I know, I know, here—,”

Takinghis cheek to turn him to her, she frowned, watching him blinking inpanic and pain as tears rolled down his face. Pouring the water overhis eyes and trying to avoid his shirt as much as possible, Makotocontinued to coo and help him rid the sand from his face. She brushedher thumbs as gently as possible along his eyelids, taking care tonote his ruined side once he regained his sight. As she coaxed grainsof sand out of the scar tissue, he scowled.

“Fuckin’shitbags,”Majima spat to the side, “See them get away with that on a tatbeach, I fuckin’ bet they’ll be cryin’ between their ass cheeksin two seconds flat! Whereare they?!”

“No, don’t,” Makoto said quietly, “Let them be, they’ll gettheir own soon enough,”

Grumblingand cussing, Majima still scanned the beach for them, locating themnot too far away causing havoc in their own little circle.Disgruntled, he slouched asMakoto started petting sand off of other areas.

“GuessI wasn’t so different, back then,” he muttered. Makoto chuckled.

“I bet you were a terror,”

“Were?”he pinched her cheek and she playfully swatted him away.

Hehelped Makoto brush the rest of the sand off, slowly building hismood back as they idly chatted about the more innocent parts of theirpast that weren’t too dark for whatever ears could be listening.All the while, though,Majima kept his one eye constantly glancing back to the rowdy youth.Makoto noticed, but didn’tsay anything until she tapped his arm.

“Goro,that family—,”

“Yeah,”he confirmed, low. The youths had started picking at a grandmotherand her two young grandchildren, harassing and kicking apart whatevercastles the youngest was trying to build. Anyprotest was met with the reasoning that they were simply playingGojira despiteabsolutely no invitation. Majimasnarled, snatched hissunglasses back up, and gotto his feet, “Fuck that! If nobody’s gonna give ‘em their ownthen I will!”

Makotodidn’t stop him.

“Oi!One bad turn deservesanother, you punks want sand kicked in yer face?!” Majima toweredover them but they were too drunk on their own might to care.

“Huh? You got a problem, old man?” one challenged, swinging astill-full bottle of booze. The others all turned towards him, whichwas good, since it gave the grandmother a chance to pull her kidsaway from the tension.

Majima grit his teeth, wanting so very badly to escalate farther—hecould pull all the real insults from every orifice and make them crybefore he beat their faces to the dunes. But the round and scaredfaces of the grandkids behind the punks forced him to reel it in andhe swallowed. Summoning a state of mind he hadn’t had to use in avery long time, he adopted the patience of a cabaret manager.

“Listen,guys, if yer gonna cause trouble, do it somewhere else, yer ruinin’some kids’ day fer nothin’, a’ight?”

“What’samatter, can’t take a little excitement in your life?” one of theskinnier ones prodded.

Thecomment roused a chorus of nasty chuckles with compliments to thechef of such a lame insult. Majima narrowed his eye, thinking of allthe many, many, manythings he had done inthe past several years of his life just for the fuck of it only tocome out of them (surprisingly) alive—not that Makoto had to knowhalf of them, but regardless. It popped a smirk on his face.

“What’re you laughin’ at, huh?” the booze-swinger steamed. Atfirst his friends laughed but then they shied away when he, angerclearly triggered, stormed up to Majima, “Somethin’ funny toyou?!”

“Actually, I feel like cryin’,” Majima supplied calmly, “Y’allare just so sad to look at.”

“Youtryin’ to start a fight?!”

“On this beach?” Majima feigned innocence, “I would never. So,listen to yer elder and haul ass outta here if yer feelin’ likethrowin’ down,”

“Idon’t have to listen to anyone!” the youth raged, swinging thebottle wildly.

“F-Furukawa, hey, maybe—,”

“Shutit!!” Furukawacommanded, causing the only dissenting youth to flinch. Majimasniffed.

“Yer friend’s got the right idea. Blow yer steam off somewhereelse, kid.”

“Youcan’t tell me what to do, old man!!”Furukawa roared, swinging the bottle down hard. Caught off guard byhow quickly the kid snapped, Majima grunted as the bottle shatteredover his head, scraping his brow and knocking his glasses off. Hestared at where the sunglasses landed in the sand nextto the bottle’s shards,sake dripping from his harsh features. For a moment he almost wishedit was champagne again, if only because that smelled better. Raisinga calloused thumb to wipe his upper lip, he inhaled, loosening hisshoulders on the exhale. The sake soaked into his white shirt andMajima looked up.

Theeyes of everyone in front of him, from the youths to the grandmotherbehind them, widened until the whites shone in the sun. Majimadidn’t have to look down to know that his tattoo bled through thewet fabric, having hemmed and hawed over it with Makoto some hoursprior.

“C’mon,kid,” Majima said, low and dark and edging on dangerous, “Whatare ya, 21? 20?”

Theyouths huddled together behind Furukawa who was too frozen to cower.The more his tattoo bled through the more anxious they became.

“Ain’tya a little old to be pullin’ thisshit?”

Furukawa’sjaw hung open, staggered, then shut.

“Ifya don’t want a little excitement in your life…,” Majima woundhis leg back and kicked sand at the youths, “Fuckin’beat it!”

They scrambled over each other, tripping and faltering in their hasteto leave the scrutiny of the unveiled yakuza. Majima would’vewatched them go, but the faces of the family in front of him stolehis attention. What must he have looked like? Hiding a tattoo wasterror for the grandma, but for the kids? They couldn’t stopstaring at the hole in his face. Frozen and awkward, he gulped andgave a little bow, earning a flinch from the grandmother. Shit.

“Goro!” Makoto called. Turning on his heel to see herrunning, Majima called back.

“Wait, don’t, don’t! There’s—,”

An ear-splitting shriek left Majima’s throat as he stepped on theshards of glass he was trying to warn her about. Hopping erraticallyon one foot, he attempted to go in her direction. Makoto braced hisshoulders when she reached him, guiding him back to their towel asgracefully as they could manage.

“Shit,” Majima expunged as he collapsed on the towel, “I’dalmost rather get another foot massage from ya,”

“Don’t tempt me,” Makoto said as she pulled his bleeding footonto her lap. Majima groaned, covering his face as she went to workcleaning the wound.

“Makoto?”

“Hm?”

Majima’s voice was defeated like a kid that had lost thechampionship little league game, “Where’s my eyepatch?”

In turn, her voice was gentler than normal, taking time to brush athumb along his shin, “Front pocket of the bag.

“’Kay…,” he mumbled. Keeping one hand covering his face, heblindly pawed around until he found the front pocket. Pulling thepatch out, he sullenly put it back on, wincing whenever Makoto hit aparticularly sensitive spot.

“Call me unprepared…,” She frowned, “But I didn’t bringanything to bandage you up…,”

“Naw,” he dismissed, “I can’t blame ya. This wasn’tsupposed to happen,”

A pause. Makoto rinsed her hands with the rest of the water.

“I’m sorry, Makoto,”

“Don’t be,” she assured quietly, “You did the right thing.”

Majima sighed, then started unbuttoning his shirt. Makoto eyed himwarily.

“You sure?” she asked. He sighed again.

“Cat’s already outta the bag. Plus it’s soaked with booze.Can’t hurt.”

Makoto didn’t argue and simply wrapped the shirt until his foot wasnothing but a bulk of soaked fabric. He seethed, somehow managing tokeep his ticklish foot in place for her. Makoto finally sat back,sighing with him.

“Well.”

“Well.”

She reached up and ran her hand up his arm, soothing with her firmgrip. Majima, his arm over his eye, started mouthing off a countdownas Makoto kept massaging him.

“You there! Sir!” an authoritative but painfully local voicecalled.

“Aaaand right on time,” he grumbled as the policeman jogged up.

Already intimidated by his appearance the policeman was trying coverup any stammering by standing straight. Majima only gave himattention by moving his arm so his eye could peek out.

“S-Sir, this is...This is a public beach,”

“Haw?”

“A family beach,”

“Uh-huh.”

“Tattoos aren’t allowed,”

“Ya.”

The policeman shifted, becoming as annoyed as he was nervous. Majimasqueezed whatever enjoyment he could by watching him struggle.

“Please lea—,”

“Wait, Officer,” an old and sweet voice interrupted. Majimajolted, looking up in utter bewilderment with Makoto. There stood thegrandmother, granddaughter in one hand and grandson in the other.

“Let him stay here for the day,”

“Sorry, ma’am,” the officer shook his head, “But I was toldthat this man assaulted several youths just now, I can’t allow suchbehavior here.”

The grandmother shook her head, her floppy sunhat following hermovements, “They were lying. This man took it upon himself tointervene and chase those ruffians away. They caused the violencefirst,” she gestured at his foot and brow, “Just look at whatthey did to him!”

“Self-defense?” the officer guessed. The grandmother narrowed hereyes, her voice turning into a harsh scold like he should’ve knownbetter. The officer winced, confused.

“No, those boys attacked first. I’m just thankful he washere to stop them,”

The policeman stammered, trying to bolster his defense. Rules arerules, so on and so forth. But the grandmother wouldn’t budge,resorting to shouting until the officer relented and allowed Majimaon the beach for that day only.

“Oh…,” Makoto said when the officer finally left them alone,“Thank you, really, thank you!”

“Granny,” Majima propped himself on his elbows, “Ya reallydidn’t have to, we can take a little beatin’ here and there,”

“And?” The grandmother turned her scolding to Majima in aninstant, much to Makoto’s giggling, “It’s a beautiful summerday and you deserve a good rest. Come now.”

The grandmother allowed the two of them to entertain her twingrandchildren, Makoto walking the boy into the shallows and pluckingsea shells with him while Majima (injured as he was) stayed on thebeach while the girl dug in the sand. Majima’s leering hannyaglared out at all the rest of the families, but the grandmother wasnever far away to sit and smile, diminishing the fierceness of thetattoo.

“Hohh? Whatchu got there, scamp?” he asked as the girl flinchedbut started poking curiously around a moat she had built. The girlwas much quieter than her twin brother, and simply looked at Majimabefore pointing down. He craned his neck, seeing a small crabscuttling about.

“Ohh yah, got some creatures in yer moat to guard it, huh? Nothin’to sneeze at either. Look,” he reached down and picked the tinything up, “See these claws?”

The girl nodded. Majima grinned, then stuck his finger square in thecrab’s claw to be pinched.

Gasping, the girl brought her sand-covered hands to her mouth. Majimacringed, biting his lip so as not to cuss—the little sucker pinchedfar harder than he had imagined. But still he stuck it out and kepthis wonky smile on for the girl.

“Goro!” Makoto called from the water, “What are youdoing?”

“Important stuff! You ain’t invited!”

“Would you stop hurting yourself at least?”

“Hurtin’? Ow—,” Majima flinched as the crab’s other clawfound the flesh of his palm, “This ain’t hurtin’, it’splaying, there’s a difference!”

The girl giggled. Makoto rolled her eyes so forcefully he could seeit from where he was sitting, and he started to giggle too as the sunbeat warmly on his back.

[bowieandqueen11]

Hi, I’d love a ship! I’m 5’4 with wild, long, dark brown, curly hair, hazel eyes, reading glasses that are normally on the top of my head, & I’m way on the curvier side. I’m an English major w/ a concentration on film & drama, & friends say that I’m sort of an “absent minded professor” type. I love making people happy & making them laugh, & I sorta prefer listening over talking. I’ve a serious & sassy side. I adore rockin out to music & I’m a dog person. Thank you sm!! LOVE your blog!!

Thank you love your too kind!! I hope you’re having a wonderful week!!

I ship you with: Brian May!

Brian was sitting in the ice cream parlour, trying to ignore the shoving of Roger’s elbow against his ribs as his lips pucker against the straw, drinking his milkshake as Freddie and John splatter each other with small sprinkles of mint choc chip ice cream across the way with their spoons. However, Brian jolts suddenly, nearly making Roger’s sundae fling onto the floor. He whispers, ‘John, duck down for a second’, ignoring the burning frown on Roger’s face as his eyes focus on the mass of wild long dark curly hair that rises over at the next booth over, the red leather seat highlighting the flecks of colour that run through starlight through your hair. He ducks down, scared he would be caught staring as he sees the glasses on the top of your head dip down as well, a goofy smile covering his face as Freddie looks on in shock and wild amusement. Growing bored at Brian’s lack of movement, Freddie slams his fist onto the table dramatically, making Brian jump up in shock and catching your attention, your doe hazel eyes meeting Brian’s as his mouth forms a small o, a shaking sigh leaving his lips as he wonders how anyone could look so absolutely ethereal in these dim parlour lights.

He would absolutely love your english major, being so proud of your skills. He would often drag Roger to the library with him after long studio sessions, combining their biology and physic skills to try and find a multitude of films and books that could interest you both, often coming home with full arms, chuckling hoarsely in the hallway as you run out to hug him, but are only greeted with fluttering pages. He would love nothing more than to spend cold winter afternoons with you next to a roaring fire, mountains of marshmallow blankets piled over your intertwined legs, his feet tapping joyfully over yours as his knees brush against your sigh, trying to read by your side as you work, a movie on in the background, but only managing to distract you with the dopey puppy dog smile he throws at you whenever he thinks you’re not looking, your silent professor style as you read making his heart swell over and goosebumps break out on his skin at how adorable you look when concentrating.

