#I almost didn’t post this because… I can’t draw muscles

[icezeebee]

For part 3 of @dilatorywriting ‘s siren Vil series. (Please read it their dynamic is so silly)

I know there are inaccuracies but I hope you still enjoy it 🙇‍♀️

[bubblegum-cherry-lips]

first snow ❄️

summary: the boys are not used to seeing you this excited for the first snow of the season.

prompt: day 1 - first snow (prompts from this post)

pairing: poly marauders x (gender neutral) reader

cw: none

word count: 814

One of the best feelings in the winter is waking up cozy on a weekend morning, when you don’t have to rush to work - when the world seems to move slowly, and you allow yourself to do the same.

As your eyes slowly open, eyelids still heavy with sleep, you slowly become aware of your own body, every nerve and muscle waking up. The morning light is shy as it falls into your room, and even though you miss the summer sunshine you can’t help but feel thankful for the lack of brightness in the morning. You stretch your muscles, mindful of the bodies next to you, and then pull yourself up until you’re leaning on the headboard, taking in the scene in front of you.

The man closest to you is James, lying on his stomach with his hand stretched out to where you are, fingers so close that they brush your thigh when they twitch. He’s snoring softly, and he will probably deny it when he wakes up - put you all know the truth. To his left, sharing the middle space of the bed, is Sirius, and you barely suppress the giggle when you notice a tiny bit of drool on his pillow. He’s sprawled across the majority of the bed, like a starfish, legs intertwined with James’ and his pillow placed in the crook between Remus’ arm and ribs, holding onto Remus’ hand as if his life depends on it. You’re not quite sure how comfortable that position is for Remus, because Sirius had pushed him almost to the very edge of the bed, but he seems content enough and you hope he had a good night’s rest.

You try to get up without waking any one of them, of course - but as soon as the bed shift, it’s like the alarm goes off and one by one, they start shifting. The first one, of course, being Remus

“Dove?” His voice is scratchy, eyes blinking adorably when he catches you mid step.

“Morning Rem. Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“‘S okay. What time is it?”

“Too fucking early.”

Sirius’ grumbles draw a laugh out of you, and when the boys start bickering, James’ sleepy mumblings overlapping with Sirius’ whining and Remus’ attempts of being the voice of reason, you stand back and watch your boys, and you feel like love will literally burst out of your chest. You just love them so much.

Giving yourself a few more seconds to linger, you throw the boys one last glance before moving towards the bathroom, mentally going over the list of things you have to do - but when you pass by the bedroom window, a flash of white catches your attention as it’s barely visible through the curtains.

But even though it’s barely visible, you know exactly what it is, and excitement rises in your throat as you pull apart the curtains and a loud gasp leaves your lips, snapping the boys out of their antiques.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s snowing!”

You have always loved the first winter snow - how it would cover the ground, the trees and cars, and you would finally get that feeling of holidays and Christmas, and everything good the winter can bring. This, however, is the first year you all are living together, so the boys haven’t exactly had the chance to see you like this.

That’s why they almost have a heart attack when you yank the window open and lean over the edge, trying to catch a few snowflakes with one hand, while loosely holding on with the other.

You barely get a single snowflake on your palm before a pair of hands grabs your waist and you are being pulled inside, the bedroom window slammed shut by a panicky James, and Remus’ worried face entering your view.

“Dove, what the hell?”

“I wanted to catch the snowflakes!”

“By throwing yourself out of the window?”

“And with just a shirt on? You don’t even have the pants on!” Sirius’ grip is still iron tight around your waist and okay, maybe you can see their point but it’s not like you were trying to fly out. Besides, you all live on the first floor, so it’s not like you have far to go. Of course, if you were to say that, you would be on the receiving end one of Remus’ famous disappointed glares, so you keep your mouth shut. Instead, you place your hands over Sirius’ and lean into him, while smiling apologetically at the other two men in front of you.

“Sorry, I got excited.”

“That’s alright sweetheart, we just worry.” The kiss James plants on your lips is the softest thing ever.

“How about we go make some breakfast, and then go out and enjoy the snow after we eat?”

For a first snow day of the winter, this one isn’t so bad.

[scavengerssuccotash]

What does aftercare look like for Clint and Nat?

Depends on what kind of aftercare you’re looking for, my dear.

Was it a rough mission that left their bodies sore and aching?

