#i am filling you with brunette power. we are wearing jeans together. we are moving skyscrapers with the power of thought

[haughtshotgun]

Hi! I’m enjoying these prompt fills!

Could you try prompt 63 please?

Thanks, Anon!

63. “You didn’t tell me you’re friends was cute! Now what am I going to do?”

Waverly sat at the bar with her sister, the older Earp was already a whiskey into the night. The smaller of the brunettes looked around the bar, apparently Wynonna’s friend was meeting them, but the woman was almost 20 minutes late.

“Are you sure she’s coming, Wy?” Waverly asked slightly annoyed and took a sip of her Chardonnay.

Wynonna waved her sister off and said, “Nicole is a lot of things, baby girl. She is bossy, can be uptight, and cares for rules too much for my liking, but late without reason is not part of her makeup. I bet her cat got out or something.” Waverly eyed her sister quizzically and sighed. She toyed absentmindedly with a coast, running her fingers along the edges when a slap to her arm startled her.

Waverly rubbed the spot her sister had just hit and whined, “Ow.”

Wynonna rolled her eyes and pointed at the doors, “Nicole’s here.” Waverly noted the genuine excitement on Wynonna’s face and it made her smile, knowing that the loner had a friend. The petite brunette looked up and felt the bar around her fade, all but Nicole. Her mouth dried like a desert and she found herself reaching for in wine in a desperate attempt to easy her thirst. The woman was tall, easily four or five inches taller than herself, with a lean yet sturdy build. She was wearing dark wash skinny jeans, a blue and white flannel, and navy beanie over her long, auburn mane.

“You didn’t tell me your friend was cute, Wynonna!” Waverly scream-whispered in her sister’s ear as Nicole spotted them at the bar. The ginger’s honey eyes lingered on Waverly for what felt like an eternity before her booted feet walked down the stairs and towards them. Next to her, Wynonna stiffened and turned, eyes wide and mouth agape. “Now what am I going to do?” Waverly asked, only half teasing.

Wynonna scolded, “You will do nothing, She will do nothing. You both will do fucking nothing. You hear me?” The older Earp scowled and took a sip of her whiskey but Waverly had no intentions of following Wynonna’s rules. Her eyes tracked Nicole as she ordered a whiskey before walking over to them. Next to her, Wynonna was muttering under her breath but Waverly was far too preoccupied, her gaze never leaving the ginger.

“Hey, Wynonna!” Nicole greeted her sister cheerfully before settling on the only empty barstool next to Waverly. The smaller brunette became hyper aware of how close Nicole’s leg was to her own and she took a sip of her wine to distract from the heat she felt. “Sorry I’m late… Calamity Jane, that minx, snuck out when I was trying to leave. Chased her around the damn neighborhood like a fool until I could corale her back in,” the ginger explained with a sigh then took a sip of whiskey. Waverly watched how plump, pink lips pressed against the glass and she wondered how they would feel pressed against her own.

Wynonna got into Waverly’s face and laughed, “Ha! Told you her damn cat escaped. My baby sister here was ready to write you off as a no-show.” Waverly felt her cheeks flush and turned to face Nicole, ready to explain herself to the stranger.

Nicole gasped dramatically and put her hand over her heart. “Well, Miss Earp, I hope we didn’t get started on the wrong foot now.” The ginger held out her hand and smirked at Waverly, like she knew what she was doing to her with that grin, and introduced herself, “Nicole, Nicole Haught.”

Waverly raised an eyebrow and took the ivory hand into her own. When their skin brushed together there was instant heat and Waverly noted the way Nicole’s mouth opened slightly at the touch. “Waverly Earp,” Waverly smiled and slowly pulled her hand back, wishing for an excuse to keep them attached. Something about her sister’s friend drew her in, like there was a magnet deep in her gut pulling her closer and closer to Nicole.

Wynonna looked between the two of them, her eyes jumping back and forth wildly, and she downed her second whiskey. “I am too fucking sober for this,” she hissed and stood up from her spot. They watched as she walked over to the other side of the bartop, right in front of the bartender, and sat down facing the man. “Keep ‘em coming. Pretty sure my sister and best friend are gonna fuck later, so WyWy needs her whiskey,” the older brunette announced loud enough for Waverly and Nicole to hear, as well as many patrons sitting at the bar.

