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snusbandxknifewife · 3 years

Text

Not me seeing this post:

And starting an entirely new Jurdan AU based on it lmao. Rated E for “Excessive Mentioning Of Sex Toys”

~~~

Dun dun.

Jude looks up as the front door of her father’s business, Lawn & Order, opens. The bell, added by her eldest sister in an effort to annoy their father, has been going off all day. Work is piling up on the receptionist desk and she curses to herself, knowing that more paperwork means less time outside.

A USPS delivery man walks in, hauling a hand truck nearly overflowing with boxes. Sweat drips down his face, pooling at his collar as Jude decides that maybe a little time in the AC isn’t too bad on a day as hot as this one.

“Sign here,” the obviously exhausted man says as he turns a clipboard towards her.

Funny, Madoc didn’t tell her they’d be getting a delivery today.

Still, she shrugs and absentmindedly signs the clipboard as the man unloads the hand truck with a dramatic groan. She should get up and help him, and, on any other day, she probably would. But today is for licking wounds and pouting.

The clock ticks quietly as Jude considers how she has to file papers and phone customers and clean the shop, just to go home for family dinner where her sister will undoubtedly be moaning about her cheating ass of an ex.

Not sure why she’s surprised, considering he cheated on JUDE with HER.

Taryn and Locke had been a thing officially for only three months, but they’d been sleeping together behind Jude’s back for much longer than that. The very idea makes her skin crawl and she would much rather spend her valuable time cutting someone’s lawn with nail clippers instead of playing nice with her poor heartbroken witch of a twin.

“Have a good one!” Jude clocks back into reality as the USPS man walks out the door, taking his hand truck with him and leaving her to the quiet of the AC unit and the court room tv playing in the corner.

Sighing, she gets up from her leather stool and walks around the counter to pick up the boxes. They look innocent enough, simple white USPS priority mail boxes that she expects to contain samples of seeds or maybe replacement weed whacking string trimmers. She could use some of those, the weed whacker she takes in her truck hasn’t been working as well as usual and Mrs. Mitsgunmins is kind of an asshole about precision.

She lets out a groan as she picks up the top two. The boxes are a lot heavier than she thought they’d be. Puzzled, she sets the two boxes on the counter, leaving behind the other two as she goes on a hunt for some scissors. Making it almost to her father’s office, she cusses audibly as she remembers the hunting knife she keeps in her boot.

It’s been a long fucking day.

Jude hums along to a commercial as she walks back to the counter, pulling out her knife along the way and slicing the tape of the top box. With a whistle, she opens the box and frowns at finding a bunch of little cardboard boxes stuffed inside. What the hell did Madoc order?

Her whistling stops in horror as she picks up one of the packages and spins it around, only to find bold neon print plastered along the front: XXX RECHARGEABLE NIPPLE CLAMPS

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Jude screeches at the top of her lungs as she drops the box and jumps back. Why the hell does her father need some hundred-or-so sets of rechargeable nipple clamps? Why do nipple clamps even need to be charged in the first place?

Taking a moment to steel herself, Jude moves towards the second box—staying as far away from the nipple clamps as possible—and reads the label for an explanation.

Ohhhh, these are for next door. The delivery man must’ve mixed up the addresses.

Letting out a sigh of relief, she pushes the nipple clamps back into their box and closes the lid, checking the other labels and seeing that all four boxes are meant for next door and thanking her lucky stars that Madoc didn’t suddenly decide to get his kink on.

Looking out across the driveway to the innocuous white building beside Lawn & Order, she rolls her eyes. The Sinful Serpent—complete with its shimmering golden apple sign—has been the bane of her father’s existence since it opened a year ago. Every day she has to hear about how he hates sharing space with some gross sex shop. While adult stores aren’t really Jude’s thing, she hasn’t cared too much because she hasn’t had to interact with the store or owner.

Until, she supposes, today.

She stacks the boxes back up and picks them all up with a grunt, thankful for the workout routine that her work provides as she curses the delivery man for taking his hand truck with him.

Only one car is in the parking lot of the sex shop and she celebrates the fact that nobody will see her going into the store. The last thing she needs is people recognizing her workplace on her shirt and bothering her or her dad. It’s already bad enough listening to old men ogle her when she goes to do landscaping work.

The front door is hooked up to an electronic bell that sounds like the twinkle of magic. As she pushes her way into the Sinful Serpent, she lets out a sound of surprise. Whatever she expected a sex shop to look like, this certainly isn’t it.

The entire store is decorated to look like a forest at twilight, with displays cut into bookshelves that look like giant trees and murals depicting faeries dancing through delicate nature landscapes wrapping around the walls. The lighting is low, except for where spotlights illuminate the wares. Over along one wall, by where the lingerie and exotic dancing costumes are, is a stage with a pole, the whole area bathed in blue light and covered in decor like coral. Between the entrance and exit door, the area for the registers resembles a castle.

“Give me a moment,” a voice calls out from within the castle. “I’ve got to check your ID.”

Jude panics, the very suggestion that she might be a customer in a store like this sending her brain into red alert. “I’m not here to shop!”

“The hell you here for then? Last I checked we didn’t have a gloryhole.”

She all but screams, short circuiting at being faced with a worse option than shopping at a store like this. As she tries to think of what to say, a young man pops up from behind the counter and surveys her, his kohl-lined eyes narrowed as he tries to figure out what her deal is.

He’s dressed in all black, his button up shirt undone halfway down his chest, exposing edges of tattoos that she doesn’t study enough to identify. His bottom lip and septum are pierced, as are his ears—which appear to have been elfed, because they end in sharp points. When he crosses his arms in front of his chest, his fingers are covered in glittering rings.

And he’s grinning at her.

“I uh, um,” she shakes her head, and then remembers the heavy boxes she’s hauled all the way over. “I work next door and, uh, the mailman,” she trails off again, her cheeks flaming as she lowers her voice and mutters, “I think he mixed up our addresses.”

His smile widens and his eyes look dangerous as he tilts his head. “And why would you think that?”

She glares at him and he chuckles lowly.

“We didn’t order these.”

“Can you be sure?” He asks, raising one painted nail to tap thoughtfully against his chin. “A landscaping company and adult entertainment store must have some overlap. Ropes and chains come to mind.”

“We don’t need rechargeable nipple clamps!”

“Everybody needs rechargeable nipple clamps,” he counters, his smirk replaced by reverent intensity.

She lets out a frustrated noise and slams the boxes on the counter, her back cracking in protest. “I don’t!”

“Woah! Stow the seriosity, Sunshine,” he lifts his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just playing with you.”

Grinding her teeth and digging her nails into her palms, she does her very best to keep from choking him out as he leans across the counter, his falling shirt collar exposing a necklace with a snake pendant hanging at his sternum.

She goes to spin on her heel and leave, but stops when a door—hidden behind a painting of a faun and nymph doing unspeakable things—opens, revealing a pretty young woman with blue hair pulled up into a messy bun.

“Cardan I can’t find the damn nipple clamps. I thought they were supposed to be delivered today?”

“Don’t worry, Nic,” the young man calls back with a smile. “Sunshine here brought them over.”

Jude, bristling at the title, misses how the woman momentarily blanches when she lays eyes on her. Quickly recovering and putting on a stony face, she walks over to the castle counter and inspects the opened box.

“You look familiar,” she observes and Jude zeroes in on her carefully cool tone. “Don’t you work at that coffee shop downtown? Bean There, Done That?”

“You’re thinking of my twin, Taryn.” Jude bites her tongue, doing her beat to avoid sounding annoyed at being confused with that backstabbing little—

“Sunshine here is our neighbor, Nicasia,” Cardan cheerfully announces. “She got our order and was kind enough to haul it over.”

“My name is Jude,” she grumbles.

He ignores her, leaning in conspiratorially and stage whispering in Nicasia’s ear. “She has insisted that she doesn’t need rechargeable nipple clamps, so surely they must belong to us.”

“Everyone needs rechargeable nipple clamps,” Nicasia whispers back.

“That’s what I said!”

Jude, rooted in place from the pure horror of listening to this conversation, watches as Cardan picks up a pair of scissors and opens a second box; pulling out a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs and grinning when he notices her watching him. Nicasia raises a perfectly groomed brow at the situation before grabbing the box of nipple clamps and heading to restock the shelves.

Once again, he leans forward, fingers spinning the handcuffs around as he smirks at her. “Now that the packages are handled, what can I do you for?”

Jude frowns, sure that he misspoke. It’s then that her phone goes off and she celebrates any excuse to get the fuck out.

Emergency situation at Dr. Wullworth’s. Need you to take over cutting at the Collethes. -Madoc

“I’m good, I’ve got a lawn to trim,” she says, turning off her phone and tucking it back into her pocket.

“Awe, Sunshine, you ain’t gotta clean up for me.”

She tilts her head in confusion before shrugging and turning to leave.

“Gotta go out the other door, Sunshine,” he sighs, almost like he’s disappointed. Weird.

Jude still tries the door, but it won’t open from this side, so she grabs ahold of her pride and walks around the castle counter, moving as quickly as she can and keeping her head down to avoid getting any further education.

“Bye,” she waves her hand awkwardly as she hits the exit door.

“Bye, Sunshine.”