If that’s the case they soothe each other’s sore muscles away in a variety of ways. For Natasha the bulk of her sore muscles rests in her thighs and legs. Clint with usually draw her a nice hot bath with some soaking salts (lavender scented) and let her decompress. Sometimes he’ll join her, especially if his back is hurting, but most times he just lets her rest in the bath and play errand boy if she needs something. Afterwards, Natasha will curl up with him on the couch with her feet in his lap so he can rub them. And oh god! His hands? If Natasha were religious his hands is the closest thing to making her believe in a god. About the time he works his way up her calves, she’s limp against the arm of the couch and almost asleep.

Clint on the other hand carries most of his stress in his shoulders and arms. (Clint often jokes that if you put the two of them together, her legs and his upper body, they could qualify for a retirement community by the state of their joints alone.) With that said, baths hardly touch the ache in his shoulders. Showers are his go-to, along with icy-hot and Natasha’s own bone melting masseuse skills. Repetition with the draw weight he’s got might’ve given him great definition but it also aged his rotator cuffs and shoulder blade ten years. After a long hot shower, you can find him sitting on the floor between Natasha’s legs with an ice pack on each shoulder as she rubs his neck.

Or are you looking for the tumble between the sheets kind of aftercare?

In which case this came to them with much more difficulty than it did with the other kind. Particularly for Natasha. Any wonder why? The first few times they slide between the sheets, Natasha would jump out of bed, quickly throw on her clothes and leave while Clint just laid in bed still coming down from his post coital high, dazed and ultimately confused. In hindsight, Natasha’s sudden departure after taught Clint a lot about himself. Namely: how much he really did like and need the after romp cuddling. Be it some internalized misogyny, or a lack of self introspection Clint had just assumed that is what you did with your partner, so…he did it and didn’t look into it any deeper than the surface level. Turns out it just took Natasha leaving him high and dry (wet?) for him to realize that, “actually no, I think I like the cuddling!?”

Conversely Natasha dipped because she had wanted to stay, which was in of itself a terrifying epiphany to have after what she’ll testify to is the best sex ever. It was all too much too fast and god she can’t do this?! Can she? She wants to, but…

In the end it took three months, a couple of drunken blurt out your feelings kind of nights, and a close call in Mumbai for them to get on the same page.

For Clint to say, “I need to a place to land after soaring that high, Nat. I drop like a fucking stone, and it’s not a good feeling!”

And for Nat to say, “I don’t know what to do with all this, I wasn’t trained on what to do if I actually fell!”

“No one gets a manual, Tasha. You just do what feels right.”

“Us. That feels right.”

Natasha relaxes into their after sex cuddle sessions a little bit better after this. She still leaves after, only spending the nights when they drink and she doesn’t want to drive or bother with a taxi or public transport, but she stops leaving right away. She lingers long enough for Clint to be on the precipice of sleep, before slipping out of bed. Which is fine by Clint, he’s admittedly a bit of a bed hog.

About a year and two months into their relationship, the aftercare is superb. Clint gets his cuddles, and Natasha, well Natasha gets breakfast in bed now. And sometimes, when Clint’s feeling a bit cheeky he will wake her up in the most delicious of ways.

Thanks for asking, hope you enjoy! 🥰

[strangersails]

part two of “billy tries so hard not to fall in love with steve (and fails)”.

“look, i know i’m an asshole” billy says, still so close to him. “and i know apes have better mannerism than i have, that i look like i don’t give a shit. but that. is nothing personal. okay? i’m just not a people person, i need constant space and i need to leave when things start to feel serious.”

“billy. you don’t even call me by my name. how is that serious?” steve rubs his face with both hands, then he folds his arms on his chest again.

billy takes the hint and takes a step back. “it is to me. i don’t call you steve cause that feels personal. i don’t stay in your bed after we fuck, cause that feels personal. i don’t want to hear your stories, because that feels too personal.”

“and why is that bad?” steve asks.

this also feels too personal, but now it’s too late.

“because if it’s personal, it means that we’re close. and if we’re close...” it takes him a moment to end the sentence, and he can’t do it looking him in the eyes, so he draws them on steve’s hands and then admits, “it means i have something to lose”.

steve tilts his head back, his arms still folded on his chest while he looks at billy. “i get it, but then i don’t understand this: what’s the point? why’d you kiss me?”

which is a fair question, billy’s gotta say it. “i don’t know. i just... i miss you, i told you.” billy is more honest than he thought he would be, but at this point why would he lie? what good would it do? he’d already exposed himself, anyway.

“you mean you miss the sex.”

billy can’t say if it’s a statement or a question, but it pisses him off whether it’s the first or the second. “i mean i missed you, harrington” he says, and he regrets the name almost the exact moment it slips from his lips.

he surely regrets it when the little muscles around the corner of steve’s lips curl and kind of shape it in a little, sad pout.