He would be so enamoured with your happy nature, finding it such an endearing feature and one of the reasons he fell head over heels in love with you, even when you are quite. To try and repay the favour for all the times you have made him laugh or raised his spirits after a long day, he would surprise you by coming home one day, a shy and ginger look on his face as you run over, running your fingertips through his curls as he gazes down at you with such devotion it takes your breath away, before he pulls his hands away from behind his back only to reveal two sleeping little puppies in his large fingers. He would absolutely find your love for dogs adorable, especially as he is a big softie at heart himself, falling even more in love with you each day for your caring nature. His perfect day would be spent with you in his arms, his tired fingers stroking over your cheeks as he smiles against the top of your head, your head rising and falling against his chest as he breathes, the sound soothing and like home in your ear. His cold bare feet would land upon yours, his hairs tickling your legs as you squeal slightly, the slight patter of tiny paws running into the room at the noise and bouncing onto the bed, slightly damp noses bumping onto the side of your head as they land on Brian’s waist with a loud ‘oomph!’

He would love your more sassy and rocky side, as you’re the most perfect person in the universe to keep up with his lifestyle and with the boys. He would honestly believe you’re his own special angel sent to him, the way you could quip back to Roger with childish amusement, giggles erupting from both of your throats as he hugs you. The way you could chide John when he went over the top with sisterly warmth, a knowing smile twitching at his lips as he winks at you and nods. The way you could keep up with Freddie, constantly being swept off your feet into a dance and song as the two of you jive around the studio with thunderous laughter, but being the one to bring him back to the ground when he flies too far off.

[josiewinters1999]

What It Feels Like 6

Rocket Raccoon x OFC (Willie)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Summary: Willie awakes to find herself in The Collector’s gallery. She knows she has to escape... for Rocket.

Contains: Angst, fluff, feels, cursing, violence, really gross stuff for a hot minute

A/N: It has been forever and a day since I’ve uploaded and to my [5] fans, I’m so sorry. If you are reading this, thank you for coming back after my long absence and I hope this part is worth the wait. I’m actually pretty proud of it tbh. If you guys like this enough and I keep getting the time/motivation to work on it, I hope to extend it and add the other Guardians. Also, I’m thinking about starting up and writing about Willie and other characters, in her “canon” timeline (aka, the one I have meticulously planned out in my head). Drop a comment and tell me what you think of the story or anything I’ve proposed. And as always... enjoy!

The morning was just like any other; the alarm clock went off, he got up, dressed himself, and went into the control room of his ship. However, when Rocket realized upon entering that it was missing a certain person and all the comforting ambiance they produced, he felt his heart sink in his chest. Today was going to be a long lonely day.

He makes his way to the coffee machine, ready to brew himself a cup since Willie wasn’t there to do it like she typically did. With a drowsy paw, Rocket grabs the coffee and begins making the pot.

As the water brews, the raccoon’s distorted reflection grimaces back at him from the coffee pot. He crosses his arms and looks away, not wanting to be reminded how miserable he actually is. Brown eyes gaze across the common room of his modestly sized ship. On the table where he and Willie would normally be sharing breakfast, he spots his holocommunicator.

All the muscles in his body tense the second his eyes lock on it. He slowly makes his way to it, afraid he might startle it somehow if he’s too quick. It looks back up at him, almost begging him to make the call he so desperately wants to make.

Furry paws grasp the tablet and hold it feebly. It’s only been one damn day, his mind tells him. What could possibly have happened in one day? The voice of his conscious didn’t stop Rocket from wanting to make the call.

If I could just hear her voice one more time... his small fingers punch in her name and got to hit the ‘call’ button but stop in an instant, mere millimeters above the surface of the device.

She left you his darker side scolds him. She doesn’t need you and you don’t need her. Face scrunching up in anger, the raccoon throws the communicator back onto the table and returns to his coffee.

***

The space is still and stagnant, air not moving in any direction. It smells of plastic, harsh cleaning chemicals, and something foreign. Behind her eyelids, Willie can sense there was a light on.

Voices in the distance are muffled by a what sounds like a wall. They’re deep, masculine, and many. Mind not yet a full functioning, Willie is unable to translate and blows off the noise as the radio or television.

In her space, the Gallifreyan stirs, finding her position uncomfortable. The pain in her head suddenly catches her attention and her whole body winces. The sound outside her space changes from voices to loud thumps, each one increasing in volume before stopping.

Bang bang bang.

The sound of a fist on flat glass is enough to jolt the woman awake. She springs into a sitting position and makes the horrible choice of opening her eyes.

Flickering and humming fluorescent lights above her magnify the pain throbbing in her skull to levels unbearable. Raising a hand to shield her eyes, Willie squints, hoping it will help her focus.

The blurry room slowly starts to become comprehensible. There is a man standing above her with a wide, wicked smile on his face. He waves sarcastically as he bends his knees. His blue skin, black eye, and bloody lip make the Kree man instantly recognizable.

Too weak to make a rebuttal, Willie just snarls and the man laughs, his voice now being clear and understandable, “Not so tough now, are you, you stupid bitch?”

Willie’s memory suddenly comes crashing into her like a runaway train.Landing in Knowhere, going to her ship, having a smoke at her table in the bounty hunter’s bar, the fight in the bar, the fight in the alleyway, all while she was trying to get back to Rocket.

Rocket. Oh God…

One of the men from the alleyway steps up and pulls back his friend taunting Willie, “Come on Agron, let’s just let the man pay us and get out of here,” he leans into the blue skinned Agron, “this place gives me the creeps.”

Agron looks between his friend and his catch in the glass cage before walking away. This gives Willie a second to fully survey her surroundings.

Feeling a stiff, scratchy feeling on her skin, she glances down. She was now clad in a crisp, clean, white jumpsuit and matching socks. She feels a pain in her neck. Reaching up,she feels a small metal disk under her skin. Having used them on others before Willie knows exactly what its purpose is; electric shocks. Shifting to be on her knees, she crawls to the edge of the square enclosure. Peering out into the area outside it, she looks up and out at the vast storage area.

The ceiling seems to stretch on almost forever, receding into blackness as the items hanging in it begin to disappear. Hundreds of glass cases similar to Willie’s reach into the space above, each one filled with a different, rare creature.

Willie had heard many things about this man and had evaded his grasp many times by the hairs on her neck. Finally being in his care, in his glass case looking out, was something Willie had prayed she’d never see. Suddenly feeling light headed, she falls back onto the seat of her jumpsuit, the world before her becoming blurry.

In the distance, she sees three indistinct figures. The smallest of them hands something to the other two before they walk away. On the brink of fainting, Willie doesn’t notice the figure’s movement until he begins to finally come into focus at the edge of her tank.

He is slightly taller than Willie and wears a luxurious white fur coat draped over his shoulders, it’s hair matching that on his head perfectly. His tailored purple suit underneath oozed elegance and wealth. Wealth, Willie is now starting to realize, built on blood… blood like hers.

With straight perfect teeth, he grins at Willie like a passerby would grin at a cute dog. He bends his knees, purple fabric around them straining slightly. “Look… at … you,” his words were slow and full of pride, “After all this time I never thought I’d have one. A Time Lord. The last Time Lord,” he trembles slightly with giddiness, “And she’s all mine.”

“Jokes on you dumbass,” Willie grins back, “I’m not actually a Time Lord. I’m a Woodlander. We’re a different breed.”

The Collector stands, fixing his now lightly wrinkled clothes, “Makes no difference. You’re the last one left.” He looks back at her with a devilish grin, “You’re one of a kind.”

***

“I wish we could stay like this forever…” Willie sighs, rubbing the fur between Rocket’s ears gently with her long pale fingers. He grips her shirt tighter and smiles, inhaling her scent deeply. She smelled of cigarette smoke, tangy soap, and something distinctly Willie.

Curling into her side, Rocket can feel her warmth radiate onto him, the clear blue sky above him and the crisp wind completing the scene. “We can stay like this as long as you want baby,” He mumbles happily.

Willie furrows her brow, “We can?” The worry in her voice drains Rocket’s joy as he sits up to look at her. Her skin was perfect without a single blemish on it, like it had been airbrushed. “Why couldn’t we?” he asks, concern evident.

She brushes her vibrantly colored yellow hair back, looking up at the raccoon, “I don’t know.” Her hands find a blade of grass beneath her and twirl it in her fingertips as she continues, “Maybe because we shouldn’t be together.”

Rocket grabs her hand and holds it in both his paws, “Baby, we can do whatever we want. Who was it that made the rules of who can and can’t be together?” Her blue eyes glance at his hands and then back into his eyes.

“Don’t you love me?” the raccoon asks, deep brown full of worry. She only smiles, gracing his cheek with her free hand, “Of course I do. I always have.”

For a moment, time stops, the birds stop chirping, the clouds stop floating, and the wind comes to a halt. Willie’s warm smile is enough to last Rocket a lifetime. Her plump red lips turn upwards as she speaks in a low voice, “Rocket, I lo-”

The moistness under his chin wakes Rocket from his dream. Groggy and half out of it, he sits up, looking at the puddle of drool in his lap. Wiping the now cold liquid from his cheek, he looks at the clock on the ship’s console.

2pm. It’s barely past noon and he’s already bored himself to sleep. Living without Willie is harder than he thought it would be.

His hands tingle as if they really had just been touching Willie. He sighs, heart heavy and the images flashing through his mind. Rocket realizes he feels empty without her.

But again, her face, her real face, not the one in Rocket’s dream comes to mind; sunken in, covered in scars, nose crooked, and eyes permanently full of disdain and disappointment. The sight hurts just to think about. Hurt soon turns to anger and he clenches his fists around the armrests of his captain’s chair.

“Fuck her. Never needed that junkie slut crowding me anyways.”

***

Whenever Willie got any reprieve from being watched, by either The Collector himself or by one of his pink skinned minions, she searched her cell fervently. Top to bottom she looked for something that could get her out.

Fingers tapped, poked, and pried at every corner and seem of the glass. It was sealed tight, the only opening was the air vent above and Willie had already rubbed her fingertips raw trying to feel for a weak spot or anything she could wrap around her fingers to help in her escape.

Willie was beginning to learn the hard way how things work as a toy in The Collector’s box. Twice a day, every day, you were delivered food. The food was bland but kept you alive and healthy, just the way he wanted you.

When it was feeding time, you were told to get into position at the opposite end of your tank. This position consisted of you kneeling, ankles crossed and hands interlocked behind your head. Something you can’t get out of very easily.

The pink skinned girl would then open the door and carefully set the food down before shutting it and leaving. If you moved, she hit a button on the device strapped to her wrist and an electric shock powerful enough to make even Willie seize up would flow through your body, leaving you a sloppy mess on the floor.

Days passed, and many times Taneleer himself would come to just stare at the blond Gallifreyan in her case. Petting his fur coat like it was a living animal, he stared her down, grinning wildly and almost fondly at her. Every time, Willie would curse him, promptly earning her a shock slightly more potent than the ones delivered by the assistants.

Getting out of this place is going to be tough, that much was clear.

***

Willie lay in the dark on her back. The Collector knew better than to give her anything in her case so she lay on the bar hard floor, staring at the grey ceiling, its only features being the light, now dimmed, and the air vent.

Nine days. It had been nine days. Why hadn’t anyone come for her? Where was Rocket? Hadn’t he seen her getting pulled away? Willie thought, hands folded on her stomach. Then it hits her. Rocket doesn’t care. He’s pissed I left. No one is coming…

Her thoughts and potential tears are interrupted by footsteps in the distance. She sits up, crawling to the nearest glass wall. She sees one the cleaning ladies scurrying in, a bucket in one hand and a wad of rags in the other.

“Hurry!” The Collector’s voice is distant, quiet, but unmistakable. “He isn’t going to clean himself now is he?” he shouts and the girl only runs faster.

After watching the pink girl disappear in the sea of dimly lit glass cases, Willie watches Taneleer emerge, steps angry and swift with his less formal, more comfortable night coat flowing behind him.

With the excitement seeming to be over, Willie sits back, listening intently. She could barely make out the sounds of cleaning. The slosh of water, the squeak of clean glass, and the occasional sob from the woman doing the dirty work.

Some time later, the assistant comes back, wet rags inside the bucket of now dirty water. Head to the ground, tears trail down her cheeks and she briskly speed walks out of the gallery hall.

Eyes trained on her like a hawk, the wheels in Willie’s head turn. She feels the blood rush through her body and a hunger form in her stomach; a hunger she hasn’t felt in a long time.

If she wanted to get out of this place, she was going to have to do it the dirty way.

***

Hours passed and her instinct was telling Willie it was turning from night to dawn. The creatures around he were beginning to stir and the hall seemed more alive than it is at night. The Collector comes out to gaze upon his prizes while his entourage of assistants come around with carts full of food trays.

The one that typically fed Willie approaches her tank, tray in hand and cart at her side. She gives a look to Willie and the blond glares at her, asking her to assume the proper position for feeding.

As she kneels, interlocking her ankles and hands, the woman slides the glass door open and sets the tray down before swiftly exiting and going on with her route.

Willie gets up and stares at the food as it practically stares back at her. The tray was like everything else in her tank, white and clean. Perfect, just the way he liked things. It disgusts her and makes her yearn for freedom even more.

Angrily grabbing the food and sitting it on her lap, she begins shoveling it into her mouth, waiting for the perfect opportunity to carry out her plan. She watches the people bustle about, going from tank to tank until their carts are empty. They then roll out in an almost single file line, ready to return in an hour to collect the empty trays.

Finally alone, Willie checks one more time to see if the collector is near. Without the man or any of his minions in sight, Willie sits back hearts racing. If she was going to do this, she’d better hurry.

With no more food left on her tray, she leans forward, looking down at the floor. She gets on her knees, pulling her hair over her shoulders and opening her mouth wide. She takes a deep breath, squeezes her eyes shut tight, and reaches her long fingers down her throat.

There was only a couple other times she’s ever had to do this, and being nervous always made it harder. She forces them deeper and harder down her throat, feeling around to find that sweet spot that will give her the results she needs.