~~~~~

Mostly setup for the AU. Yes all the last names are keysmashes. Yes I did go on early 2 bed’s website and choose random buttons until I found a sex toy that seemed a little odd. (The nipple clamps are rechargeable because they vibrate.) Big thanks to the discord server for helping me with ideas!

Tag list: @cardan-greenbriar-tcp @hizqueen4life @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @thewickedkings @aelin-queen-of-terrasen @cheekycheekycheeks @queen-of-glass @b00kworm @doingmyrainbow @andromeddea @jurdanhell @thesirenwashere @illyrianwitchling @courtofjurdan @clockworkgraystairs @st00pid231 @booksandlewks @fateandluminary

Let me know if you want to be tagged!

#jurdan #Jude Duarte #cardan greenbriar #tfota #tfota fanfic #sex shop/landscaping au #tyrannosaurus lex writes #literally just crack

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kiraawrites · 5 years

Text

The Shed

A fiery youth blazes her way out of an underground prison for the weak, empowered by the suffering of her fellows and the death of her loving mother.

Word Count: 1486 (word limit was 1.5k)

Constructive criticism welcome!

“Kathryn Shaham. Birthdate: 07/12/2150. 7 Intelligence. 4 Strength. 15 Charisma. 4 Dexterity. Total: 30/100. Status: The Shed,” read her name card as she peered at it through the darkness that shrouded her.