“look. i’m not gonna lie, i missed the sex too, but do you really think that you’re my only chance to get laid? i don’t just miss you cause you give me the best orgasms.”

“what do you miss, then? what can you possibly miss about me, when you’ve barely treated me like a hole this whole time? i don’t understand.”

billy’s heart sinks at those words. “i know i was a huge asshole and i’m sorry for that. i didn’t really mean to. i was just trying my best not to let you come too close. i know occasional sex can be tricky.”

“answer me. what do you miss, if it’s not just the sex?” steve sound so suspicious, like he’s sure there’s nothing billy could possibly appreciate about him enough for him to miss his presence. billy knows he really fucked up.

he takes a moment before he answer, and he feels steve’s compelling stare. “you smell really nice” he says then. “your breath” he gulps nervously, interrupting himself, “smells nice.” what the fuck, billy. “you like phil collins, which is embarrassing, but it suits you. i know it cause you’ve got all the damn tapes piled up on the desk next to your bed and they once fell on my face when you were pounding me so g—”

“jesus christ shut up.”

“—and your writing is the ugliest, i still got your stupid ice cream shaped little post it with your number on it sticked in the sun visor in my car, but you made that cute little heart drawing with the devil’s horns and tail, i couldn’t physically throw it away.”

“you kept it?”

“yeah.”

“it was a joke, that stupid drawing.” steve’s ears go red.

billy can’t help but grin. “it’s ugly. it’s the wonkiest heart i’ve ever seen.”

steve shoves him gently by the shoulder. “shut up. you kept it.”

“i kept it.” billy curls his finger around the front belt loop of steve’s denim, and tugs him a little closer. he can’t help himself. “i like the fact that you’re a nice person, even though you don’t believe it, for reasons that i ignore.”

billy also ignores the little twitch of steve’s eyebrow that confirms what he just said.

“i like that you’re dyslexic but it pisses me off that you won’t—”

“wait, what?” steve’s face flushes a hot, fluorescent pink while he nervously laughs. “you like that i’m dyslexic? what does that even mean? it doesn’t even sound like a compliment...”

“that’s cause it’s not a compliment” billy lets his fingers graze on steve’s hips only to get to wrap his arms around his tiny waist.

“...”

“i’m not joking, i like it. it’s a steve thing. it’s part of you and it’s... i don’t know. look, i suck at this kind of things. i know you a little, i know how i feel when i’m with you and i kind of miss it.”

steve has his arms folded on his chest between them. he hums. billy would pay to know what’s going on under that nest of messy, fluffy hair. he hates the silence and that stance too. like steve wants to put distance between them. but at the same time he could get rid of billy’s embrace, which he didn’t, and that gives billy a little hope.

“okay” steve says, eventually.

“okay...?” billy repeats prompting him to be more explicit.

“i believe you.”

of fucking course, he wants to say. he didn’t make a fool out of himself admitting all those embarrassing things to him only to be questioned? why would he lie about it, anyway? stupid harrington. he won’t be hearing of any more of those nauseatingly sweet things anytime soon.

“well, thanks” he just says, still a little anxious about what’s coming next. he hopes it’s not a but.

“but” here we go... “i don’t know what you expect from me, then. you want to fuck and then what?”

billy lets out a heavy sigh and lets his hands drop from steve’s waist.

“hey. get back here.” steve doesn’t sound like he’ll accept no's.

so billy gets back to wrap his arms around him, even though his stomach is still tense.

“i did not tell you to get off, did i?” steve sounds dead serious.

billy holds him tighter out of spite. and nostalgy.

steve unfolds his arms and let his hands linger on the other boy’s biceps.

“what do you want to do, billy?” he asks again. “you want to fuck and then what? because if we’re going back to you treating me like a hole we’re not going to—”

“please don’t say that” billy interrupts him.

it’s steve’s turn to sigh, this time. he draws those slender fingers of his on his chest. billy is glad he busts his own ass off in the gym. “alright. but i mean it, we’re not going far if you plan on going back to strangers fifty seconds after you give me the best orgasms of my life.”

billy’s pride sings for a moment, but he still struggles with the rest, so he can’t brag right now.

“look, i get it. boundaries. we can have them, bills. i’m not asking for you to stay the night and hold my hand and sing me to sleep. just. i don’t know.”

billy wants to eat his stupid worried face and shower it with kisses and the thought makes his stomach twist, but what can he do? the other option is going back to being avoided and he hates the thought even more.

“we can hang out sometimes maybe? when i’m not actually busy or something” he tries.