An instant heat licked at her cheeks and Waverly looked down for a moment. When she looked up Wynonna’s piercing, icy eyes were locked on Nicole, mouthing what she imagined were threats. With a deep sigh she took Nicole’s hand and gave it a soft squeeze. “Hey, she invited us here to meet each other right? So… why should we let her ruin our night?” Waverly asked with a small, coy smile and Nicole turned her attention away from Wynonna and to her. Her eyes were a dark, golden brown like wildflower honey and she gave Waverly’s hand a squeeze back.

“You’re right, she did. Do you want to move to a booth for privacy? If she decides to join then good… if not,” Nicole trailed and bit her lip, “then great.” A Cheshire Cat grin crawled along Nicole’s lips and Waverly wanted to grab her by the cheeks and kiss it off.

She took a deep breath in and nodded. Waverly turned to look at Wynonna, to see if she was still steaming, but instead of finding an angry older sister, she was met with the sight of Mercedes sitting on the taller brunette’s lap. “Yeah, I don’t think she’ll be following us,” Waverly chuckled and tilted her head in the direction of the older Earp. Nicole followed the movement and Waverly laughed when her eyebrows shot up in surprise. Waverly shrugged and said, “Lead the way,” signaling to Nicole that she was ready for a little distraction.

“Right!” Nicole said and smiled, standing up with their hands still interlocked.

Once they made it to an empty booth, conversation began to flow easily between them. Waverly watched in wonder as Nicole talked about all of the places she had traveled to and explored. Nicole held her hand as she explained how hard it was when Wynonna went away. They shared laughs, more drinks, and by the third one, their hands toyed with each other on the table top and their feet occasionally knocked each other underneath. Waverly felt like she knew Nicole in her bones. Her laugh was a melody she knew the tune of. Her smile was a work of art she’d study before. Her touch was a comfort she felt at home with. There was something powerful and unexplainable about Nicole. All Waverly knew was her desire to learn more, explore more, and feel more of the ginger.

Nicole cleared her throat and ran her hand up Waverly’s forearm, goosebumps blooming in her wake. “So is Wynonna right?” Nicole asked and Waverly tilted her head to the side in confusion. She searched her brain for what Nicole could be referencing but found it empty as ivory fingers skated along the length of her arm. It was embarrassing how quickly the sexy and confident woman in front of her turned her useless. “Are her little sister and best friend going to fuck tonight? Because I would sure love to introduce you to my pussy,” Nicole deadpanned and smirked like a devil when Waverly choked down her sip of wine. The ginger leaned in, her honey eyes dark with want, and chuckled, “Cat that is. I’d love to introduce you to my pussy cat.”

Waverly put down her wine and looked at Nicole. The rest of the bar faded around them as only one thing echoed in her mind, Nicole. Waverly leaned the whole top half of her body over the top of the table and grabbed the ginger by the collar of her flannel. She pulled Nicole in for a kiss, firm and stagnant at first, both women afraid to make another move. But Waverly felt a flickering of a fire, like a match was lit inside of her. In an instant, she moved her mouth against Nicole’s with need. The ginger followed suit and soon they were in an ebb and flow, forgetting completely that they were making out in a crowded bar. When they pulled away their breathing was uneven and Waverly dropped her hands to Nicole’s shoulders. She massaged the built muscle there and chuckled, smiling like a fool. Soon, Nicole was laughing too and Waverly pulled her in for a quick peck before pushing her away playfully.

“Go pay the tab,” Waverly ordered, feeling a sense of accomplishment when Nicole’s eyes lit up in gleeful understanding. The ginger sweetly pecked her cheek before slipping out of the booth. Waverly hummed at the touch and stared at Nicole's well-defined ass as she sauntered over to the bar. Wynonna accosted the ginger as she tried to pay her tab, Mercedes played with the older Earp’s hair and whispered in her ear in an attempt to calm her down. Waverly scooted out of the booth and waited for Nicole at the front door. She waved at Wynonna when she looked her way but the older brunette only gave her a halfhearted gesture, her eyes distracted by her phone.