Kathryn glanced around the humid tunnels that were covered by the smell of human sweat and filled by constant groans of discomfort. Stepping through the mountains of filth, she felt kicks in her abdomen and looked down at her swollen belly. Every strike was a sharp reminder of the life that would soon be released into the chaotic storm of the Shed, where one’s voice became lost in the murky tunnels. Kathryn furrowed her brows as she toyed with the possibility that the child would be satisfactory for life on the surface. 35 points. Is it really that hard? Her heart pounded at the suggestion of salvation, for the Shed was Elysium’s Purgatory.

The guards beside the gate to the surface would always say, “It’s for balance. Perfect distribution of social classes. Our society is a better place without the Unskilled.” They always explained with a clipped voice, making sure to never look them in the eye. The truth ached. The government felt that their life was not worth living. They were burdensome, like defiant children that did no chores. Kathryn fumed when told that she was privileged; privileged to be housed in a slum built on the shabby bricks of dishonest lies and violent anarchy. The Shed swallowed up whoever could not bring themselves to do one of the two things that would give them enough pennies for a plate of food. Its seedy undercurrents have ruthlessly drowned numerous souls that did not sell themselves or sell contraband. This harsh reality wrapped itself around Kathryn’s heart; a barbed wire sinking even deeper into her sore flesh every waking morning when the smuggled clock beside her tiny bed would scream with the same agony that spread around the Shed with the strength of a tsunami wave.

The act of selling one’s body to strangers was what brought about Laila’s existence. The baby wore a mop of brown curls and was glued to her mother. Her meaningless babbles gave meaning to Kathryn’s cavernous heart, filling it with the warmth of familial connection. Without a breath of hesitation, Kathryn swore that she would never commit these indecent acts again for Laila’s sake. Grabbing a handful of bronze coins, Kathryn built a stall in the not-so-discreet black market. She traded cigarettes which men bought so eagerly, each stick being a grasp at temporal happiness, numbing the emotional wounds that have tormented them over the years.

8 years sped by at an alarming rate in their mundane lives. Kathryn was 26 and had built a following, her charismatic skill playing greatly to her advantage. The family of two had aged like fine wine, working in tandem to scavenge for success where, to the untrained eye, there was none. Among the regulars, Laila could easily recall one of them. He had a tall and well-built figure and worked as a hitman. Recognising Kathryn from her past work, he would attempt to wrap her around his little finger with the desperation of a puppy begging for treats. Alas, she knew better than to be a trusting fool.

He had been pursuing her for 6 weeks when one evening, he trudged to her stall with a wine-red face and a bottle of it in hand.

“Come with me, my dear. You will not have to wallow in this miserable market any longer.”

It was true, for hitmen topped a society ruled by spilt blood. Kathryn shook her head and pushed him away. His eyes shone bitterly and he raised the bottle over his head. He swung it down. Again, and again. Her screams echoing each blow as blood poured from her nose. When she dropped to the ground, forever silenced, Laila ran. She flew through the crowds to the house of the elder that took care of her living area. Shaking him out of his nap, an endless torrent of words and tears poured from her face.

Gin, calling a man who wanted child entertainers for his business, stopped mid-shout when Laila spat out, “B-but I can sell! Mother taught me. We had the cigarette stall.”

His eyes softened. He did have a necessities store that needed tending. Behind the cashier counter, Laila matured into a teenager with the charm of her mother and fiery ambition fuelled by a calling to rewrite fate. Gin showered her with his wisdom, teaching her how to fight anyone with both punches and prose.

On her 20th birthday, she banded together a resistance using Gin’s connections to every part of the Shed. Their mission was to end this systematic oppression and prove to the world that the Unskilled were not merely bumbling proletarian fools trapped in a dungeon, satisfied by their meagre possessions and empty future. In their early days, they would charge against the gate and fail. The guards were too many and too strong. Lives were lost. Soon, Laila began to hear giggling whispers wherever she walked.

If one gate closes, another one must open. On her way to the store, she looked up at the roof. Eureka! In a matter of hours, her men were armed with metal spades, ladders and tons of rope. Having chosen a place where guards did not usually tread, they started their work with passionate hearts. Heave-ho! Heave-ho! Layers of sweat built upon their foreheads as they peeled off the soil’s layers. Freedom was literally at their fingertips, as they broke through a grassy patch and daylight’s glory was unleashed, dousing the tunnel floors with a blessed yellow glow. Jubilant cries leapt from the mouths of the men that had been dreaming of this since they were a wee baby, crying in the dark tunnels; a house they rejected from being their home. The elders, with the recollection of living on the surface as young toddlers, felt a stabbing pain. They remembered being taken away as blossoming children, thousands of futures stolen by an idealistic government that wanted to polish its people to perfection.

Waves of people erupted from the small hole in the ground, their sweat clinging to the air like the scent of revolution. However, the positive energy that emanated turned rancid at a twitch of the clock’s second hand. It started with a surface dweller (or “normal” human) whipping out a pistol and firing at the wall of dirty flesh. He curled his lips at the beasts before him, clad in holed-out rags and smelling like a living garbage dump. Restless howls echoed through the city, waking every soul on that Sunday morning.

Laila wove her way through the fallen bodies and pounced on the gun’s owner. With a tiger’s growl, she threw his weapon to the road that was soaked in blood, a canvas of a thousand shades of red. An armour-clad squadron encircled her, their arms tensed and ready to fire. A rabbit in the middle of a wolf pack, she had been drained of all rationality. She shivered and gaped like a fish until she heard Gin’s cry.

“Retreat!”

Submission. Defeat. A raging forest fire started in Laila, wanting to burn these unspeakable outcomes to the ground.

“Take me to your leader,” she growled, glaring daggers at the squadron.