Feeling herself gag, she knows she’s found it. Pressing harder still, she gags more and more. Sweat seeps from her pores, worry that she’ll be caught tickling her stomach. Soon enough she gags one last time and a waterfall of sloppy puke gushes from her mouth and onto the floor by her knees.

Coughing while the last bit comes out, she pulls her fingers out, licking them clean first and then wiping the excess saliva on her leg.

Surely when the lady came to take her tray, she’d see the mess and have to spend a good amount of time to clean it.

Willie’s prediction comes true sooner than she had hoped when Taneleer steps out from behind the row of tanks next to her and see her sitting in her own filth. Glaring at the Gallifreyan, she fakes stomach pains and curls into a corner, trying her best to further the illusion.

The Collector’s face heats up and turns a deep shade of read, “Carina!” he shouts, almost loud enough to make the glass shatter. Quick yet light footsteps rush to his side, “Yes, master?”

He forcefully grabs her arm and jerks her, making her look at the state of his prized piece, “What is this? Are you trying to kill her?” Stuttering but not actually responding, Carina’s mouth opens and closes nervously. “Clean it up...” Taneleer barks into her ear. She nods and rushes off to get her supplies.

The Collector looks Willie up and down one last time before storming off in a rage. If he were to stand and watch any longer, he knows he would most likely scream at Carina the entire time.

Unable to hold it in, Willie grins. Perfect ,she thinks. Within a few more moments, Carina comes back with the buckets, chemical solutions, rags, and sponges needed to clean Willie’s vomit.

Willie begins to tingle with anticipation. Carina doesn’t even bother to say anything to Willie before sliding the door open. The Gallifreyan’s eyes go wide in excitement as she stares at the woman’s wrist and the device strapped to it.

Carina wets a rag and kneels, beginning to wipe the floor. Every second seemed to drag on for years and Willie felt like she did in the forests of her home; nervously excited with a certain insatiable bloodlust as she waits in the bushes to kill her next meal.

Soon the weak prey turns her back to re-wet her rag. The predator lunges forward silently and swiftly, grabbing her by her throat to silence any screams. Prey’s eyes go wide and fingers claw desperately at the suffocating firmness around her.

Willie drags Carina into her tank, through the mess on the floor and up to her chest. The blood pumps through her veins, adrenaline making her stronger and eventually she can feel Carina’s spine in her palm, so close she can feel the bumps in her vertebrae.

The woman’s pawing becomes softer and softer, her pleaing grunts becoming quieter and quieter. Eyes roll up into her skull and she goes limp and heavy in Willie’s hands. Willie reaches down to her wrist and unstraps the device that controls the disc in her neck.

Strapping it on her own wrist, Willie begins punching every button she can find. How the hell do I turn this thing off? Her mind panics. Suddenly there is a beep and Willie quickly prays to every God she knows that that has done it.

Her head darts from side to side as she emerges from her tank for the first time in over a week. Not a soul is in sight and the coast is clear.

She steps swiftly and quietly through the gallery, keeping herself as concealed as possible. She weaves between the rows of glass cases, the creatures and plants inside watching her in awe as she does the thing they all wish they could do; escape.

The door has to be here somewhere. Her mind races and her pores leak profusely as she frantically searches for the exit. Each row only leads to nothingness and Willie starts walking faster and faster through them.

Finally, a grand archway presents itself at the far end of the gallery, barely within view. Face lighting up with relief, Willie makes her way to it, confident and giddy.

“You!” a deep male voice grunts behind her. Her body tenses up again and she whips her head around to see the voice’s owner. The Collector stands down the row from her, Willie equidistant between him and freedom.

She sprints as fast as she can for the door. Taneleer reaches his wrist up to push the button on his device to slow her down. Nothing happens. He presses it again and looks up. She is still running, and alarmingly fast.

His heart tenses and he shouts, “Get her!” No one rushes to his aid and he runs after her himself. Willie reaches the archway and dashes out into the familiar streets of Knowhere.

Luckily there was a crowd and she soon absorbs herself into it, hiding herself in the swarm of bodies lining the strip. By the time Taneleer emerges from his gallery, she is gone. He looks down at his wrist computer again and see a red dot on a radar. “You’ll be mine again...”

***

Weaving quickly through the crowd, stealing the paranoid look over her shoulder, Willie looks everywhere for The Collector or his goons. She’s certain they are right behind her.

After walking the streets and not seeing any sight of them for an hour, she relaxes. She’s outrun them… for now. Willie looks down at her vomit and sweat stained jumpsuit. If she wants to blend in and get off this planet, she’s going to have to change clothes.

She desperately searches the streets for where her ship was parked prior to her kidnapping. That comforting and familiar empty space between two buildings was a sight for sore eyes. A bright smile spreads across Willie’s lips and she runs to her ship. She can’t wait to throw open the doors of that fantastic invisible box and-

Reaching the space, she runs right through it. Where her ship should have been is empty. Her ship is gone.

Willie begins to panic, “No…” she whispers. She frantically feels the air for it. Spinning in circles like a mad man she searches for something that isn’t there. “No,” she repeats. “No no no.” She stomps the ground in anger. “He took it. Taneleer Tivan took my fucking ship.”

She gazes back out into the alleyway, “I need a phone…”

***

Hanging his ammo belt up on the rack at the entrance of his ship, Rocket sighs. Jobs just don’t satisfy him like they used to. The rush of blowing something up and taking someone down just doesn’t get his goat anymore.

They used to give him a sense of fulfillment that satiated his core like a desert flower getting its yearly rain. Things are… well… different now. He knew deep down why, but would never admit it to anyone, especially himself.

With heavy limbs, he trudges to the kitchen. Bounty hunting can sure work up the appetite. Rocket steps on his small ladder to reach the top cabinet. Before he can even fully grasp the handle of the door, the holocommunicator on the dining table rings.

His movements stop. He debates whether he should let it ring out or if he should walk over and reject the call. Either way, he didn’t feel like talking to anyone. The raccoon returns to the task at hand and opens the cabinet.

In the background, the ringing stops. “Guess they didn’t want to talk either.”

Reaching into the cabinet he pulls out a box of food and begins preparing it. He pours the contents of the plastic container into a plastic bowl, sighing with tired eyes and feeble fingers.

The ringing begins again and Rocket growls to no one in particular. Teeth bared, he angrily looks over his shoulder at the table muttering to himself, “Can I not sit down for five goddamn minutes?” Eventually, the ringing stops once more.

Tension releasing, the raccoon takes his food and walks to the captain’s chair to eat it. As he passes the table and holocommunicator sitting on it. It begins yelling at him again, almost as if it knew he was walking by.

Angry beyond comprehension, he slams his food on the table, a few bits of it falling out onto the surface of the tabletop. “Who could it possibly be?” he shouts at the top of his lungs. He picks of the glowing translucent blue tablet and reads the message:

Voice Communication. A3-Sector B09

The code at the end was instantly recognizable to Rocket. It told the raccoon that this call was coming from Knowhere. But why? At this point, Rocket’s anger has subsided and curiosity is slowly taking its place.

Slowly, he takes his paw and taps the accept button. Immediately he hears a hustle and bustle in the background of the call, confirming this call was where the communicator said.

“Hello?” the raccoon’s voice is unsure.

“Rocket!? Oh thank God I was starting to think you wouldn’t pick up,”  distinctive voice worries to him. It was shaky and scared.

Rocket’s heart drops at the sound of it and he nearly faints, “Willie?”

She smiles on her end, “Yeah it’s me.” There is a pause as she swallows nervously, “Rocket, I’m in trouble. I need you.”

Rocket opens his mouth to offer his assistance but is suddenly reminded of the full situation. She left him. She left him after he poured his heart out to her. She doesn’t deserve his help. “Why should I help you?” he grunts.

Willie almost chokes at those words, “What the hell do you mean? Rocket, please. I need your help. I’m stuck here.”

He only shrugs, “Sounds like a personal problem to me.”

The Gallifreyan bites a lip and lowers her voice, “Rocket, listen. I’m sorry for how stupid I was being. This whole thing with our feelings just is kinda hard for me…” she sighs, “I… I shouldn’t have left. I really had no reason to except that I was scared. But trust me when I say I tried to get back to you. I really did.”

Tears welling in his eyes, Rocket tries his best to make it sound like he isn’t crying, “Then what the hell stopped you?” he spits.

“I was kidnapped!” Willie shouts, her voice going through the communicator and filling Rocket’s ship.

He is taken aback by this, “Y-you were what?”

The woman lets out a deep breath, “The Collector got me. He’s been after me for years and he finally got me. It’s a wonder I was able to get out.” She anxiously scans the crowd as she speaks into the communicator on the Knowhere streets, “I think he still might be on my tail though. Can never be too sure. I need to get this stupid thing out of my neck. How soon can you be here? Because I am dying to kill this piece of shit.”

“Willie…” he trails off, unable to think of what else to say.

“Please Rocket, I need my big man to come rescue me.”

His heart flutters and he smiles, “I love you,” he blurts out.

Willie sighs, grinning like mad, “I think I might feel the same.”

The smile on Rocket’s face couldn’t be wider, “Lay low for a while doll. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

***TAG LIST***

@animeaniseed @youralienfriend @fandoms-4-life0000 @groovy-bouquet-starlight @okie--loki @tara-jadet1ffen @rosaufyuniverse 

[667-darkavenue]

alley cat - chapter eight.

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Pairing: Alya/Ladybug

on ao3

Alya’s phone buzzed on her night stand.

cookies and video games?

I’ve got stuff to do tonight, next time!, Alya replied.

She set the phone down and clenched her eyes, fighting off waves of guilt. She needed Marinette right now, if she was being honest. But she wasn’t being honest, and wasn’t ready to look her best friend in the eye and keep lying to her about what was going on in Alya’s life.

The phone buzzed again.

ok! what about tomorrow?

Marinette had been persistent and aggressively caring while Alya avoided her the past couple of days. She could sense that something was wrong. It made Alya feel so much worse for hiding everything. She would feel betrayed if she were in Marinette’s place. She would be shattered by it. Alya sighed, chose to ignore the notification, and burrowed back under her bedcovers instead of replying. Marinette would understand. Or, at least, she wouldn’t judge. She had plenty of days where she fell off the grid with no explanation for Alya.

Alya pulled the sheets over her head. She couldn’t talk to her own best friend about why she was hurting. She couldn’t talk to Ladybug. She couldn’t talk to Plagg. She didn’t have anyone to reach out to about this.

Is this what it had been like for Adrien when she took his ring? Another pang of guilt rattled through her chest at the thought. No, it must have been far worse for him. She had only been Alley Cat for a short time. She had always known it wasn’t meant for her. She didn’t have it taken away.

Tap, tap, tap.

Something at her window stirred Alya out of the four-layer blanket burrito she’d been languishing at the center of all day. She rolled over to look at the source of the noise—And fell right out of bed. At least the burrito cushioned the fall.

She really should be used to seeing Ladybug by now. But no. Her presence electrified Alya every time.

Ladybug took their eye contact through the glass as an invitation to come in. She didn’t wait for Alya to throw the blankets off before opening the balcony door herself and taking a seat right there at the edge of Alya’s bed.

“Hey,” she said, and Alya didn’t know how to answer.

Ladybug was in her bedroom. On her bed. Just waltzed right in there like it was hers. Jesus Christ, she could see Alya’s expensive Ladybug figurine on the desk. It was right out there in the open.

If she saw it, she didn’t react. “How are your sisters?”

“They’re, uh, they’re watching a movie in the living room.” She sat up, clutching her blanket close and forcing her face to look unphased by this. “They’re good.”

Ladybug patted the empty space next to her on the mattress. “Are you good?”

Alya pulled herself back up to the bed. She crossed her arms, suddenly conscious of them and unsure where to put them. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Dunno. Things went pretty bad with the last akuma. Just wanted to check if you were shaken.”

Alya swallowed. She wanted to brush this off, but it was hard to lie to Ladybug too. “I’ve been shaken by akumas before.”

“Brave girl.” Ladybug stared at her for a moment with a strange little smile on her face.

Alya wished there was a way to reach up and brush out her bedhead without calling attention to it.

“You wanna patrol with me tonight?”

“Patrol what, exactly?”

“I’ll show you.”

Spending a night out with Ladybug, not fighting for their lives or chasing after attackers, just being with her for once like friends would, or like…

Alya’s pulse skipped at the thought. “Ladybug, I... can’t.”

A red gloved hand reached out to cup Alya’s cheek in her palm. “You don’t have to if it’s too soon. I get it.”

“You don’t...” Hazel eyes fell downward, unable to look Ladybug in the eye even as she leaned into her touch. “It’s that... I can’t do this with you anymore.”

“Alya.” Ladybug’s palm shifted to hold her chin and she leaned in slowly. She pressed a lingering, tender kiss on Alya’s cheek that stole her breath. “I don’t know where I’d be without you, y’know?”

Alya shook her head, so frustrated that she wanted to cry. “I’m just messing you up.”

Here was the love of her life, comforting her, holding her, speaking gently and kissing her face, and it hurt. Ladybug was giving Alya everything she’d ever wanted, right here, right now, but only after Alya had given away the only thing Ladybug wanted from her in return. She had let this go, given it back to Chat Noir.

“It isn’t you. How many times did you see me mess up on my own?”

“That was ages ago.”

“You’re my source, Alya,” she insisted. “Whenever I felt like I wasn’t strong enough, you were there—Cheering me and pushing me to do better. And I did it for you.”

“Me?” Alya arched a doubtful eyebrow over the frame of her glasses. “Not for Paris?”

“Nope. You.”