Nicole all but sprinited up the stairs, making Waverly giggle, and said, “Ready, Waves?” The brunette broke out in a big grin, it being the first time Nicole used the nickname, and held out her hand.

“Ready,” she confirmed with a nod and laced their fingers together. Nicole set the pace for their walk, both of them enjoying the easy silence until Waverly felt her phone vibrate and heard Nicole’s go off. While they walked they checked their phones, both of them stopping in their place as they read the message.

Wynonna Earp created a new group chat: Break Her Heart and I’ll Break Your Face 🥊

Wynonna: Did the two of you really think I didn’t see this coming? I’m stupid but I’m smart. You dummies just got set up! Haught, read the group name, read it again. This is your first warning. Tomorrow we have the full shovel talk. Baby girl, go easy on her okay. She just had a rock climbing accident like eight months ago. Anyway, have fun, use a condom, bye!

The women turned and looked at each other, mouths agape in shock. Wynonna set them up. She wanted them to like each other. Nicole broke first, howling in laughter as she doubled over. Waverly followed, shaking her head at the ridiculousness of it all. Once they collected themselves, they continued their walk to Nicole’s apartment. She rested her head on the ginger’s shoulder and felt at ease. They took in each other’s energy, enjoying the night, until Nicole’s curiosity bested her.

“So, what should our safe word be?”

#wayhaught #wearp #writing prompt #wayhaught dialogue #this thing is almost 2k #the next two will be even more #i think one is gonna end up being 5k #this is why i shouldn’t do prompt fills #shut up lex #asked and answered #anonymous #wyncedes #wynhaught

[failbaby]

Can you please write moreid #3 from the fluff or 12 from misc?

Sorry this took me so long! This sort of prompt (not depressing or horny) is not what I’m used to writing, so it was kind of a challenge. I hope you like it! (Set during S1. Long as hell for absolutely no reason. Not NSFW, but warning for adult themes.)

Spencer wakes up as soon as the sun’s flush has spread to the center of the sky.

For a fraction of a second, before he’s opened his eyes, he’s certain he’s at home. Then, for an even smaller increment, he’s half-awake and confused at the unfamiliar angles at which the light fills his peripherals. 

Then, then, once his brain has fully rejoined him on planet Earth, then he remembers. 

Holy shit. 

Holy shit. 

Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid, Spencer. 

Sleeping with your coworker?

Stupid.

Think. 

He’s still asleep. 

Carefully, as if he’s diffusing a bomb, Spencer removes Morgan’s (heavy, good Lord, what does this guy lift?) arm from where it’s draped across his chest and sits upright. He keeps every muscle in his body tense in an effort to keep as still as possible. 

Twelve and a half feet from here to the door, clothes five feet three inches left of the door.

Will take me two minutes to dress. My legs are three feet and four inches long. My strides are four feet and five inches on average.

Sixteen stairs. 

Six and a half inches each.

It should take him, he reasons, about four minutes and some change to dress himself and get out the front door, as long as he makes exceptionally good time and manages to dodge distractions. (He doesn’t want to seem too eager, after all, hanging around the house the morning after--he doesn’t want Morgan to know just how much this matters to him.)

As soon as Spencer shifts his weight, though, he realizes how sore the previous night had rendered him, and he tries to adjust his calculations for limping.

Six minutes? Eight?

He’s not sure. 

He’s not sure of anything right now.

God, he hates being unsure. 

Painstakingly slowly, Spencer climbs out of bed and tiptoes over to the corner of the room where his clothes had been carelessly discarded the night before. 

(He finds that he almost doesn’t want to put them back on. He feels as though he’s somehow a changed person.)

For just a moment, as he’s wrestling his jeans on, Spencer pauses to drink in the domestic tranquility laid out before him. The sun has risen in full, and its gentle morning rays are slipping in defined slates through the blinds covering the window above the bed. Derek Morgan is passed out with his back to the corner of the room where Spencer is standing. Even from behind, everything about the older man seems regal, somehow; unnaturally beautiful, like he was created by something far more powerful than a man and a woman. His shoulder blades, the curvature of his spine, his medium-dark complexion that almost seems to glow in the sunlight--it’s all perfect. His back is scratched up, and it’s with genuine surprise that Spencer realizes he must’ve done that. 