“I’m already here. Turn around.”

————————————————————————

“You do realise that our economy will drop drastica-”

“What economy? More than a quarter of your people are stagnating underground. You talk about economic productivity while leaving us to rot.”

“In Elysium, we value the best of the best. There is no sub-par item, person or activity being carried out in this nation. Your presence is akin to a faecal stain on the Mona Lisa.”

“The very foundation of your nation is subpar! The surface broke with a measly few spades.”

Their chests were heaving in the President’s office. He motioned for his secretary and whispered into his ears. The secretary then pulled a long black box from the top of a shelf and handed it to him.

“We’ll sign this deal.”

Laila’s heart leapt from her chest at the sight of the pen that would ink their freedom. She bit her lip, her breath stopping in her throat. This was her life’s pinnacle. The sweet ambrosia she had been chasing for so many years.

“But you are… Another matter altogether.”

He grabbed the box’s insides and pulled out a slender gun. She choked on her own anguished surprise, shooting a hand out to grab it.

“A danger to society.”

He fired. The bullet flew past her hand and dived straight into her gaping mouth, piercing the soft tissue folds of her throat. Her eyes rolled back and her body thudded on the floor.

“Secretary, decorate the gas chamber like the wedding of a beloved child. We’ll have a sweet party in there.”

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tbehartoo · 6 years

Text

Marshmallows and Mistletoe

for @haru-no-hikaru and @mlsecretsanta for ML Secret Santa 2017 Characters: Alya Cesaire and Nino Lahiffe

Rating: General

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Nino knows that Alya hasn’t always had the best history with happiness at Christmas time. He’s determined to make their first Christmas together in their first apartment perfect.

Word Count: 3580

On AO3 on FFN

“What the-” Alya stopped in the middle of the doorway looking down at her barking pomeranian puppy. When she left in the morning he had been a tan little puff ball, but now all that could be seen was his little foxy face and tiny tail, everything else was covered in a hideous, knitted confection of forest green and crimson. “Malin has an ugly sweater! My life is complete!”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Nino said as he gave his wife a kiss. “I guess that means we can cancel Christmas and I can return your presents.”

“Don’t you dare Lahiffe!” she said with a mock growl. “I need that Himalayan salt scrub and those fizzing bath bombs.”

“You weren’t supposed to know about the bath bombs,” he tutted at her as he took her computer bag and briefcase to put them on her desk in their shared office.

“Don’t leave your Amazon page up and not change any of your passwords,” she replied as she checked the pans on the stove. She inhaled deeply and her mouth started watering at the scent of onions and ras el hanout. She knew the other pan on the stove would be a fluffy couscous to go under the simmering stew in front of her.

“Babe, have I ever told you that I love it when you make me Moroccan food?” she said when Nino returned to the kitchen and dining area.

He stepped up behind her to give her a hug. “Just about every time I make it.” He gave her a quick squeeze and kiss on her neck. “Have I ever told you how much I love being able to kiss you at the end of a long day?”

Alya put the lid back on the pan before spinning around in Nino’s arms and putting her own arms around his neck. “Maybe you should remind me,” she said with a grin.

Nino happily obliged.

Eventually they had to disengage to keep the food from burning.

Nino moved the chickpea stew off of the hot burner while Alya got the dishes. They served themselves at the stove and moved to the couch. Nino set his plate on the coffee table and returned for glasses and something for them to drink, while Alya fetched utensils and napkins. Once they were seated Malin whined until Alya picked him up so that he could sit with his people. Ultimately both humans and puppy were situated in comfort and dinner began in earnest.

Nino decided to wait until after dinner was over and the dishes were done before broaching the subject that had been on his mind all day. He wasn’t quite sure how to bring it up as Alya was touchy about things like family and Christmas being mentioned in the same sentence.

“Stop eating all the marshmallows Lahiffe, I want some too,” she teased as they made some hot cocoa before watching their saved tv shows. She looked closely at her husband. He was shoveling the mini-marshmallows into his mouth on automatic and didn’t even seem to be chewing them.

“Hey,” she said quietly as she put her hand on top of the one reaching for another one of the fluffy, white squares. His hand stopped moving.

“Nino?” she started brushing her thumb over the back of his hand. “What’s bothering you, hon?”

“Huh?” he looked down at their hands and then into Alya’s concerned face. “Oh, um, just thinking about something.” He picked up his mug and headed back to the couch, “But I‘m pretty sure you’re not gonna want to hear it.”

She picked up her mug and grabbed a handful of the marshmallows as she followed him back. “Come on Nino,” she said gently, “If there’s something worrying you, I want to hear about it.”

“Okay, just hear me out,” he said as he turned and only partially faced her. “This is our first Christmas in our own place and it might be small, but it’s ours.” He gestured to the tiny apartment. “And Christmas is a big deal in my family.” He set his mug down and picked up Malin. He started petting the puppy, he continued talking but didn’t look up. “I’d like to be able to have a family Christmas party-” Well she hadn’t said no right away. Maybe this could still work? “-and, and invite everybody.” He continued to pet the pomeranian but side-eyed Alya.

Alya reached out and gave the dog a pet on his soft head. He started to lick off the remains of the sugar still stuck to her fingers.

“You want to invite my family over for Christmas,” she said blankly.

Nino nodded.

“All... of my family.”

Another nod.

“You do recall our wedding reception?”