Wide hazel eyes searched Ladybug’s face for a teasing smile or a wink, but it was unbelievably earnest. She still held Alya’s face in her hand.

“I didn’t want the miraculous and Paris did not convince me I was worthy of defending it,” Ladybug added.

Alya wanted to kiss her so much it hurt. But it was too late. All evidence suggested Ladybug would never have told her this if she didn’t think Alya had a miraculous. Despite saying Alya had been important to her all along, she’d kept her distance before Alya took the ring.

“Would you ever tell me who you are when you’re not Ladybug?”

“You know I can’t.” Ladybug gave Alya’s bedhead a fond caress before standing up. “But I also can’t do this on my own. I need you.”

“You need a partner,” she corrected. “I wasn’t chosen for it. I just wanted it so badly, I—”

“If it were my choice, you would have these earrings. If I had to choose someone to give a miraculous to now, it would be you again,” Ladybug’s tone abruptly took on a desperate, pleading undertone. “Please… don’t give up now. You’re the only one I have. I trust you with everything.”

“You don’t trust me with just your first name.”

Ladybug pulled away. She had something on the tip of her tongue, Alya could see it. Whatever it was, she left without saying it.

An akuma struck the next day, and Alya couldn’t do anything about it. She could only hope Ladybug wouldn’t be on her own.

She went to the park and climbed up the neon green ladder to the playhouse she’d hidden in with Plagg the day she found him. She refreshed her news feed every few seconds, waiting for an update on the situation. Updates didn’t come frequently enough. It didn’t stop the compulsion to check for them nonstop.

Her phone buzzed in her hand and lit up with a call. The ID read 77-77-77-77-77. Her heart wouldn’t let her ignore it.

“Alya! I need you at Tour Montparnasse, there’s a guy who turned into a—”

She clenched her eyes shut and took in a sharp breath. “Ladybug, I told you that I can’t do that anymore.”

“Alya,” Ladybug said her name like she’d been hurt.

Shit, maybe she had.

Green eyes glared out the bedroom window. When Plagg was gone, he felt miserable not having anyone to speak to at home. Now that Plagg was here, Adrien didn’t know how to talk about the things he wanted to say. How all alone he was without him. How he’d felt so useless. So easily tossed aside by both his kwami and his partner.

Plagg would not even pretend he was glad to be back. He was quiet all day, he barely came out to eat.

“Is Alya really so much better?” Adrien couldn’t help grumbling. “I doubt you moped like this over being taken from me.”

“I’m not moping.” Plagg’s head poked out of his book bag. “I’m—I’m scared.”

The sincerity in his voice alone, not even bothering to wrap that up in a dry jab at Adrien, was enough to snap the boy out of his mood. Plagg really wasn’t being himself.

Adrien kneeled in front of his bag, deeply concerned. “Scared of what?”

“That you will return me to Master Fu.”

“Why would I give you back?”

“You can’t let Papillon see you as Chat Noir again. He will know where to come for you. I’m scared of that, too.”

“I can’t—?” If Adrien wasn’t already on his knees, he would have fallen to them now in devastation. “Then why did she give it back?”

“No idea. I’m as surprised as you.”

He stared down at his hands folded over his lap. At the ring finally around his finger again. Here he was with it finally back in his hands, and yet Adrien was still powerless.

“I did miss you,” Plagg confessed. “I tried to push her to involve you. I would have said something if you caught her alone.”

Adrien raised his eyes to meet the kwami’s gaze. “Claws out.”

Alya dragged her feet home from the playground when it got dark. No update on Ladybug for the past hour. She hit the bed face down, but didn’t get to lie there for a second. A frantic tap tap tap on glass jerked her attention to the balcony window.

Bright green eyes glowed in the night outside. Alya jumped out of bed and slammed her window open.

“What are you doing here?” She shouted to Chat Noir at the same time that he demanded, “Where have you been?”

“You need to be with Ladybug!” they snapped at each other in unison.

They blinked a few times, taken aback.

Then, Chat took off his ring. Alya had to bring a hand up to her face to shield her eyes from a burst of green light. So that’s what it looks like from the outside.

“There’s no time,” he said. “Someone has to have her back.”

She didn’t understand why he took her hand and slipped the ring on it. “Adrien, you could give it to anyone.”

“Yeah, and you’re the only one I know who cares about Ladybug as much as I do,” he insisted, rushed and impatient. He squeezed her hand. “Please, use it.”

Plagg hovered over his shoulder and echoed, “Paw-lease!”

A loud, unnatural sound cracked in the distance and all three of their heads turned in its direction. Neon blue lightning crackled across the clouds over Tour Montparnasse. Alya looked at Plagg and Adrien.

She let his hand go and mumbled, “Claws out,” in the most uncertain voice she’d ever used for those two words. Even so, it worked.

She leapt from her balcony, leaving Adrien behind.

She found Ladybug in a cyberpunk nightmare. An office floor with every computer screen lit up and strobing white. The akuma had the form of a giant, flat desktop monitor with dozens of cords whipping around it. Several were wrapped tight around Ladybug, constricting her arms and legs. Her face desperately thrashed from side to side, lit up blue by the screen’s glow, as the computer tried to grab at her earrings.

Fortunately, micro cables don’t make very good fingers. Trying to maneuver them into unclasping earrings from a struggling target took all of BlueScreen’s focus. Neither of them saw Alley Cat coming.

“Cataclysm!”

One swipe disintegrated half of the akuma’s cybertentacles. Ladybug fell to the floor and, when Alley Cat helped her up, her face couldn’t settle on being furious or relieved. Either way, it was an intense look that Alya burned beneath.

“I’m sorry. I’m here.”

“We need to break the connection somehow.” Ladybug only addressed the business at hand.

Alley Cat couldn’t tell if that was out of irritation or out of urgency. “The servers?”

They double-dutched their way out of the swirl of cables swinging at them as they ran down the halls, searching for the server room. Ladybug cast Lucky Charm to hopefully buy them some time before they both got grabbed and constricted. Alley Cat ran ahead and consequently missed seeing Ladybug do her thing, which was Alya’s favorite thing to see.

There’s something cathartic about smashing your staff into a server rack. Sparks of electricity and a little black butterfly burst out of the cracked casing. Alya’s transformation broke before Ladybug was done purifying it, but it didn’t matter. Nothing Ladybug hadn’t seen.

“Bye bye, petit papillon.”

Alya looked down at herself, a little self-conscious without the costume. Then, an embrace wrapped around her shoulders. Ladybug pulled away just enough to cup Alya’s face in both hands. Her eyes were so blue, and rimmed with a thin glimmer of tears. It was all Alya could focus on when they were this close.

“I meant it, Alya.”

For one heartstopping moment, Ladybug’s eyes fell closed and her lips parted and she—Alya would never know if she planned to lean in. Her earring chimed its alarm, startling both of them. Ladybug’s eyes burst open, wide and panicked now. Alya’s hand came up to cover hers, holding it against her cheek in a silent plead.

Ladybug’s eyebrows sank low—actually considering it? Alya could see her weighing it in her mind. The earring rang again and Ladybug dropped her hands from Alya’s face.

She stepped backwards, toward the exit. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

Alya had to take the train home.

She crept into her house, slow and quiet, in hopes that her sisters would already be asleep. It paid off. They were collapsed on the couch in a pile while Moana’s main menu music played on indefinite repeat. Alya left them there for the moment.

“Sh!” she reminded Plagg as he zipped out of her shirt pocket.

“Shhh,” he mimicked her just before he phased straight through the fridge door, rattling it gently.

She snuck to her room, hoping to get a quick Ladyblog update posted before the news was too stale. She had a reputation to uphold now more than ever.

She didn’t get around to that because she spotted Adrien still on her balcony. He sat on the floor with his knees against his chest and his back against the railings. He must have seen Alya moving in his periphery, because his head turned toward her as she opened the balcony door.

“You’re still here?”

“Um, I wanted to talk.” Sheepish, he rose to his feet.

“Did you want this back?” Alya took the ring off her finger.

“No, I don’t,” Adrien said, incredulous. He shoved his hands in his pockets to prove how much he didn’t want to take it back. Then his gaze flicked skyward in a little eyeroll and he licked his bottom lip in something like exasperation. “I mean, I do. I obviously wish I could. I’m pretty upset about this whole thing. But, well. It’s yours now.”

He sounded grudging, but earnest. Alya put the ring back on. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “C’est la vie. At least it was you.”

“Why’d you give it back?” “Why did you?”

Alya folded her arms across the railing, absently staring at the street below her room. “I told you why... I’d felt like an imposter from the beginning. I’m supposed to just record and report, I know that. Seeing you get hurt made it snap.”

Adrien laughed beneath his breath and hooked his elbows on the railing as his back leaned against it. “That must mean you’re doing it right. We both felt like pretenders at the start. Even Ladybug.”

Alya heard Ladybug’s voice in her mind saying, You’re my source.

She swallowed thickly. “Does the feeling go away?”

He pondered for a silent moment.

“I thought it must have been some mistake. Because I’ve never had a choice in anything. I didn’t even realize the moment I got the miraculous that I could take it or leave it, I was so used to just saying yes. Always yes. Having freedom—and anonymity—felt like something I’d stolen. Like I was never supposed to have either.”

A familiar guilt tugged at Alya’s heartstrings. If he didn’t have those things before being Chat Noir, he didn’t have them now.

“I didn’t have control over anything when I lost the ring,” Adrien confirmed. “Everything just moved on without any regard to me.”

“She misses you,” Alya offered. “So much.”

That made him smile. “Well, now I finally have a choice in the matter. And it’s you.”

Alya chewed her bottom lip. “Can you help me?”

“What? Of course. Anything.”

She let out a long sigh. Maybe with the real holder’s guidance she could be alright. They leaned into each other’s shoulder and Alya watched cars pass beneath them for a few minutes while Adrien gazed up at the crescent moon.

Eventually, he confessed, “So, part of the reason I waited here…”

Alya’s attention turned to him.

“My ankle’s still messed up. And there’s this huge gate around my house, you’ve seen it. And my window’s on the second floor…”

She laughed, light and vibrant into the night. “You need a ride?”

He smiled, too. “I needed Plagg to sneak out. Can’t sneak back without him.”

“Alright, yeah. He should be full by now.”

Alya went inside and Alley Cat came out. She wrapped an arm around Adrien’s waist and he looped both of his around her shoulders.

“Sooo, Ladybug misses me? What does she say about me?” he asked, in the tone of practiced small talk.

Alley Cat winked one golden eye. “I’ll only tell you if you tell me what she used to say about me.”

[it-is-reigning-men]

Something Worth Leaving Behind [Jeff Hardy x Reader Smut]

Request for @imaginelatenight​: Jeff always going in the same club when he is in town, because he has fallen for the barkeeper.

A/N: Made the club a normal bar but it’s basically the same lol! And this turned into sort of a song fic as well because when I started writing this I heard this song on Spotify and thought it just fit with the concept. Sooo, without further ado, please enjoy! No warnings, just plot with smut.

Jeff had always gone to the same bar downtown— whenever he was in town.

Rather than it being a rather weekly experience, it turned into a visit every month or so since he had began his wrestling career. He knew everyone there; from the quirky manager down to the bus boys who always seemed to be cleaning tables. It was a family business, so it wasn’t really surprising.

The place, called Willow’s, by the way, only hired a handful of people not related to them by blood.

One of the lucky few was Y/N.

Jeff remembered clearly the day he met you; it had been almost two months since his last visit (due to a busy schedule and not always having the time to fly all the way back home even on days off) and he’d just gotten out of an argument with Matt. He had been searching for familiar faces and a good couple rounds of beer, but instead, he was greeted by a brand new face — bright eyed and smiling at him.

“Hiya. Can I get you something, sir?”

“Jeff.”

You blinked, the bustle of the bar around you muffling his voice.

“Sorry?”

Jeff cleared his throat, flickering his eyes down at his intertwined hands before looking up again; he realized he was probably staring.

“Jeff, you can call me that.”

You smiled, setting down a couple of shot glasses behind the counter after you finished drying them off.

“Alrighty, Jeff. So how about that drink, huh?”

“Just the house beer, thanks.” He returned the smile.

“Sure thin—”

“Ahem, I’m gonna need to see some ID first.” A lower voice cut in, and the two of you jumped; it was the manager Mr. Willow, wearing one of his ‘boss’ faces.

You gulped, toying with the collar of your grey and black uniform.

“I was about to ask for that,” You squeaked, looking terribly embarrassed.

Mr. Willow narrowed his eyes down at you a moment, but quickly flipped his expression around to a blinding smile. He reached over and clapped Jeff on the shoulder, laughing at Jeff’s furrowed expression.

“Only a joke, only a joke! This is one of our long time customers, kiddo. You should get used to seeing him from time to time.” The taller man addressed you kindly, patting your back once before shaking his head and sauntering away.

A silence passed, odd, since the bar was it’s usual busy lil nook, but it was ended when you took a sharp breath and turned to grab a mug and fill it with beer. You set it down in front of Jeff, the liquid damn near overflowing over the rim.

“Here you are. I’m really sorry about that,” You blurted, unsure as to why you were such a mess tonight. You half hoped you’d never be working whenever Jeff came back, and half hoped you would be working- just so you could make it up to him for being so ditzy.

Your flushed face melted away, however, when Jeff just chuckled and took a sip of the amber liquid— his green eyes peeking over at you as he did. When he set down the glass he licked his lips clean and leaned on the counter.

“What’re you apologizin’ for?”

“Oh, I dunno,” You glanced down the bar to see if any other customers needed anything; they were all otherwise inclined. “It’s just my first week here and I’m already messing up with the simplest things.”