Reluctantly, he tears his eyes away and turns to face the wall as he gets dressed.

Four and a half minutes with NO DISTRACTIONS.

No distractions.

Don’t get distracted.

Don’t get--

“What’re you doing?” Morgan calls from behind him, voice thick with sleep.

Shit. 

Spencer pivots quickly around, heart hammering, still holding his shirt in his left hand. “I was j—uh—I was just…leaving…?” 

Morgan frowns. “I drove you here.”

“I was…gonna take the metro.” 

“Uh-uh.” He yawns and sits up. “What kinda douchebag do you think I am? I’m not gonna fuck you and let you take the train home.” 

“Morgan, I can—”

“Hey. Call me Derek, okay?” 

“Derek, I can get myself home. It’s really not a problem.”

“It is a problem. I’ll make you breakfast. C’mon.” His face softens a bit. “Please?”

It occurs to Spencer, then, that he might actually be wanted here. He entertains the thought (doesn’t cling to it, but allows it to pass by without shooting it down) that Morgan - Derek, whatever - actually wants to make him breakfast, and isn’t just doing it out of obligation or because he feels bad for him. It’s an unfamiliar (though certainly not unwelcome) feeling-- being truly wanted is a dopamine rush he hasn’t felt in years.

Spencer nods, trying his best not to grin like a lovesick teenage girl. “Okay. Sure, I can stay for breakfast.” 

… 

Spencer’s never been good at sitting still, and it’s ten times worse when he’s nervous. 

The atmosphere of the kitchen is not tense--that’s not the right way to describe it, because Derek certainly doesn’t seem tense, humming to himself as he flips pancakes and the dusty, familiar smell of the heat turning on fills the room--but Spencer is certainly tense. He hadn’t grabbed his shirt when he’d come downstairs, having been thrown off of his groove by Derek asking him to stay for breakfast, and he’s self-conscious and cold. He bounces his leg up and down idly and wrings his hands in his lap.

Sleeping with your coworker, he thinks, over and over and over. Stupid.

“Do you mind if I go look at your pictures?” He eventually asks, gesturing towards the framed photos on the wall in the living room. 

“Not at all. These’ll be done in--actually, I’ll come in there.” 

As Spencer stands up, he absentmindedly grabs a gray hoodie draped across the back of one of the kitchen chairs and tugs it over his head. It’s warm, soft, and smells like Derek. 

He never wants to take it off.

Morgan’s living room is painted a pale blue color. The couch and coffee table sit a foot and a half apart. There’s a brown, circular rug (almost exactly six feet in diameter, Spencer notes) in the center of the floor. The walls are lined with photographs; side-by-side portraits of two pretty young women who Spencer recognizes as Derek’s sisters, a photo of Derek in front of some sort of waterfall with his arm around a slim, pretty brunette woman (which sparks an irrational jealousy that Spencer swallows as best he can), and a small framed photo of a group of people which looks to have been taken with a disposable camera. 

Spencer moves in to get a closer look.

“Is this JJ on your wall here?”

“In the group picture with the unit?” Morgan calls. “Yeah. We look a lot younger there, huh?”

Spencer smiles. “You do. I didn’t even recognize Gideon. What year was this?”  

“That was...‘98? ‘99? JJ’s first year. Probably my favorite year with the BAU yet.” 

His favorite year ever was before I was there, Spencer realizes with a twinge of sadness.

“That was before we got the jet,” Derek continues. “Man, you don’t know the struggle. We used to fly commercial. Get split up and sat next to randos. But that was before 9/11, so...hey, did you see my hoodie anywhere? I swear I set down in here somewhere.” 

Spencer’s smile fades. He balls his fists within the too-long sleeves of Derek’s missing hoodie. Fuck. 

God, he’s so bad at these things. 

He’s almost never sure in advance exactly where other people draw the lines of their comfort zones, but he can always tell once he’s overstepped them, and standing here at eight o’clock in the morning in his coworker’s living room, bare-chested beneath his hoodie, sore between the legs and staring at his family photos, he knows for sure that he’s overstepped. He’s gotten too comfortable.