Nino just continued to pat the dog while Alya’s fingers were thoroughly inspected for any sugary molecules by the puppy. The silence continued to stretch out. Nino was about to tell her to forget about the whole thing when Alya sighed.

“If you want to invite my family over for Christmas, be ready for somebody to get stabbed.”

And that was all she said before grabbing the remote and turning on “Scène de Ménage.” Nino smiled as he riled Malin up then set him free to dash around the room.

He grabbed Alya and pulled her into a hug. “Thanks babe,” he choked out. “That really means a lot to me.”

Alya hugged him back. “I know.” She gave him a kiss on his temple. “You wouldn’t ask to do it if it wasn’t important to you.”

He let her go and heard her grumble as she sat back, “It’s a good thing I love you.”

Nino couldn’t help but grin at her. “I love you, too.”

From that moment onward Alya could look forward to new holiday surprises every time she came home. Nino put out garland and candles one day. The next evening Alya found ropes of twinkling lights crisscrossing the ceiling. Marinette had been called in to decorate the tree within an inch of perfection, and she succeeded beyond the wildest of expectations. Unfortunately, no one told Malin that the tree was not for his personal amusement. Marinette was called in again to do damage control and a childproofing gate was erected around the base of the tree. Late in the week Alya came home to find brightly wrapped packages in every nook and cranny.

“Nino, what happened here?” Alya asked in disbelief.

“Adrien brought over some boxes and we wrapped them up,” Nino said as he fished for the scissors under the couch where Malin had knocked them.

She tried to pick up one of the larger boxes and couldn’t even lift it. “Nino! What is in here?”

“Huh?” he looked up to see what she was talking about. “Oh that,” he said as he ducked his head and finally managed to snage the scissors. “You don’t want to move that one or any of the other big ones covered in red with gold bows. We decided to wrap my speakers so it would be safe to stack stuff on them.”

Alya smiled down at him. “You’re really going all out for this, babe.”

Nino stood and wrapped Alya in a hug. “Well you deserve the best first Christmas ever,” he said earnestly.

“So do you,” Alya replied. “Listen Nino, you don’t have to keep killing yourself over this.” She looked around their apartment. He had turned it into a scene that wouldn’t look out of place in one of those home and garden magazines. “Our place looks amazing. Please don’t think you have to keep adding to this.”

Nino simply smiled at his his wife, having not let go of her it was easy to swoop in for a few reassuring kisses. “There’s just a couple of more things and then it’ll be perfect.”

Alya sighed against his lips, “You’re perfect already.”

“Thank you, my lady, my light, my love,” he gave her a light kiss between each phrase. “But it takes one to know one.” And with that he cut off all other conversation for awhile.

The last decoration that Alya noticed were the stockings that Nino hung across a faux fireplace mantle. The fireplace had a fake fire inside with a light and fan to make the fabric flames flicker. Across the mantle were stockings that Marinette had to have sewn since they were far too personalized for him to have found at any store. His had musical notes, his DJ table, tiny flickering lights, and was embroidered with his stage name at the top. Hers was made from what looked suspiciously like one of her old shirts from lycée and was embroidered with Ladyblog articles and the name of the first magazine to hire her after she graduated from university. Malin had a stocking that was bigger than both of theirs combined and was covered with animated, foxy faces along with pictures of all his favorite toys. Alya had looked at the arrangement and laughed. It’s like her best friend knew that they both would be stuffing their dog’s stocking full of his favorite treats. She sighed as she looked around again at all of Nino’s hard work and resolved that nothing was going to ruin it.

The day of the party dawned with Paris covered in snow! It wasn’t completely unheard of for them to get it, but it often didn’t last. Nino was determined to make the most of the unexpected opportunity. Alya had taken a few vacation days so she wouldn’t be stressed about this whole party thing and wanted nothing more than to stay bundled up in their warm, comfortable bed.

“You can’t force me to go outside!” she yelled from inside her cocoon of blankets. “It’s gonna be cold and wet and miserable. I’m staying here.”

“It’s Malin’s first time to encounter snow!” Nino yelled back as he struggled to get the ugly sweater onto the excited puppy. “So either you put on something willingly or I’ll throw you in the snow without your pants.”

Alya threw back the covers and glowered at him. “You try that Lahiffe, and I will end you.”

“There’s my girl,” he said as he threw a hoodie and some jeans in her direction. “You know you’re going to want to get pictures of the dog seeing all that cold white stuff for your blog. It’s going to be adorable.”

“You’re right,” she said as she scrambled to get dressed. “It’ll be too cute for words.”

“I’ll make your coffee,” he said as he left the room with Malin in tow.

Nino had been right. Malin’s first confrontation with snow was enchanting. He had stayed under the awning of their apartment building as he sniffed at the white stuff. Then one paw ventured a test and was quickly pulled back. He sniffed again getting his nose thoroughly covered and pulled back shaking his head. Alya held her breath while the puppy stared at the vast expanse that was the little courtyard between buildings and then he dived into the drifts head first. He romped and played with the snow as if it was an old friend that hadn’t been seen in far too long a time. Nino had brought down Malin’s favorite ball and Alya was able to record several moments of Nino attempting to teach the puppy the concept of a game of fetch. If the dog wasn’t cute enough to go viral, the sight of her tall handsome husband loping around the tiny square calling for the dog to drop the ball certainly was. Eventually everyone was wet and cold and Alya called for a return to the house.