Suddenly the last thing on Jeff’s mind was that stupid argument with Matt; at that time he just wanted to talk to you— you weren’t the same old people he traveled with, you weren’t family, and you weren’t some bumbling fan trying to paw at him. You were terribly worried about tiny things, basically the polar opposite of his high-risk, live for the moment life style.

“Lucky I came into town then,” Jeff rang, taking a shorter swig of his drink.

“Why’s that?” You raised a brow, the subtle things in your facial expressions always the most significant.

“I only come around every few months, next time I come Willow will probably have kicked ya out.”

The shock on your face was straight comical, but Jeff couldn’t stand looking at the mix of concern and offense too long. He swallowed harshly then let out a laugh.

“I’m kidding. I know this place, the Willows hardly ever hire anyone new— if you ain’t family. If Mr. Willow is already making jokes with you, you must be somethin’ real special.”

Your wide eyes stared at him, parted mouth slowly closing. For a moment Jeff thought you were gonna be mad, but all you did was huff and cross your arms, a ghost of a smile reappearing.

“Seems he isn’t the only one making jokes with me, Mr. Jeff,” you sniped, using the name that way simply to drive home the comparison. Jeff decided he liked it when you smirked at him like that.

The rest of that night was sprinkled with the two of you talking whenever you weren’t busy actually doing your job. Since you were still a little on edge, you tried not to just stand around and chat for too long or too often, but nevertheless it was enough.

It was enough for Jeff not to forget about you, and enough for him to look forward to seeing you again.

…

It seemed each time Jeff came back down he found out something new about you that kept him coming back.

One visit he found out you and him had very similar tastes in music. It was during one of the late Saturday Nights in which the bar strayed away from the live music and went for playlists created by the staff (a mix of personal favorites and requests from regulars).

Jeff had already been there around an hour before the Bluesy mix switched into a rock set list— comprised of songs he could say he’d played on repeat on the road. He was unconsciously nodding his head to the beat, swirling his drink in one hand and tapping his fingers on his knee with the other.

“You like that?”

“Hell yeah,” By now he recognized your voice and spun around in his stool to face you. “You too?”

“Well, seeing as this is my playlist, I hope so.” You tightened your ponytail, looking out over the small crowd dancing about. It was your second break, so you had at least 20 minutes to burn, get a snack too.

Jeff seemed a little taken aback at first, setting down his cup and now using both his hands to follow the familiar drums with his palms on his jeans.

“Didn’t take you to be a rocker chick.”

You lolled your head to one side, giving Jeff a side glance.

“And what did you take me to be?”

Jeff shrugged, grinning. “Like, country maybe? Alternative at most.”

You rolled your eyes, getting tired of Jeff always finding a way to ridicule you. It was still a lighthearted conversation, mind you, and you felt more comfortable talking to him as of late.

“I do like country. Just not the twangy-banjo type stuff; and alternative, if you’d believe it.”

“Variety. That’s not a bad thing.” Jeff said, but felt his heart beat a little faster when he saw your eyes snap close and your fingers do a cute little air guitar when it got to the song’s iconic riff.

“Exactly.” You mumbled, smiling and giggling as you dropped your hands, torn between feeling brave and shy.

There was small bell from behind you, and one of your coworkers slid a basket of fries over the counter to you.

“Your usual, Y/N. Fries n’ ranch.”

The halt in your conversation didn’t bother you at all, and you didn’t hesitate taking a bite out of a couple fries after dipping them. Jeff’s eyes flickered between you and the dance floor, a new song just starting.

“So, since you’re into all that music, I’m guessin’ you got some dancing genes in there,” Jeff wagged his brows, shaking his shoulders.

You nearly choked, but managed the food down with some effort. As adorable as Jeff’s tiny preview was, you didn’t have such genes.

“Ahem, no. I’m more the singing in the shower, dance while I’m home alone, person.”

Jeff frowned, but didn’t let up. He swung onto his feet, holding out open palms and trying to beckon you away from your perch against the bar.

“Oh cmon. If you can do either of those things at all, you can do them in a room full of people who are probably too drunk to remember it anyway.”

You honest to god considered it - if only for a fleeting period - but rubbed your neck and crossed your feet.

“Maybe someday. But,” He started swaying his hips side to side, making some silly face. You snorted, but turned around and focused back on your French fries. As much as you liked seeing him around, he wasn’t going to go suckering you into doing stuff you weren’t comfortable with just because he made you laugh. “Not right now okay?”

Jeff had to say that one hurt more than he expected it to. But he wasn’t going to force you, so he sat back down, resting his chin on his arm.

“… Don’t be all depressed about it. Feel free to go dance if you want to dance. There are plenty of girls that would probably love to have a partner.” You felt almost guilty, seeing him suddenly looking bored.

“Not in the mood, you’re kind of a kill joy.”

Your jaw dropped, even if you could see it in his eyes that he was still messing with you.

“Alright, so you shouldn’t wanna dance with me anyway. I saved you a waste of time and it looks like my break’s about to be over anyway, Jeff.” You threw him some sass, and popped a fry into your mouth as you took the basket to walk away.

He further tilted his head, pouting his lips.

“I’m gonna hold you to that 'someday,’ ya know.”

You stopped just behind the counter, gifting him one last glance.

“I guess… I did say maybe.”

The night ended with you exchanging phone numbers.

…

You were sprawled across your bed, humming something to yourself when you heard your phone buzz. The noise not only startled you (more than it should’ve) but it also made you lose track of the tune in your head.

You sighed, rolling over and expecting the message to be from work.

From: Mr. Jeff [ I should be back in town in a couple weeks!]

So, not work.

… Just what you looked forward to seeing at work; even if you always had to wait for it.

You replied:

[ Y the heads up? Usually just come whenever u want to ]

Another buzz.

[ Not whenever I want to. Whenever I can :p ]

You smirked in amusement at the small emoticon. Why was it he sounded so cute in texts?

[ Ok. Cya soon.]

Buzz.

[ You ready for that dance yet? ]

You blushed, having hoped he would forget.

[ Nope, sorry :/ ]

Hopefully that wasn’t too bitchy.

[ Someday ;p what’re you doing ? Slacking off at work?]

[ It’s the weekend Jeff. ]

[ I’m working on some new ring moves w/ Matt. I can email a video later if u want ]

That made you pause. You glanced down at the mess of paper underneath your elbows before texting him back.

[ Don’t know how I’m gonna help with that? ]

[ Praise me. Or blackmail me if it’s terrible ]

You smiled widely, feeling happy enough to feel like you were actually talking to him in person. You really didn’t know much about wrestling, but you’d honestly only watched it whenever he was performing— and even then only on days when the bar happened to have it on the TVs.

You’d probably watch it more if you bothered paying for cable in your apartment, but that, you did not. Still, you supported Jeff doing anything that he loved.

[ Sounds like a plan my man lol ]

What the fuck ? You retyped.

[ Sounds like a plan. Better be good then c: ]

Some hours passed with him just throwing random thoughts your way, and the occasional long periods of silence in which he was back practicing. You wondered who else he texted like this; not in a jealous way, but more, curious.

The more you saw him or texted him, the more you were simultaneously accustomed to and unnerved by his presence in your life.

You had a crush, admittedly.

If only you knew.

…

Jeff had kept his promise of being back in town within the next week and a half— however, you never really had the specifics of when he’d appear in the bar, so you were never quite prepared.

You were on duty, having just served a nice Dirty Martini to one of the older women that came to the bar weekly. In the pocket of your waist apron, you had a small notebook that you only pulled out briefly to jot things down that popped into your head at the darndest of times. You had to, though, lest you forget and end up kicking yourself for it.

You were scribbling words down frantically, not wanting to have your attention off potential customers for more than thirty seconds. Clicking your blue pen, you flipped the notebook shut just as someone took a seat right in front of you.

“What’s up, buttercup? You writing down ya grocery list or somethin’?”

You flinched, pocketing the book.

“No.”

Wow, great comeback.

He raised his brows, staring only at you as if he expected more words to come.

“You’re really not gonna tell me what it is?”

“I have a right to secrets.”

Jeff had discovered somewhere down the line that he had a gift — at least one that came in handy when he was with you, in person. Countless times he’d wished he was able to utilize it via text, but sadly, it wasn’t so.

You would’ve been smart to scurry over to the next customer that had just taken a stool only a few spaces down from Jeff; however, one of the other bartenders was quick to their station and you were forced to shift your weight between your feet instead.

Upon glancing at Jeff, he was pulling a serious set of puppy dog eyes on you.

Sweet Jesus.

On top of that his soft-looking lips were slowly curling up at the corners, everything about him begging you to just let your whole soul out for the world to see.

And all he freakin’ wanted was to know what you wrote in your notebook.

It was a wonder how you didn’t turn into some kind of puddle right then and there.

Clenching your jaw, you puffed out a breath through your nose and felt your face warming before you even uttered the truth.

“Lyrics.” You murmured.

He leaned closer, internally feeling triumphant— but also,

“—What?”

“Song… stuff. Okay?”

Jeff’s suave demeanor flickered away, a look of childish excitement taking its place.  

“You said lyrics? I thought I heard that, but then I thought— Ms. Only-Sings-In-The-Shower would never—”

“I do only sing in the shower. You don’t have to sing for other people if you happen to write songs..”

“That’s true. But you do have to sing for me now.” Jeff beamed and the skin around his eyes crinkled from smiling so wide.

“I’m pretty sure I shall not.” You said incredulously.

“— Can I geh anothuh beer, shweet cheeks?” A rugged, slurred voice interrupted, and only then you realized you and Jeff had hardly broken eye contact this entire time.

You turned toward the man down the bar, his frame slumped partially over as he waved his empty mug. His bleary eyes glanced right back at you before bravely trailing down your body. Your mouth formed a straight line and you didn’t dare see what Jeff looked like at that moment; you grabbed another chilled mug and filled it an inch below the rim before walking it over to him.

“I really recommend this be your last one for the night.” And you forced a smile before pivoting and going back to somewhere near Jeff. Willow’s had no drink limit, customers drank at their own discretion— but if anyone ever got out of hand Mr. Willow himself always called he or she a cab and got them back wherever they had to be. Or he phoned up a relative if the trouble maker happened to be a local.

All the while, Jeff was clenching his fist under the wood of the bar surface, hardly holding back from getting up and whopping the man right across the jaw when he heard a sharp cat-call echo your way while you were walking. The drunkard’s eyes never left you as he drank and hiccuped.

Your knuckles slid across the polish of the bar edge and you narrowed your gaze at Jeff.

“I’m used to drunks like that. Their heads aren’t on right and they’re probably whistling at any girl they see,”

“Especially one that looks like you, Y/N.” Jeff said vehemently, his annoyance fully aimed at the man.

“He’s starin’ because you’re too nice to slap him like he deserves.”

You’d never seen him react like that before - not that he was usually around on the sparse occasions that this happened. He seemed genuinely furious, his green irises darkened under his hooded eyelids.

“Jeff, don’t do anything… stupid. Why’re you acting all jealous?” You rushed out, knitting your brows together. You understood a friend being protective, but you could see his arm tensed from making a fist.

He took a deep breath and locked eyes with you, voice calm…ish; never contradicting your accusation of jealousy.

“How’s this sound? You sing some of your song for me, I don’t punch that lard ass for eye-fuckin’ you? If not, I’m gonna go ahead,” He hitched up a biting smirk, his fisted hand tapping on the bar before releasing so he could push off of it to stand up.

With that ultimatum he seemed set on betting you weren’t gonna go serenading him this moment, or even any time soon, and over-eager to start a bar fight. It wasn’t a shot at you, it was just a more creative way of saying he didn’t want you to stop him (only because he was used to you being shy).

You reached over the bar, snatching a hold of his arm.

He’d just barely lifted off his bar stool when you did, sitting back down immediately at feeling your hand on him.

His brows were still arched, but his fiery eyes dampened when they swiveled back down to you, awkwardly pressed over the bar counter and still squeezing onto him like you thought you’d lose him to the void.

“I.. I uhm…”

His attention from his designated target was dwindling.

“Lean closer would you?” You mumbled, eyes locked on an old chip on the wooden surface between you.

Jeff didn’t exactly know what the point was, but set aside his agenda for the time being, thinking perhaps you’d even tell him to punch the guy extra hard cause he’d bothered you before or something.

You did no such thing.

Clearing your throat, you quietly hummed something to get your note, before whisper-singing a small bit of the song you’d been working on. You had fears, doubts, and that feeling this wasn’t actually happening, but it was. Your voice was small, almost cracking due to how low you were uttering it, but was pleasant nonetheless.

“… H-Hey Mozart, what kind of name is Amadeus? It’s kinda like Elvis… you gotta die to be famous.”

You breathed deeply, wondering whether to continue or not — your eyes saw Jeff was still rather tense, so you, hesitantly, continued.

“…I may not go down in history, I just want someone… to remember me,”

Your sweet rasp died off like a flame, and you swallowed thickly, hand flinching away from the bicep you had still been tethering yourself to.

Why did you just do that? That was painfully awkward, and you’d just latched onto him like some psychopath —

Head dipped, cheeks burning, you dared a peek at Jeff. His face was unreadable. Blank. But his body had gone completely lax, his arms draped over his legs and his frame rocked slightly toward you.

“You really can’t stand violence, can you,” he spoke, the question rhetorical. You bit your lip, wanting to laugh or something but not making a noise.

“Your voice is beautiful, Y/N.” He went on, eyes sparkling in the dim lighting.

You shook your head, knowing that especially singing that low almost nobody sounded very good. He thought otherwise, and was hell bent on spending the rest of his life convincing you of that if he had to. Jeff couldn’t have cared less about the drunkard anymore— couldn’t have cared less if everyone else in the room just up and left.