Spencer reaches to pull the garment off. “Uh, I…”

“You’re wearing it, aren’t you?”

“I’m not, I--”

Derek chuckles. “You’re super cute. I’ll be out there in one sec.” 

..

Honestly, the fact that Derek regularly has two kinds of syrup (maple and blueberry) in his house is extremely intimidating. 

Spencer’s spent most of his life around older people, and, though he certainly never feels left behind intellectually, there are occasional jarring moments when he realizes just how immature he is in comparison to his peers. This is one of these times; he feels adolescent and ridiculous looking around Morgan’s fully-furnished, Real Adult living room, thinking about how he probably has a mortgage and a spice cabinet and a swiffer mop. 

(Two kinds of syrup--really? Spencer doesn’t even have ice cubes. Maybe it’s time for him to grow up and get an ice tray.)

“Did you know that the profitable blueberry season in South America directly follows the profitable blueberry season in North America, almost to the day?” Spencer asks, nervously dragging his forkful of pancake through his puddle of blueberry syrup. He’s hardly eaten. He’s too uneasy. “On the day that the average North American blueberry farmer’s profits decline to zero, the average South American blueberry farmer’s spike. Now, this is partly just because of demand, of course, but the fact that it’s so exact--”

“Spence?” Morgan interrupts.

He mentally kicks himself. “Sorry.”

“Hey, no. Don’t be sorry. Listen, uh...do you think I could maybe...take you out...sometime?”

Spencer frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Snipe you. No. What do you think? To dinner or something.”

(If Spencer didn’t know any better, he’d almost think Derek looked nervous. He’s biting his lower lip--it’s a classic anxiety tell. Sometimes, Spencer really wishes he wasn’t a profiler.)

“...Why?”

“Why?” Morgan repeats. “Because I like you.”

Spencer’s stomach turns over. “You do?”

“Isn’t that what I said?”

“...Do you really mean that?” (His heart hammers. He wonders, for a moment, if this is some kind of cruel joke, like the ones kids used to play on him in high school.)

“What? Of course I mean it.”

“Do you do this with everyone? I mean, everyone who…?”

“No.” 

It’s difficult for Spencer to comprehend; he almost can’t wrap his head around the idea that someone so gorgeous and widely beloved and well-put-together would want anything at all to do with him, let alone this. “Then why is this time different?”

“Because you’re different. I’ve never met anyone like you in my life. Look, can I take you out, or not?”

Spencer locks eyes with Derek and raises his forkful of pancake (now completely saturated with blueberry syrup) to his lips. He’s not quite sure if the overwhelming, comfortable warmth he feels is from the heat, Derek’s hoodie, or the affection he feels bubbling up inside him at the prospect of a date, but he finds that he doesn’t really care. 

“I’d like that.”

#moreid #ask #pay attention to me im bored #writing

[tamyriasketches-is-addedoc]

Black Cat Bidder: a Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction (club/auction au)

Chapter 3: Missing in Action

Alya was pacing in front of her boyfriend and his blonde buddy who seemed more interested in his phone then the situation. She was fuming with rage and ice cold with terror. That morning she had burst into her best friends dorm to wake her up for school only to find the room empty and a large box open on her bed. She could still see the small red and black g-string that had been tucked into the corner of the box, Marinette had been brace enough to make it but not to wear the thin piece of fabric apparently. She couldn't find any hint of where the young designer had gone but she couldn't bring herself to agree with the thoughts that her warnings had gone unheeded and the poor girl had slipped off to the club. She knew her soft spoken gentle hearted friend too well to even imagine her doing something so out of character like that.

“Well, did you call her parents?” Nino asked as he scratched his upper right arm with his left hand, a nervous habit of his that she found endearing as long as it didn't end up with a gash in his arm at the end.

“I can't do that and have them up all night worrying if she isn't in danger or anything.” She groaned and rested her hand against her forehead as she looked down at her phone once again. She had sent Marinette twelve texts since she discovered her missing and called her twice as many times yet had no answer to any. There either was something horribly wrong or, and it was entirely more probable, she had lost her phone again.