Nino put Alya on Malin duty while he made breakfast and she was glad she had taken the time to give the dog a bath and blow dry. She found more than crepes and coffee waiting on the kitchen table. There was a whole scene from the North Pole laid out on her best platter. Santa’s elves made with fruit faces and crepe hats were gathered around a giant Christmas tree festooned with more fruit and topped with powdered sugar.

Alya sighed, “Your pancake skills are certainly improving,” she said as she sat down at the table. “Did you already Instagram this for Adrien to see?”

“Do you doubt me?” he asked with a mild scoff. “The Agreste-Lahiffe breakfast battle is trending again.” There was a twinkle in his eye. “Just because his croissants came out looking perfect doesn’t mean he won today.” He sat down as he placed mugs of hot cocoa topped with both marshmallows and whipped cream in front of them. “Besides, he has an unfair advantage with Tom helping him all the time.”

Alya dug into an elf and made an appreciative moan. “I can hardly wait to see what you two come up with for your combined holiday spectacular,” she said through a mouthful of fruit.

“It’s going to be epic,” Nino agreed. “I think we’ll definitely break the internet.”

Alya laughed. She loved to see Nino like this, enthusiastic and passionate. She had worried at times last year that she wouldn’t see him like this ever again, but they had both learned to roll with what life gives you and to help each other out of the morass of despair.

The first people to show for the party were Marinette and Adrien, of course. They had left Emma with Tom and Sabine so that they could help with wrangling any disgruntled guests. They also brought a ton of cookies and a couple of costumes for Nino and Alya. Nino had changed immediately but Alya had taken one look at what Nino was wearing and locked herself in their room. It had taken Marinette half an hour of talking to the locked door and then several more minutes of one-on-one conversation to convince Alya to at least look at the clothes she had made for her.

“Mari, he’s dressed as Santa!” she exclaimed for the hundredth time. “There is no way I’m going to dress up as dowdy old Mrs. Claus for a party that I’m worried is going to turn into World War IV.”

Marinette simply hugged her friend and tried to reassure her. “We made it through World War III at the reception, you can make it through this.”

Alya shook her head, “This means so much to him Mari. He’s put so much time and energy into this and my folks will be in the same room and won’t be able to be civil to each other, while the twins take sides and my aunt will just …”

“Alya, you’ve got to trust Nino,” she gave her another hug. “Besides if anyone starts getting out of line, Adrien or I will politely escort them from the building.” She opened the box containing the costume. “Now come on and try out what I’ve made for you. I promise if you don’t like it, you don’t have to wear it.”

Alya sniffed a little. “Okay, but the only reason I’d ever dress as Mrs. Clause is for the cookies. I want to make that clear. It’s absolutely the only reason.”

Marinette laughed. “Understood.”

In only a matter of moments Marinette was standing in the hall that led to the bedroom and proclaiming, “Ladies and gentlemen, mesdames et messieurs, the Lahiffe-Cesaire Christmas party proudly presents...Mrs. Alya Clause!”

The strains of “Santa Baby” began to play from all of the speakers, wrapped or otherwise, and Alya stepped out into the living room. She was wearing a red, sequined, strapless dress that hugged and accentuated her figure. There was a trimming of white, faux fur at the top of the dress and a slit in one side that ended at mid thigh. The red high heeled sandals matched the color of the dress perfectly and showed off the pedicure that nino had treated her to the day before. The straps on her shoes looked to be made of satin ribbons and ended in red bows at her ankles. Her hair was down and curling softly at the ends while an ornate red Santa hat finished the outfit.

She started moving to the music and Nino’s mouth dropped open.

“Dude,” he said to Adrien who was sitting next to him, “I’m gonna marry that girl.”

Adrien merely nodded at him. “You better do it soon,” he agreed as Alya slinked toward them, “before someone else does.”

Alya ended by draping herself across Nino’s lap. “Do you like it?”

“Babe, you are the most gorgeous woman in the world,” Nino whispered. “The dress looks nice, too.” He started kissing his wife passionately who returned his kisses just as enthusiastically.

“Calm it you two,” Marinette said with a practiced air. “Your other guests will be arriving soon and there’s still one more thing Nino wanted to put up before anyone else got here.”

“Oh yeah,” he said as he moved back from kissing her. “There is one more important thing that has to go up.” He stood up and planted Alya’s feet on the floor before moving away. “Come on Adrien, I need your help.”

At last everything was in readiness and the guests started arriving. Once it was determined that all the guests who were going to show were already in attendance, Nino stood before the front door with Alya at his side to make an announcement.

“Dudes!” he began. “Welcome to our first Christmas in our new home.” He waited for the murmuring to die down. “I’d like to bring your attention to the decoration hanging over Alya’s head,” he said pointing to the giant ball of mistletoe and ribbon that hung there. “From the the times of the Druids and on down mistletoe has been considered a magical plant. Branches used to be placed over doors to ward off evil spirits and to prevent the entrance of witches. Since all of you were able to enter I guess we can assume that none of you are witches,” There was a polite smattering of chuckles.

“In Scandinavia this a plant that represents peace. Standing underneath it is a place to declare a truce, or even to kiss and make-up.” He gave Alya a slight peck on her cheek. “Since it is a custom that is hundreds of years old I’m going to ask all of you to honor the tradition to bury old grudges and declare a truce here, if only for the night.” He smiled at all his guests. “I know that not everyone in this room gets along with each other, but please for tonight just try it. After all, you’re already dressed up and here.”