He wanted to hear you more.

Honestly, he sorta realized all at once that he wanted to hear you everyday, and not just singing — maybe it was because he’d realized you’d just done something you’d never done for anyone else (and for what? He didn’t get why you liked him, when you were so pure). It clicked for him that he’d been doing every single thing on the road just because he wanted to get it over with and get back home to see you every once and awhile. Jeff loved wrestling— but he was beginning to think something topped that.

You began to sweat it, feeling tinier under his unwavering gaze and silence.

“I should probably… get back to work before Mr. Willow sees me messin’ around. Just don’t start a fight, okay—?” You had no idea what was going through Jeff’s head, so you half expected this whole messy encounter to end with him bursting into laughter or something.

It didn’t, of course.

Jeff could feel the words 'I love you,’ on the tip of his tongue - just thinking them making him feel lightheaded and overwhelmed - but all that came out instead was a casual invitation.

“Alright. But, before you go… I was wonderin’ if you wanted to visit my house tomorrow? I have an extra day off this week,” He’d forgotten to mention that. “And after tonight I have to hear more of that song.”

You searched his eyes for humor, but there was none, only sincerity.

“If you want, I could even play some guitar for you, if you have a tune in mind—”

“I-I don’t really write instrumental, I just hear it in my head,” You stammered, operating on some sort of reflex; it wasn’t sinking in that he was actually inviting you to his h o m e.

Just you and him.

“That’s okay. I can play by ear if you hum it for me.”

Oh my god.

“Uhm… if it’s alright with you… I suppose?” What you were saying didn’t at all match the panic inside; you didn’t even think you could sing for him again - let alone have some jam session in his 'humble abode’.

Jeff was just smiling that subtle smile all the while, though, and it was like nothing could get you to come up with a miraculous excuse like you always had when he pushed your buttons.

“Course it’s alright with me, do you want my address or do you want me to pick you up?”

You blinked, feeling dumb.

“I can drive over, I’d feel bad otherwise,” you laughed nervously. It was too late to go back now, and hell, if you chickened out of singing (you thought you might) you’d at least have your car to run to.

Jeff felt truly surprised that he didn’t have to further convince you - not that he was complaining. He felt a wave of relief that you actually wanted to spend more time with him; after all, the two of you had never actually hung out outside of Willow’s.

That was a crime, in his book.

…

Early the next morning you awoke to the realization that you were supposed to meet at Jeff’s house in a little less than an hour.

The need to arrive on time surged through your veins; that was a trait since you’d had the responsibility to be punctual at all— and that alone was what was getting your limbs to get moving.

You had hardly gotten any sleep the night before due to livid thoughts that somehow you’d end up making a fool of yourself and never be able to face Jeff again.

God, the dramatics only made you annoyed with yourself.

It was a constant back and forth— and apparently the morning was no different, but you were still getting ready without fail. Brushed your teeth twice because you lost track of what you were doing, but you were getting there. You threw on a pair of soft shorts and short sleeve band-T, under no impression that your 'jam session’ would require any sort of dress up or fancy business.

You enjoyed being comfortable on weekends.

Also, maybe wearing your favorite band would serve as a good luck charm; so you jogged out to your car and headed on over to the so-called, Hardy compound.

…

Jeff hadn’t been pulling your leg when he said you might have trouble finding his house �� thankfully, he’d provided good pointers and once you found the path it was easy breezing. You liked the sound of dirt under your wheels and the rustic scenery of the forest was unfamiliar, yet intriguing… even more so when you broke from the dense forest into the well groomed grasses of the front yard.

You wouldn’t think there would be such nice properties hidden back here.

Just as you twisted your key and turned off the car, the front door to the house swung open; you thought maybe Jeff had heard or seen you pull up, but the man you saw in the doorway was a vaguely-known face.

It was Matt, the brother you’d only seen on the TV’s; Jeff had said he was never around to be introduced at the bar because he was always at home with his kids. That put him in a good light, so you hopped out of your car and started walking up to the doorway.

“I’ll pick you up for the air port tomorrow then,” Matt said, turning around and smiling when he noticed you approaching. You returned it awkwardly, raising a hand to wave.

“Ah, you must be Y/N. Sorry this is the first time we’re meeting,” He held out a hand to shake, “Jeff’s talked about you a lot, so I kinda feel like I know you.”

You huffed a laugh, glad to take the firm hand shake.

“He talkin’ trash about me, I bet.” You jested, and Matt gave you a chuckle.

“Yeah, the most trash I’ve ever heard him talk about a gal.”

Jeff surfaced at the door then, slightly flustered as if he’d ran to the door and tried to slow himself right as he opened it.

“Y/N! I didn’t know you were here, you should'a rang,”

Matt gave you a pat on the shoulder, grinning back at his brother.

“My fault. I was just introducing myself, cause someone never got around to doing it.” Matt suggested that he wanted to have met you sooner— and supposing Jeff had so casually invited you over to his house, you almost wondered why you hadn’t.  

“We’ve been… busy,” Jeff dismissed, stepping out so he was a bit closer. He looked guilty.

“Yeah yeah, well, I hope to see more of you whenever we’re all in town, Y/N. Maybe then Jeff will talk less trash about you.” Matt still flashed his pearly whites and left you with a wink and a thumbs up, slightly jerked in Jeff’s direction. He knew something you didn’t.

Jeff gestured you into the house, trying his best to ignore whatever he could feel Matt teasing about.

(Jeff had spilled a lot of beans to his brother about his feelings for you, anyway.)

…

The inside of the house - or really - mansion, was just as grand as the outside. Nice, high ceilings, clean floors, staircases, and splashes of color from large, mounted paintings around the walls.

You approached one of the pieces without thinking, air-tracing along the thick black lines of what looked to be several faces melting together.

You were simultaneously fascinated and indifferent about the bright pink eyes staring back at you as you spoke.

“Where are these guys from?” You weren’t sure if you were referring to the faces in this one piece or to the many more on the various other paintings; Jeff answered both.

“My imag-i-nation, I'suppose.” Jeff rubbed his neck, unsure if you liked them or not.

“I paint in my spare time.” He extended.

Stepping back and gaping at him, you followed him into the next room, under the open archway.

“You did all these?”

���…Yep, I would explain what they all mean, but even I’m not sure about some of them,”

“Open for interpretation then.” You reassured, eyes trailing from his dashing smile to a half painted canvas leaning against the wall. “I’ve dabbled in art myself.”

Jeff tilted his head, grabbing at the neck of his guitar.

“Seriously?”

You paused.

“No. I’m a terrible artist. In like… every way.”

Jeff laughed and you did too, though your buzzing died off as Jeff took a seat on the couch arm rest just a couple feet from where you were sitting. His guitar rested on his legs, nestled against him as he tuned it subtly.

“Nothing wrong with that. If you were some amazin’ artist then you’d be way too perfect and I’d go thinkin’ you’re not real or something.”

That sentence got you feeling giddy inside, but you just scratched the bridge of your nose and weren’t sure what to say.

“You ready to grace me with more of your lyrics, darlin’?”

Jeff sure was laying it on thick with the compliments and pet names— not that he’d never used those, but you were on edge as it were and him being all… cute about everything was only making it worse. And he was staring at you. And you had no other customers to glance at or run off to now.

It finally settled in how nervous he always made you feel; before now you had always just had distractions that helped you deny that.

“I… I forgot the words..?”

No, dumbass, you had the words right in your hands — you were gripping tight to the notebook you always left in your car. Jeff’s eyes flickered to the familiar article but he didn’t antagonize you.

“I’m sure you’ve got jitters. We could start with you just humming a tune for me to follow, then maybe I’ll get some singin’ outta you again,” His tone was soft, encouraging not pushing. You eventually got to actually creating sound… singing the words in your mind but only letting the notes of them vibrate through your closed lips.

Jeff picked up quickly, and soon enough the hums transmuted into crisp guitar plucks; even sooner those mentally spoken words attached to said notes were spilling out of you … and you didn’t quite get that moment of clarity till Jeff had shifted down from the arm rest to the cushion right next to you and overlapped his lower voice with your’s as you sang out the last verse (you had so far).

“…If I will love then I will find, I have touched another life and that’s something,”

You swallowed thickly, peeking up only enough to see Jeff’s fingers strumming.

“…something worth leaving behind,” You sang slowly, quieter again, and your embarrassment was partially forgotten due to the mesmerization of hearing his honeyed accent echo your voice.  

He stopped his playing, planting a hand over the strings to stop them.

“How do you get me to do things I can’t even imagine doing..?” Even now you were speaking out unlike your normal self, and it was all his fault.

“How do you get me to want to do everything with you?” He rejoined, his guitar leaving your sights as he kept his body pointed toward you. You still didn’t want to look up at his face, because this didn’t feel right.

“I don’t know.” You said, honestly. Why did he always only go to you when he visited the bar? Why did he always text after matches you’d just seen?

“I do.” He murmured, his hand cautiously coming up to brush against your chin, tilting it up like he thought you’d pull away if he touched any firmer than that. He wanted to see your eyes, no matter how you would respond to this.

“You’re what keeps me goin’ when the job gets tough. You’re the one thing I hate leaving behind when I’m out on the road,” His finger tips gradually spread, and his hand danced along your jawline toward your ear as he noticed you didn’t pull away or flinch— you stayed deathly still, eyes only blinking when they had to.

“…I think I…” His fingers trailed further, twining into the roots of your hair at the back of your head. “I think I love you, Y/N.”

His face was closer now than it had ever been, but he seemed stuck at a few inches away— he wanted you to respond somehow before he went and kissed you because he wasn’t sure how he’d react once he did what he’d thought about doing so many times.

You fumbled, wetting your lips with the tip of your tongue; Jeff tensed, hand slipping ever-so-slightly down the back of your neck.

“I think so too,” you breathed, but realized that sounded incorrect. “I mean— I think I love you,”

But grammar or exact comprehension aside, Jeff had gotten his response. Lips crushed against your’s, his other hand joined in to pull your face toward him. It was fast, frantic actions, yet, somehow gentle enough to feel as if you were leaning into it more than he was tugging you.

You puffed out the breath you’d been holding through your nose, and you closed your eyes tightly, lips pressing back. There was every ounce of two years of tension being unfurled in a single kiss — and then tension melted into desire once you broke apart.

“I never stop thinkin’ about you,” Jeff whispers, getting lost in your eyes as they open again. He recalls the first time you met, and the memory draws him forward to kiss you again, his hands sliding down your shoulders.

Both of you have half-lidded eyes, lips attacking one another’s while you refuse to break the eye contact; he deftly pushes you back into the soft couch, your back cozying into the pillows. He gives your lower lip a bit of a harsh bite, his tongue massaging over it in apology.

You make a tiny sound, your hand pulling softly at the base of his hair.

“Sorry,” Jeff rumbles, assuming you wanted him to be nicer. He couldn’t help it, your mouth was irresistible before and was even more so now.

“No,” You stroke his locks back, smiling sheepishly as you part your legs so he can scoot closer to your body. “I can tell you’re trying hard to be all good and gentle because you’re assuming things about me again.”

He furrows his brows, blushing with his frame pressing into your’s, his arousal prominent against your shorts.

“Don’t.” You kiss him chastely. “Do whatever your body’s telling you to do… I want it.” This time your tongue brazenly traces against his mouth, breaching and lapping against Jeff’s. You’d denied it till now, but since it was happening, you weren’t gonna let anything ruin this moment — not even Jeff’s own cautions.

“I didn’t take you to be into rough sex.” Jeff retorts, voice gruffer as he rolls his hips against you. He’s clearly liking whatever you’re insinuating, his worries going out the window.

“Well, I am not against it. And I’m not against gentle love-making either;” This was totally different, but sorta like how he’d been when he was surprised at your taste in music.

“-How’d you say it before? Variety. Variety’s good,” You were proud of your stellar memory, and starting to lose your full voice as you panted. His hips were in full motion, only making you wetter as the friction continued.  

He smirked, rolling up the bottom of your t-shirt.

“So this won’t be the last time we do this, is what you’re sayin’?” His hands continue to bring your shirt up, till you have to lift your arms to get it off.  

“That depends on how good it is.” You stifle a laugh but whimper unintentionally when he kneads one of your breasts firmly.  "All I’m saying is don’t be afraid of biting me, geez.“ Your voice sounds sassier then, and he growls, rutting into your clothed core as he leans down to nip around your collar bone, finding a spot to suck in a love mark.

In all honesty, you weren’t always the type to tease people in bed, but that back and forth dynamic had always been present with you two — that, and whatever it was doing to Jeff’s sex drive was well worth it.

"If you end up sore in the mornin’, just know you asked for it,” He promises lightly, eying the now several pinkish spots on your collar and neck that were sure to darken by tomorrow. You felt tingly, suddenly too hot in your already minimal clothing.

“Good thing I’m not working then,” You huffed, impatiently pulling at Jeff’s tank top now; it too was discarded, and things moved fast from there.

You allowed your eyes to rake over his bare skin, in awe of the details of his tattoos that you’d been missing out on. You gulped, pads of your fingers following the thin trail of hair down his abs that led to the band of his pants. He didn’t stop you.

As you rubbed him first over his underwear, you felt your heart jump at the apparent size he was packing — your palm rubbing over the thickness more when he moaned unabashedly. Your hand went into the material, adjusting his length in his pants so the tip of it stuck out of the waist band while you gave it firm, steady strokes.

He twitched, his teeth latching to the straps of your bra and pulling them down your shoulders, all before he actually slipped his hands under your back to unhook the article, hoping you’d shift your arms enough to let him get the damn thing off so he could see all of you.