“So what are we supposed to do?” Nino nudged his friend as he spoke causing the blonde to jump a bit in surprise and look around with his bright green eyes wide in confusion.

“Wait, what's going on?” He asked as he raked his fingers through his light honey locks, causing them to shift into a messy mass on the top of his head.

“Remember Marinette, that girl that we helped last semester with her suit jacket measurements, dude she is MIA.” Nino filled him in quickly while Alya fumed, turning red with anger at the young man.

“Oh, pigtails.” The blonde scratched his chin as he spoke, looking at Nino curiously.

“Yep.” The both of them turned to stare at Alya who had suddenly cut into their conversation, sweet innocent pigtailed Mari who I- I drug to that FUCKING CLUB.” She shouted the last two words before looking away from them quickly, “I am the worse kind of best friend.” A sob rocked her body and Nino was there in an instant, pulling her to his chest as he petted her hair gently.

“Shh babe, it will be alright. We’ll find her.” He murmured into her hair as he held her tightly.

“What club did you take her to?” The couple turned to the blonde who had raised the question, one looking confused while the other looked to be eating themselves up with guilt.

“Papillon.” Alya stated in a soft scared voice. The blonde raised an eyebrow before turning his attention to his friend. They shared a look for a moment before he stood from the bed and slipped his phone in his pocket.

“And you think she went back there, did Nino not tell you the news? Girls vaniish from there at this time of year like clockwork.” He stated in a flat even tone.

“I know okay!” She exclaimed as she pulled away from her boyfriend to face down the one she was choosing to level her negative feelings at, “I warned her! She's not the type to ever do something like that but-“she stopped short as she looked down and bit her lip.

“Marinette wouldn't do that.” Nino stated quickly.

“You said ‘but’ but what?” He asked without even glancing the young DJs way.

“But,” Alya looked down and let out a long sad sigh as she reached up to rub her shoulder absently, “but I- I found something in her room that well,” she groaned softly and dropped her hand from her shoulder before continuing, “well she never designed anything like it before let alone made anything like it before and well it uh, matched her outfit from the night we went out.” She wasn't looking at either boy as she spoke the last sentence.

“Maybe she just liked the pattern?” Nino offered as he rubbed his girlfriends arms in a slow comforting way. They turned their attention on the blonde once again as he began to grumble words that they could not quite make out.

“….stupid father,” he turned his attention on them and offered a sympathetic shrug before rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, “look I wanna help, pigtails seemed nice and all, but well, my father…” he said as he motioned to the phone that neither of them saw him pull from his pocket.

“Nah, it's cool dude. I know how your pops can be.” Nino stated with a dismissive wave.

“Thanks man.” The two young men bumped fists before the blonde turned to Alya and frowned slightly as he looked down at the space between their feet, “look I’ll keep an eye out for her and if I see her I'll call Nino right away.” He offered her his hand to fist bump as well and she sighed softly as she obliged his silent offer.

“That's all I can really ask of anyone right now.” She stated as she crossed her arms before her chest. He gave them one more sympathetic smile before making his way out of the room, leaving the couple to sulk together over their missing friend.

“Chat, you're here early.” Papillon stated as he raised a brow at his son curiously, “you usually don't even show up when we hold our auctions.” He added with a sinister chuckle. They were in the office of the club with the purple and grey clad owner sitting behind his desk and the black clad young man tapping his foot impatiently as he stood before it.

“I just want to know if there is anyone around my age on the block tonight father.” Chat practically growled as he continued to fidget impatiently before the stoic man. He watched his father sigh in annoyance as he looked through a few papers. His brow raised at the same time as the old mans as a few photos were passed to him across the desk. Each one was a sleeping girls face with a mask of some kind obscuring their features. A red head with a silver and diamond encrusted mask that took up most of her face, a brunette with a green satin mask that was obviously tied to her head under her large mass of curly hair, and a reavenette who was immediately interesting to him. In the photo her hair was worn down but there was a tale tell crease in her shoulder length locks that showed him it was usually worn up. Her eyes were closed and her long dark lashes blended in with two of the five black spots of her mask, they appeared to be made of crushed velvet while the rest of the mask was red silk surrounded by a fine line of black lace. Her cheeks were a bit rosy, be it from makeup or intoxication, and he could barely make out a line of freckles that stretched from one side of her face to the other, vanishing under her mask as they did so. He flipped the photo over to see the number thirteen stamped in deep purple ink and smiled a bit at the thought. This girl was beautiful and if she was who he thought she was then he could possibly get out of the trap that he found himself in with Queen Bee.