His face grew stern, an unusual expression for him to wear, “If any of you cannot abide by our terms, you and your warring party will be brought to stand under the mistletoe. If you find it in your hearts to kiss and make-up you can stay, if not then maybe an evil spirit snuck in with you and you’ll have to go. Santa has asked his elves to help with this endeavor,” Nino pointed at Marinette and Adrien who were wearing green Santa hats with elf ears on the sides. “They are making my list of naughty or nice children, and depend on it, they will put you on the correct list.”

Nino then smiled again at his guests. “You are the most important people to us so let’s get this party started!”

Suddenly Christmas music began to play and everyone began talking to each other again.

“Do you think it’ll work?” Alya whispered in his ear.

“It’s worth a try,” he said as he gave her another kiss. “We’re still under the mistletoe,” he answered to her unasked question.

“You’ve never needed that excuse before,” she smirked.

“If only Mari hadn’t threatened me with grievous bodily harm if I started a make-out session with you during our party,” he sighed.

“I guess we better attend to our guests,” she said as she tore herself away from his arms.

He nodded and turned to start working the room.

Many hours later, when the last guest had been ushered from their home, Nino turned down all the lights except for the ones on the tree, started the playlist he’d put together just for this moment, and grabbed Alya. As the strains of Michael Buble’s “I’ll be Home for Christmas” began to play, he started serenading his wife. She stood there with the lights twinkling behind her smiling serenely at him and he thought he’d never seen a more beautiful sight in his entire existence. Alya pulled him in and started swaying with him.

“You did good, Lahiffe,” she said as she laid her head against his shoulder.

“It was all for you,” he said as he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.

She shook her head. “It was all for us.”

“Yes, all for us,” he echoed gently.

It took a moment for Alya to realize where Nino was steering them, but once she caught on she couldn’t help but laugh. As they stood beneath the mistletoe again, she couldn’t help but remember one more tradition associated with the magical plant. It was said that if a couple in love kissed beneath it, they could expect a long life of happiness. Keeping that in mind, Alya determined that she and Nino would have a happy eternity together.

#mlsecretsanta 2k17 Miraculous Ladybug Nino x Alya

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mahoganypens · 7 years

Text

Listen to the Voices

I’m pretty sure the combination of stars hidden behind the limbs of branches and the grass laced with dew under my back was not my bedroom. The gravel sent a strobe light of pain down my left arm and along my cheek, tears stinging my eyes before I began to slowly opening them. Nothing appeared to me as familiar. My mind shuffled around in my memory, trying to dig up some information about the place, but I was left with what I started. I turned my head, searching for something to spark a recollection of why I was here, laying in the twigs and rocks with cut up knees and bloody palms.

The area seemed barren, expect for a small path. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a simple dirt line surrounded by green grass and weeds. It seemed to be used regularly but yet, there were no buildings around, no people. Confused, I got to my feet, wiping my hands on my jeans, and pulled my jacket closer to my body. I searched the pockets of both, hoping to find a note inside or an object to help recollect my thoughts. I only found lint and fuzz jammed in the corners. I noticed that I had no shoes on, my toenails covered in mud, a few black spots dotting the skin. I took cautious steps along the trail, hoping one way will lead me to civilization.

The few trees turned into many quickly as I easily navigated my way through the wooded area. A tiny tingle ran down my spine, sending shivers right back up, my subconscious alerting me to be on guard even though the forest was so calm. No animals scurried in the moonlight, the leaves taking motionless positions on the branches, giving off a tranquil atmosphere. I followed the lane, which crossed a minor river with a tattered, old bridge with wood and rope touching the water underneath, and passed by the outskirts of a vast meadow that was littered with white daisies.

Finally, at the top of a small hill, I was able to locate a minor town. Very little amount of light radiated from the buildings, but it was better than nothing. I smiled before a voice spun around in my brain.

Run. Find her before he does.

I stopped dead in my tracks, almost toppling down the side of the hill. The thought digging a deep ditch that stored my explanations. Who was I finding?

Assuming my subconscious knew more than I did, I tossed the question into the hole along with about a dozen more, and I listened. I started out at a jog, looking back a few times as I watched the forest shrink. It was the first time I noticed the shadow lurking behind the oak trees, darkness showering him. My chest ached, tempting me to slow down and catch my breath.

Don’t stop. Never rest, or he’ll catch you.

I felt like vomiting, vile actually stirring in my stomach, making me picked up the pace immediately. I observed instantly that my feet never felt the pain of the rocks and thick sticks that was getting crunched under my weight. But I was too intoxicated with adrenaline to really care, almost thankful it wasn’t causing me to hold back while running.

Coming up to the entrance of the town, I reduced to a steady stroll. My pants came in short, jagged puffs. I rested my hands on my knees, leaning forward to calm down and balance my breathing. The appearance of the village was nothing more than rows of brick structures stood a few feet apart from each other, shops holding large signs that would usually blink remained dormant. One stop sign, one red light. My interest was given to the gas station at the opposite end of the gravel road. It only held a couple of gasoline pumps, light glowing through the windows. I sighed, taking large strides, and making it to the station within minutes.

The inside was empty. No one was waiting in line because no one was standing behind the counter. I gulped and called out,

“Hello?” hearing my voice sparked something it me. It was familiar, something I can summon up memories of hearing constantly, but I couldn’t pull anything about what I said. I mentally shook my head, looking around the aisle that held food and magazines. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a shadow, making my heart plummet to my muddy feet that left dirt footprint on the once clean tiles. My breath hitched and I turned slowly.