As aroused as you were, somehow insecurities managed to creep up the shoulders that your straps were being tugged down. It was obvious he wanted you, and probably had for a long time (not to mention you literally had a hand in his pants), but you still managed to be blushing as you retracted your hand from his growing erection and bent your arms to slowly slip off your bra. But his eyes never left you for a moment, and by the look of his blown pupils and ever-shifting gaze, he loved every single inch of you.

“Why did it take so long for us to end up here?” Jeff rambled, sounding frustrated as he peppered kisses from your throat down to your breasts; he didn’t want an answer, because he was already grateful that you even reciprocated his feelings.

Yet, he was still going to do everything in his power to let you know just how long he’s wanted you like this.

Jeff reminded himself you didn’t mind biting.

“U-uhnf…” you whimpered, his teeth sinking into the soft flesh briefly, replaced in time with a warm, wet tongue as he circled around your perked nipples. Your nails dug into his shoulder blades as he ravished your chest, his rough hands pressed up against the curve of your back to pull you into his embrace and upright.

He leaned back against the couch, situating your trembling body onto his lap, your feet dangling off the couch.

Jeff dipped his hands right into your shorts the moment you were there, his hands going past your panties and giving your ass a nice squeeze. It shocked you, and you felt embarrassed at the startlingly erotic noise that came out.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about this cute lil ass whenever you went by in your uniform.”

Your mouth hung open, and he didn’t hesitate running his fingers down your crevice, grazing your hole before coming in contact with the wetness of your pussy.

“…pervert.” You retorted late, mind wandering to where his hands were.

“Mm.” Is all he returned, bottom lip disappearing between his teeth as he eventually got you out of your shorts and panties — they were too soaked to be any use anyway. His green eyes flickered up to your’s, a couple of his fingers rubbing over your opening while his other hand groped your thigh.

“No turning back after this, baby…” Jeff rasped, all but thrusting his fingers right into you as they massaged your heat.

“Not even an option, Mr. Jeff. Stop hesitating—” The arousal on your voice caused him to lick his lips, his fingers finally penetrating and pumping into you. Your breath hitched, his movements making your walls tighten around his fingers every few thrusts because you were acutely aware of how long it had been since you last fucked anyone.

“Relax… I got ya,” Jeff cooed into your ear, fingers occasionally changing their angle or spreading when he felt you shudder. Your hips rolled down into them, though you were still hovering just above his covered erection.

You gasped, his fingers abruptly pulling out of you and working against your clit— the first time he touched your sensitive bud was with the moisture of your own arousal.

“Fuck—” you mewled, eyes fluttering shut as he switched back and forth from shallow finger-fucking to curling his fingers deeper and back to rubbing over your clit like a well-oiled machine; just as breathing began to get uneven, he lifted you off and got you lying back on the other side of the couch.

Back touching the cooler side of the couch, where Jeff had swiped off any extra pillows so you would be lying completely flat, you stared up at the beautiful man hovering over you. Even in the haze of sex, the smile he gave you was affectionate — warm, and the last you saw before he crawled down your body. First, he sat back on his calves to undo his jeans button and zipper, shimmying out of the hinderance. You started to sit up, wanting to return the pleasure he’d been giving you the past few minutes, but he clicked his tongue and lightly pushed you back down.

“Another time, sugar. Right now I’m in charge.” He drawled, eyes narrowed as he dragged his hands from the sides of your ribs down to the bend of your knees, where he spread your legs and propped one of them up on the back of the couch.

God, your toes curled at his tone, and you felt dirty and excited because of it. Jeff smirked, head going to the crux of your legs and starting with an open-mouthed kiss to your clitoris.

You hissed out a moan, the cold air of the room contrasting with the hot mouth lapping at your folds; he wiggled his tongue into your entrance, groaning lewdly at the taste of you. Long strokes and kitten licks of that talented tongue had you writhing in no time, the sensitivity making your hands push at his shoulders.

“J-Jeff… please… stop,” You cried, not wanting your first orgasm to fully hit before you two were one.

He couldn’t help giving you one last lick before he came up, a bit of a dopey smile on his face as he kissed up your stomach.

“You ready for me?” He spoke against your skin, his hips shifting uncomfortably as he withheld from touching himself.

“Been ready,” cheekily, you huffed out, though really you were dying every moment you were left exposed and feeling empty.

Jeff only grinned, planting a sloppy kiss on you.

“Impatient, ya are.”

Your noses touched, and you felt him caressing your inner thighs.

“I’ve always waited for you, I think I’ve earned being a little impatient—”

You felt something heavy against your heat, the length rubbing against you softly. It was unclear when exactly Jeff had managed to shuck off his underwear, but it was prevalent with the way you could feel the throb of his dick against you, but not quite where you needed it to be.

Your back arched and you groaned, your heels pressing into his lower back as if to get him to get the picture.

“Jeff…”

The motions only ensued a moment or two longer before he reared back his hips, using one of his hands to steady himself at your opening; it was all slow-motion, and you almost couldn’t breathe at the initial push in. The head of his cock slid in relatively easy with how slick and prepped you were, but that still didn’t change how unbelievable it felt as he pushed in deeper, stretching you and making you let out a broken moan.

There was a twinge of pain at first, but by the time his full length was all the way in, you were clenching around him slightly, wanting more; your eyes had shut during the initial thrust, but they peeked open to stare up at Jeff as he caged your face in with both his hands.

Your hips lifted, grinding into him as much as you could just as you tugged his hair to kiss the air out of him; your tongues began to battle for dominance and his hips finally got to jerking into you, hard and deep.

He let you win the battle in your makeout, your tongue exploring his mouth hungrily as you both mewled into one another — your control of the kiss contrasted his control of your hips meeting and all the erotic sounds started mixing in a way that had you in a heavenly trance.

Neither of you would last very long, with you already on edge from before and him hardly getting off aside from actually being inside you, so you made it count.

Giving Jeff’s lower lip a bite like he had done to your’s, your leg shifted up his back, wanting him to take you even closer. He breathed harshly, reaching around to hook your leg and get it over his shoulder, thrusting more frantically at the new angle.

Both of you let out loud moans, eyes no longer closing and keeping your heart’s connected—

“Please… faster, mngh, J-Jeff..—” Your brows knitted together as you began to tighten around him again, the sound of skin slapping together making your blood race.

“Yes, baby… fuck… you’re so perfect,” he grunted, his hand squeezing your knee that rested against his shoulder.

“C-Come with me,” You pleaded, hardly able to speak with the way he was punching moans out of you now, pushing your body down into the couch with his motions.

“Fuckin'— fu… Y/N…” He thrusted in a few more times, ramming into your sweet spot too much for you to handle and sending you over the edge; you squeezed around his dick as you orgasmed, throwing your head back into the couch while you rode out his last couple thrusts, just before he came buried inside you.

You felt even fuller than before, and as you slowly relaxed, your leg slipping down off of him, you felt a bit of his cum seep out.

It wasn’t that either of you cared about the couch at this point, but it was just an observation.

The two of you took your time catching your breath, Jeff getting awkwardly comfortable laying his head against your chest after he pulled out. One of your arms nested under your head while the opposite hand stroked over Jeff’s sweat-soaked hair.

“…I really love you, you know that?” Jeff murmured dreamily.

You snickered, scratching over the back of his neck in comfort.

“…I think I got the picture.” You stared at his head, since he was still lying there. “I… really love you too.”

He shifted so his chin nuzzled below your collar bone, eyes up at you with pure adoration and dulled lust.

“Least now I know how I can make you sing, for sure.”

Of course he still had to tease you.

You rolled your eyes, covering his face with your palm so he wouldn’t see you blush. He blew a raspberry into it, which shouldn’t have bothered you after all that had just gone down, but you withdrew your hand nonetheless in surprise.

He laughed, flashing his white teeth while he twined your fingers with his own.

“Just promise you’ll show me more of your songs next time, okay, darlin’?”

“We’ll see.” You tried being stubborn, but your voice held no malice with him looking at you that way.

“Well, I promise to continue botherin’ you at Willow’s then.” He stuck his tongue out. “And I promise that I wasn’t lyin’ when I said you never leave my mind when I’m not with you.”

After a second, you whispered back. “Trust me, you never left my mind either.”

One more smile. One more kiss. One more little chuckle. Then you were squirming out from under him, making him look at you in confusion.

“Think we can hop in the shower now?”

Now he rolled his eyes, but grabbed your hand and helped you up to lead you toward the bathroom.

“Princess can’t stand being a lil dirty for a second, huh.”

“Maybe Princess just wants to get dirty somewhere besides your couch, Mr.”

You felt his grip tighten and his steps quicken more immediately.

…

God, now whenever he left it would only make waiting all the more painstaking. But still… it was worth it, because you knew he’d always get back— and you never really left each other in the first place.

[the-everqueen]

2 for hamliza!

2. Things you said through your teeth

i’m sure you imagined some great angst or conservatory au, but this turned into Morristown fluff. so have a girl and her dog instead!

That month’s ball happens to fall on the first night of the new moon, something for which Alex is grateful.

It’s not that he can’t attend the dances any other time. At least, Washington hasn’t told him so  outright, continues to pass him the invitations when they come. But he knows it would be a bad idea. He isn’t a purebred like Lafayette, can’t pretend to be human when it might be convenient. The rest of the camp has gotten used to him at this point and recognizes him no matter what form he’s in, but he isn’t enough of an idealist to think the ladies would welcome his presence. Who cares that he’s the General’s chief of staff, or that Washington sends him on important missions? Who cares that he writes to the president of Congress or drafts plans to fix the national economy? At a glance he’s just a cur with mange, a stray the General found useful.

But he misses it. The dancing, the wine, the girls. Witty banter and stolen kisses and the firm tightness of corset stays beneath his (human) hand.

He’s been to a few dances since… well, since the accident. It wouldn’t do for him to turn down every invitation, so he tries to make social events whenever possible. Otherwise he pens notes in advance: Colo. Hamilton regrets to inform Miss — that he has urgent business elsewhere on the night of… Unfortunately duties prevent Colo. Hamilton from attending. All very polite and untrue, and he is certain there must be rumors. How could there not be, with a dozen aides who see him on a day to day basis and a French aristocrat who can’t hold his tongue? At some point people will find out, and God knows where that will put him, but certainly not in the echelons of the Clintons or the Rensselaers or -

A vision in pale blue watches him from the other side of the room. Her dark eyes on him are like an invitation, or a threat, and it unnerves him but he also can’t help sneaking glances in her direction. She seems familiar, has he seen her before? His fingers tighten around the stem of his wine glass - a prop, turns out dogs can’t ingest grapes, but he needed a reprieve from Miss Lott’s leaden toes.

The dark-eyed girl leans in to whisper something to Kitty Livingston. Points at him.

His stomach churns. He and Kitty exchanged some flirtatious letters after the last ball, but she let him know she wasn’t interested after a couple weeks. He thinks she must have suspected. Or maybe his pedigree was lacking in another sense.  

Alex looks around the room for Laf. Suddenly he feels overwhelmed, in this room crowded with the smells of sweat and perfume and the rustle of skirts and those dark eyes on him and John not here. He wants a friendly face, he wants pack.

A hand grabs his wrist. He almost jumps out of his skin, swallows down the growl that rises in his throat.

Kitty tugs at him. “Alexander, come.”

He laughs a little. Inside joke. “Where are you taking me?”

“I’m about to change your life.”

He raises his eyebrows and opens his mouth to make a suggestion -

“Elizabeth Schuyler, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The dark-eyed girl drops a curtsy, offers him a sweet smile. Alex tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “Schuyler?”

“Thank you for all your service.” Her voice tremors on the words, and she’s beaming at him, her eyes huge and earnest. He meets her gaze and there’s something in her, beautiful and pure and shining, that dissolves the last of his tension and makes him feel something he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Safe.

He wonders if she can see the gold of his eyes, or if she thinks it’s a trick of the candlelight.

Taking her hand, he bows and presses a soft kiss to her knuckles. She smells like roses and green outdoors, over her own scent, the smell that means Elizabeth Schuyler and no one else in the world.

He straightens and gives her his best smile. “If it takes fighting a war for us to meet, it will have been worth it.”

***

Alex never meant for this to happen.

Eight days. Eight days since the new moon, and eight days since he met Eliza.

Her letter came soon after: I do hope that you can join me for tea on the evening of the 16th, as I would Greatly enjoy your company and, though I know he Relies on you as crucial to his efforts, I am certain His Excellency can spare you for a few Hours. Surely the British will Allow us this small Happiness? I am staying in town with my Aunt.

He hasn’t replied.

They talked for hours at the ball, during a dance and later in a semi-private corner behind the punch table. She told him about her sisters and her home in upstate New York, and he told her about his work and recounted the Battle of Princeton, with as many gruesome details as he could, because she laughed when the cannon decapitated George II’s portrait, and he wanted to hear that sound again, wanted to watch her tip back her slender throat, soft lips parted like petals.

He once sent John his qualifications for the perfect wife in jest, but Eliza surpasses his most  fantastic demands. If Alex were human he would have plied her with declarations of love the very next morning, courted her with all the tenderness and passion of Eros.

He’s an animal - a good dog, not a mongrel - so he did not.

She doesn’t know. Of course not. He looked human, why should she suspect otherwise? The golden eyes are a dead giveaway, though. Maybe she thought him a purebred. Lafayette has his Adrienne, after all, it’s not uncommon for born weres to find human mates.

He has to tell her. He just doesn’t know how.

His slashes through another error in his copied letter with a vicious growl. McHenry looks over at him, makes a sympathetic noise. “Congress giving you trouble, Hammie?”

“Aren’t they always?”

“At least come spring we’ll see some real action.”