“She will be up in around twenty minutes.” He jumped at the sound of his fathers voice and looked up at the now smirking man with a soft growl.

“Who says I'm interested.” Chat scoffed as he threw the photos back on the desk and turned to the large two Way glass wall that overlooked the seemingly empty club.

“Well you did come in here looking for a specific type son.” His father chuckled as he spoke which only caused Chat to frown even more.

“A friend of mine from school has a buddy who hasn't been home all night.” He stated as he pointed to the photos, “thirteen looks a lot like her too.”

“Ahh, Ladybug, yes she's been coming in off and on. I've had my eye on her for a while. My, royal acquaintance actually was looking at her a while ago. He seems to have taken an interest in her.” Papillon rested his chin on his interlaced fingers after he spoke and smiled at his son mischievously.

“Royal or Mayoral?” Chat rolled his eyes as he looked back at the glass wall once again, anything not to have to look at his father, “I swear both he and Bee have you wrapped around their fingers.

“I wouldn't speak of your girlfriend in such a cold tone.” Papillon warned half heartedly.

“You know very well she isn't my girlfriend. She is a fangirl I'm forced to be nice to.” Chat grumbled in return. He glanced at the photos once again before sighing slowly and moving his attention to the arched ceiling above him, “what if I, wanted to join the auction, what do I have to do?” He asked after a long moment of tense silence stretched between them.

“All you have to do is go in, pick a seat, and wait.” His father stated in a flat dull tone that meant Chat was close to crossing the line. The cat themed man scratched the back of his neck with one hand while the other found its way into the front pocket of his leather jeans.

“Fine.” He stated then without looking at his father, “fine, if that's all it takes then that seems reasonable to me. I will see you at the auction father.” He turned, intending on leaving it at that and simply exiting his fathers office without another word. His father however seemed to have other plans.

“You realize she will be legally bound to you for a year, the powers that be have deemed this little side hobby of mine binding in the eyes of the law. I wonder how your fangirl will take it.” Papillon stated just as his gloved hand brushed the door handle.

“A year huh.” Chat chuckled darkly without turning and giving his father the satisfaction of his full attention, “so I get her as what a pet, for a year, and I could possibly rid myself of Bees pesky buzzing at the same time? Sounds like a dream to me.” He yanked the door open as he spoke and as the last syllable left his lips it was sitting behind him. When the lock clicked into place he felt his knees trying to give out, despite his brace face he knew that he may have just made a huge mistake that he would have to pay for in the near future, unless he could pull off the plan that was only barely beginning to form in the back of his mind.

“What the fuck have I gotten myself into?” He asked softly as he sank to the ground and rested his back against the rough brick wall beside his fathers door. After a few seconds of silence he felt a smile pulling at the corners of his lips, he remembered Marinette, she was the only person besides Nino at the university to actually treat him like he was a normal person, even laughing at a few of his puns while practically scolding him for others when she used the two of them for measurements the semester before. He always wanted to get to know her better but between classes and modeling gigs and Bee he could never find the time and simply chalked it up to his bad luck in the end. Now here he was, with a second chance to get to know her and an entire year in which to do it. He would have to see the contracts that came with the girls to find out the exact stipulations to his “owning” her, but judging by the type of man that usually attended the auctions they couldn't be in favor of the girls.

“Okay.” He sighed softly to himself, “okay yeah, i can do this.” He pushed himself off the ground and made his way on shaky legs to the red painted door that lead to the back room of the club, a back room that was only open once a year.

Chapter 3: End

Chapter 4: coming soon

Find me at Fanfiction.net: Added-OC

or at Wattpad and AO3: AddedOC

#miraculousladybug #fanfiction #marichat #ladybug and chat noir #chat #ml ladybug