A man was leaning in the corner, his arms wrapping around to hang loosely behind him. He wore normal clothes. My eyes flickered a second longer on his belt, heat raising in my chest. When I looked at his face, each time I blinked, he was different. The only remaining feature was his eyes, always staying a dark hideous color. His gaze never left mine, watching me longingly. I felt bile crawling up, tightening my lips into a straight line. He raised his arm, and for the first time in the last few minutes we’ve been having this staring contest, I noticed the small teddy bear in his hand. It would have been really cute if the circumstances were different. That, and if the bear’s ears and button eyes were still attached to it body. A small smile enveloped his face before he dropped the toy. It hadn’t even hit the ground before his foot stepped on the base, a red liquid spilling onto the floor in a fast pace.

I was out the door before he took his next step. My legs were already burning from the last marathon I ran, but it was nothing compared to the fear that was scorching throughout my body. I headed onto the main road. Someone had to be around, someone had to be able hear me scream for help. But after making it through half of the town screaming my head off, any attempts of a rescue was not happening.

The town was endless circle. The main road returning me to the same gas station after five minutes of running. I was too afraid to look back. The only indication the man was still following me from the small laughter I heard, close enough to my ear, I swore I was giving him a piggyback ride.

I noted a dark alley, on my third trip around the town, and jumped in, grateful to find a large dumpster and some old boxes. I hid behind it, slapping my hand over my mouth to cover the heavy breathing. A few moments passed before his tall figure stalked by, taking slow but long strides. His skin fluttered different colors, from pale white to dark and tan. As his body came and went, his shadows lurked behind him. I shivered when a voice echoed once again.

Never stop.

I don’t understand, I can’t possibly keep running. Crying seemed to be useless and completely impractical right now, but I couldn’t fight back the salty tears as they burned my eyes, demanding to be release.

“Amelia” A deep voice thundered through my mind, my whole body shaking uncontrollably. I begged the gods above that my name wasn’t Amelia, but seeing as I were the only one here, that was ridiculous. He was somehow standing behind me, even though there was only one entrance. My throat instantly closed, making me literally choke and reach to smooth my neck. His eyes took in my vulnerable state. No emotions planting on his ever changing face, contrasting the avalanche that were weighing me down.

For a split second I though he was going to leave, as his foot raised to step backwards. I couldn’t help but be greedy and feel a ray of relief. Much to my displeasure, his shoe flew forward and connected with my leg. I was knocked out of my hiding spot with a screech that rolled off my tongue. I hit the ground head first, my forehead scrapping the tiny rocks, matching with my hands and knees that I had long forgotten.

A final gasp removed itself from my lungs when his toes collided with my stomach so hard, air refused to enter my lungs and my eyes bugged out of my skull. My head felt tingly from the lack of oxygen, his repetitive abuse making it impossible to latch onto any oxygen near me.

But surprisingly, the kicking stopped. I managed to find air, and it felt like sucking in knifes, even though there’s already needles embedded into my lungs. I curled onto my back, my stomach aching too badly, and tried to crawl away in short increments. Each inch I move, the man leaned closer.

Finally, when his nose touched the tip of mine and my eyes locked with the green ones, he closed the final space. His mouth found mine, forcing himself against me. The kiss left my inside churning as his tongue searched for mine. I almost vomited right there, I wished I had. But he pulled away just as fast, his lips then connecting with my neck. His tongue traced patterns along my skin, lapping around in rings, sending disgusting trails of spit rolling down my throat and pooling in my collarbone.

My whole being pushed forward, and I tried to lift his body off of mine. With no strength left, this was just the perfect opportunity for his to grab my wrist and pin them above my head with two slender fingers. I rocked and wiggled under him, hoping that I would worm my way out. But it only increased his excitement, his other hand following the curves of my body, exploring without hesitation. My throat burned, my screams shifting to feeble pleas because my vocal cords refused to continue. His fingertips grazed my hipbone, an unwanted gasp escaping my lips along with a shriveled cry.

“Why?” I screamed, my words mixing with his saliva, “Please, stop.”

When he shifted to stare down at me, anger and lust burning in his pupils, a mischievous grin dominated his face. I took the distraction to spit at man’s eye, for once the green eyes disappearing. He removed his grip, my hands temporarily free. I brought my arm down, my fist connecting with the top of his head. No serious damage was done, unfortunately, the hit just irritating the stranger. He sat back quickly, coming down hard onto my stomach, an agonizing cry filling the air as I felt a bone crack and start poking into my muscles. They were silenced soon enough, his fist hitting my jaw first. My teeth bit down so hard on my tongue, blood sprayed his shirt. He advanced again, this time my eye and then my nose. My arms cover my face a few times, only to be ripped away and twisted in unnatural angles. My voice couldn’t produce any more screams, dried out and restricting every time I swallowed blood. His hands began to roam my body again, my instinct naturally kicking in again to stop him. But halting once the weak voice spoke. It communicated much softer this time, a sympathetic tone.

Stop, or he will kill you.

It was my voice. The one leaving the tiny hints in my mind. As I have all night, I listened to the voice, to myself, the subconscious that knew what was going on. Going limp, I lied stone-cold on the ground, the strange man not even phase by my surrender. He moaned deeply, impersonating a bottomless growl. It was the first noise I’ve heard out of him, and I never want to hear it again. My lungs demanded more oxygen. But I could not provide it. My mind finally gave it and went numb as I gazed into the green eyes one last time.

#nightmare #creative #creativewriting #fiction #amelia #novel #writing #writingclass #stranger #voices #dream #author

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