Alex hums. Maybe the other aides will, but not him. The General seems determined to keep him leashed to his desk. At least he doesn’t mind the winters anymore. Fur is a good insulator, keeps him warm while John is down South.

A familiar voice in the hall snags his attention. His ears perk.

“… I understand he’s busy, but it won’t take more than a moment…”

Eliza.

Lafayette is arguing with her, trying to keep her out of the workroom, but the firm tap of her heels continues to get louder. Alex pushes back from the table with a yelp, paw pads and toenails scrabbling for purchase on the hardwood floors. He glances around the room, frantic; the other aides frown. He doesn’t care, he has to get out, he can’t let her see him like this -

“Alexander.”

The sight of her pulls him up short. He turns his head and lowers his ears, tail tucked between his legs. Five days from the full moon, he’s veering closer to wolf, starting to look more dog than human, but she doesn’t startle or look away from him.

“Can we talk in private?” Her voice is gentle.

Avoiding Laf’s pitying face, Alex bobs a quick nod and leads them into an unused side parlor. There isn’t a door, but it gives them space. She turns around to face him. “Why didn’t you answer me?”

That wasn’t the question he expected.

“I thought - we had such a nice time at the ball, and I’d never met anyone so - like you, and - did you not feel the same way?” She twists her fingers together. “I’m sorry, it was presumptuous, but you could have at least said no.”

“Miss Schuyler, you know what I am.”

She rolls her eyes. “Of course. There aren’t many humans with your eyes.”

“Then you know this -” he gestures to his face, almost-but-not-quite a muzzle “- gets worse. I wasn’t born like this. You are without doubt the sweetest and fairest of your sex, and you deserve better than a - a creature like me. Please don’t deceive yourself otherwise.”

“Oh, Alexander.” She takes his hand, rubs her thumb over the short fur. “It’s still you.”

He closes his eyes.

“I knew. But it didn’t matter, because it was you. Have you ever wanted something so much nothing else mattered?”

His lips twitch in a smile. “All the time.”

“Then will you come on Thursday?”

“I would, except…” He hesitates. “It’s the full moon.”

“Yes? I thought, well, His Excellency might not need you then because…” She bites her lip, blushing. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I just hoped you might have the night free.”

“Won’t your aunt mind?”

“Oh, she’ll be pleased to meet General Washington’s right hand man.” She rocks onto her tiptoes to place a kiss on his nose. Bold, his charmer. Her hand squeezes his. “Unless you would rather not?”

“No, I - I would love to. Thank you, Miss Schuyler.”

“Eliza,” she corrects him.

“Eliza,” he repeats, and feels his tail wag.

***

The walk to Aunt Cochran’s is only a couple miles, but it’s faster on four legs, even if Alex does have to avoid the more popular streets. He’s a bit too large to be mistaken for someone’s pet, and he doesn’t want a repeat of the incident with the farm. Then the General might actually make him wear a collar, and Alex would die of humiliation.

He finds the house without trouble and scratches at the door. It opens to a sharp-eyed, middle-aged woman with a generous frame. “You must be Colonel Hamilton.”

He bows as best he can. She laughs, steps back to let him inside. “Eliza is in the parlor. I’ll join you in a minute.”

The house smells like butter and sugar, but he catches Eliza’s scent and follows it to the parlor. She’s setting out teacups and looks up as he trots into the room. “Alexander, have a seat.”

Eyeing the wing back chairs near the hearth, he jumps onto the settee next to Eliza. He almost takes up the entire thing - he forgets how much bigger he is like this, all fur and muscle - but she doesn’t seem to mind, just slips him a secret smile.

“We’re patriots,” she explains, as she pours steaming liquid into cups, “so it’s coffee rather than tea. Except wolves can’t have coffee, so I have water for you.” She fills the third teacup from a pitcher and holds it up for him. He laps delicately, careful not to spill, and licks his lips when he’s done.

Aunt Cochran brings with her a plate of shortbread, cheese, and pear slices. Eliza feeds him pieces of each and he takes it all gingerly from her fingers. The entire time she keeps up a pleasant conversation, explaining his work for the General to her aunt and describing her daily routine in Morristown to him.

When they’ve finished eating, she tells him, “If we’re not going out, Auntie and I usually spend the evening reading while we finish our sewing. Do you mind?” She holds up a novel.

In answer, he noses at the cover and makes a soft whine.

She adjusts her position so he can set his head in her lap, and begins to read.

Usually he hates these days, when he’s stranded without words or work to keep him occupied. His mind runs in circles. But here, with Eliza stroking his ears and her soothing voice filling the parlor like music, he can appreciate quiet.

Later he goes back to camp, head warm where she kissed him goodnight. Thoughts of her overwhelm him - her smell, the taste of sugar on her soft fingers, her throat moving with every word - and he prances to the gate.

“Password!” the sentry calls.

Oh, for goodness’ sake. He barks, once. C’mon, it’s me.

“I cannot admit any persons without the password.”

He knows they recognize him. The sentries are trained for this: wouldn’t do to have a soldier putting a bullet in the General’s top aide or, God forbid, the Marquis de Lafayette. He growls.

The men are stifling laughter. “Has the lovestruck colonel forgotten?”

He hasn’t forgotten, he’s a damn wolf. He lunges forward and makes a snap at the air, showing his teeth. The sentries stumble back, cursing. “All right, just a bit of ribbing! At ease, Colonel.”

He curls his lip at them as he trots past, but even their teasing can’t upset his mood. His mind is a delighted whirl of Eliza and a tiny corner perks up its ears and goes mate?

That night he dreams of dark eyes.

[anneedmonds]

Life Update: The Squashing Fetish

I am writing this whilst leaning back – reasonably heavily – on my cat cushion. Not a feather-stuffed, velvet-covered cat cushion, mind: it’s a real life cat cushion. Living and breathing. Slightly more supportive than an inanimate one, if you must know. And the constant, heavy purring is incredibly relaxing – those vibrations, along with his occasional squirmy rearranging of the limbs, provide a sort of low-key massage chair effect.

Not at all like one of those massage chairs that you get at some hairdressing salons or nail bars. Where on earth do they get those monstrosities from? I don’t think I’ve ever felt safe in one, let alone relaxed. The clanky rollers that move up and down beneath the pleather surface, the “fingers” that knead at your shoulders…it’s like being massaged by Edward Scissorhands, except that he’s doing it crouching on your back wearing rollerskates.

Anyway, I don’t know why the cat has suddenly taken to squeezing himself behind me as I sit at my desk – it’s as though he’s developed some sort of squashing fetish. The more I lean back, the more he loves it. It’s all very odd and I’m not sure I’m entirely comfortable with it, despite the fact that it feels really nice. I just worry about his little bones, or that he might suffocate. But still, he jumps in and crawls into the space behind my back and then pokes at me with his paws until I lean back and exert some pressure…

I’ve been at my desk a lot. I know you probably think I’ve been off having a lovely old time, but I have been working. Just not online. No checking Instagram every ten minutes, no Twitter notifications or Youtube alerts: just good old-fashioned typing away on Microsoft Word, typing like it’s 1999.

I say “working” but I use that word loosely because my brain is still very firmly in lockdown mode, despite the country starting to open back up for business. My brain just won’t seem to exit itself from the emergency energy saving programme it entered back in March; whenever something pressing needs to be done, it replies telepathically with oh, don’t worry about it. Life’s too short. There are bigger fish to fry. And other clichés. A rolling stone gathers no moss. 

That last one wasn’t really relevant but it’s always been a favourite. Mainly because I don’t fully understand it. Why would you want to gather moss? It always sounds a bit like some stuffy aunt saying to you, when you’re young and all you want to do is go to Bali and get shitfaced on a beach with semi-naked hot guys wearing shark-tooth pendants, “oh, all of that gadding about! You’ll never be able to collect a load of rubbish porcelain dolls and put them in a dusty glass-fronted cabinet in your lounge if you carry on travelling to exotic places! Where’s your ambition, girl? A rolling stone gathers no moss! Don’t you want to stay in one place and know the same set of thirty-three people for your entire life? How will you ever know Maureen from number sixty-four’s business if you keep up this relentless penchant for discovering the wider world?”

Or something.

I had some notes on what the kids have been up to, because this is supposed to be a life update. They have been making little things from modelling clay (an elephant, a toadstool garden, pictured above – guess who actually made them both? Thank you, yes, I know they are brilliant), making dens around the garden, populating the dens with every single toy they can find and then leaving them out overnight to go soggy and finally, bringing stuff inside that should be outside. Leaves. Stones. Snails, dead or alive.

I feel as though this is a very particular parenting era that we are experiencing right now, with its own set of rules and quirks. It changes every week, but I think I could sum up the current era (daughter: just turned five, son: three and a half) with the following headings: inflexibility, warm hands and continuing exhaustion.

Inflexibility. There is suddenly a real lack of wriggle room when it comes to negotiations. I find it so frustrating, trying to get two small, loud people to do stuff they don’t want to do that I frequently resort to a) making threats I later don’t have the energy to uphold (“I will take all of the toys from your bedroom and put them in a bin bag if you don’t stop whacking her with the space robot!”) and b) telling minor fibs. Usually my little lies involve something being closed or something needing batteries. “Can we watch the iPad?” “No, it needs batteries.” “Can you make us a den in the living room?” “No, the living room’s…closed.”

Warm hands. I’m trying to appreciate the feeling of small, warm hands in mine. Because my daughter is now almost as tall as me, seemingly, and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to pick her up. She’s just suddenly quite long and unwieldy. It’s like trying to walk along carrying an olive tree, or, I don’t know, a small hat stand. A clothes airer. Everything’s angular, rangy. Limbtastic. And so I know that soon I’ll be weeping over that poem – how does it go?

One day you will carry them on your hip then set them down And never pick them up that way again

(If you ever want to have a maudlin old weep then read the whole thing – it’s called The Last Time. In fact I’ll type it out below for you. Hankies at the ready.)

So yes, even though she’s still grabbing my face for kisses, and the three year-old still likes to be picked up and carried now and then, and both of them still curl their little warm hands into my palm when we walk along, I know that they are growing up faster than I can process and that I must remember every tiny detail. Perfectly round tummies sticking out of the gap between outgrown pyjama tops and bottoms, messy, sweaty night-hair, tiny arms that seem as fragile as bird bones when you rub them with sunscreen, mispronounced words (favourite of the week is Trinoceros, which I personally think is an excellent replacement for Triceratops), the instantly-recognisable little call of “Mummy? Mummy?” from up the stairs, the spilt drinks and dropped food, the theme tune to World Kitchen on CBeebies (every day at noon on lockdown, the soundtrack to our luncheons), the very particular bedtime routines…

Continuing Exhaustion. My final defining characteristic of this particular life era: ongoing, relentless exhaustion. Sometimes I try to look back on the baby years and work out whether they were blissfully relaxing in comparison, or horrendously tiring. Maybe as things get easier, and you get more sleep, you become spoilt and you think you’re more tired, but on the other hand, babies are pretty low-maintenance in comparison to small children. You feed them, you change their nappies, you (eventually) get them to sleep, but for the majority of the day you can manage to do stuff like make a cup of tea, fold some laundry, write a few emails, and you can do it all whilst the baby stares at a shadow on the wall and catches invisible butterflies and drools on itself. Not possible with kids. Maybe things change, but at the moment, 5+3, there’s a window of approximately eight minutes when they will quietly and enjoyably play and then all hell breaks loose. And if hell isn’t breaking loose then someone is asking a question, repeatedly, with exactly the same intonation and rhythm, over and over again until someone answers, and quite often it’s not even a question it’s just a statement phrased like a question, which is irritating and incorrect at the best of times but when it’s on robotic repeat for over thirty seconds it’s easy just to absolutely lose your mind:

“Mummy he put lego in my ear? Mummy? He put lego in my ear? Mummy he put lego in my ear? Mummy? Mummy he put lego in my ear?”

But then in the quiet moments, you miss that incessant background noise, it’s as though all of the life has been sucked out of the room. The sound of a dripping tap is suddenly mournful, rain upon the window panes just feels a bit empty. You sip on your tea/read your paper/pick dirt from under your nails with a butter knife/insert any other enjoyable activity, and the silence is almost deafening. And you think to yourself, ah, isn’t it lovely to have a house filled with kids’ noises, and then one of them comes in and clangs a metal spoon along the radiator and you almost self-combust with the ferocity of your conflicted emotions.

I’ll leave you on that deep and uncharacteristically profound note. Oh and here’s the poem:

The Last Time (author unknown)

From the moment you hold your baby in your arms you will never be the same

You might long for the person you were before When you had freedom and time And nothing in particular to worry about

You will know tiredness like you never knew it before Days will run into days that are exactly the same Full of feedings and burping Nappy changes and crying Whining and fighting Naps or a lack of naps It might seem like a never-ending cycle

But don’t forget…

There is a last time for everything There will come a time when you will feed your baby for the very last time They will fall asleep on you after a long day And it will be the last time you ever hold your sleeping child

One day you will carry them on your hip then set them down And never pick them up that way again You will scrub their hair in the bath for one last time And from that day on they will want to bathe alone

They will hold your hand to cross the road Then will never reach for it again They will creep into your room at midnight for cuddles And it will be the last night you ever wake to this

One afternoon you will sing “the wheels on the bus” and do all the actions Then never sing them that song again

They will kiss you goodbye at the school gate The next day they will ask to walk to the gate alone

You will read a final bedtime story and wipe your last dirty face They will run to you with arms raised for the very last time.

The thing is, you won’t even know it’s the last time Until there are no more times. And even then, it will take you a while to realize.

So while you are living in these times, remember there are only so many of them and when they are gone, you will yearn for just one more day of them. For one last time.

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