“i mean, you don’t have to” steve don’t look at him in the eyes, like billy’s jacket is too interesting all of the sudden. “i don’t want you to feel forced to do something you don’t want to...”

“it’s not really like i don’t want to, though” he admits.

“it’s not?”

that stupid hopeful face he makes. billy wants once again to skin him alive.

“can i kiss you again?” he asks, before he can hold himself.

steve’s face goes all red again. “you better. you’ll need a lot of those if you want me to forgive you.”

billy leans in and gives a quick peck on his lips, tightening his grip on the boy’s hips. “oh, it’s like that, uh?”

“it’s like that...”

steve says that with the velvetiest voice, and billy chases his lips, catching them on a kiss that soon becomes sloppy and wet and deep, they kiss with tongue and teeth and hot breaths and fingertips. steve makes the most delicious whines, and billy can’t help but pull at his hair, bringing him closer, licking into his mouth and savoring him like it’s the last meal of his life. steve melts into the kiss, billy can feel the way he goes limp against him, the way his arms are hanging loose and relaxed around his shoulders.

“it’s so unfair that you kiss like this and we only started now” steve whines, pinching his nipple as a punishment.

billy flicks his forehead in return. “ow.”

“you owe me a hundred kisses at least, hargrove.”

billy leans in to kiss his lips again briefly. “yeah, yeah, you already said that.”

steve grins from ear to ear, lips stretched against billy’s. billy bite them.

“what the fuck are laughing for?”

“i can’t believe you kept the drawing.”

he regrets it already and makes that obvious rolling his eyes on the back of his skull. “shut up. i’m throwing it in the trash.”

“no you’re not.” steve kisses him.

“no i’m not.”

and steve kisses him again. and then billy is opening his mouth, angling his head just a little to be comfortable to dive into steve’s parted lips again. steve tastes like booze and cigarettes and billy loves it.

they’re never going back to not kissing.

[hockeynoses]

what spring does

Summary: Ste/ddie snz fic!  It’s been a long winter and spring is finally here. Eddie’s in the house working on music while Steve is out working in the yard. Steve purposefully forgets to take his allergy meds.

Rating: PG-13. I was gonna take this further but I’m too lazy. 600 words.

Notes: Written for an Anon ask: “more sneezing steve with a knk eddie fic? maybe this time they’re in the privacy of their own home and there’s no holding back?” Sorry I didn’t get to any actual fuckin’. This is already a shortened version of the fic because I was too unmotivated to clean the whole thing up. It’s almost more fluffy than horny, but maybe one day I’ll write a part 2. I meant to post this in the actual spring, but never got around to it!

The title is from Pa/blo Ner/uda. 🌺 "I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees." I think it’s a gorgeous line that also happens to be a bit fetish-y.

-

“Lots of pollen out there?” Eddie asks casually, stepping into the kitchen and leaning against the counter. He keeps his arms crossed and tells himself not to get grabby.

Steve gives a pointed sniff, dragging a finger under his nose. “Lots,” he says, as Eddie’s eyes track the movement.

“Hmm, spring’ll do that. But the flowers are going to be so pretty,” he says playfully, dimples pressing into his cheeks. His eyes rake over Steve’s frame – the corded muscle of his arms, slick with sweat. The way his long fingers are still rubbing at his pink, freckled nose. “Hey,” Eddie taps Steve’s calf with his foot, “Flex for me, big boy. I wanna see those muscles you been workin’ on.”

Steve huffs a laugh and rolls his eyes, but there’s the slightest flush to his cheeks as he acquiesces, curling his arm up until his bicep bulges in a way he’ll admit he’s pretty proud of.

“Oh yeah, that’s the stuff.” Eddie smirks and waggles his eyebrows.

Steve’s answering laugh is cut short by a hitch in his breath - “Heh…ihh-” He squints up at the light beaming through the kitchen windows, overtaken by a “hih-AEESSHHoo!” that he buries into the elbow of the arm he’d just been flexing. He stills for a moment, blinking in the crook of his arm before pulling up with a little, “Whew!” as he shakes his head, dazed by the strength of the sneeze.

It sends an electric jolt of arousal straight to Eddie’s core, and he can’t control the giddy excitement that floods through him.

“Jesus, you’re gonna kill me.” Eddie stares at Steve, his eyes heavy-lidded as they greedily take in every detail. “Did you take your meds?”

“No…” Steve glances at him to watch his reaction.

Eddie’s eyebrows practically disappear into his bangs. “Oh really? Any particular reason?”

Steve’s eyelids flutter and he pitches forward again. “hih’IISHH’iue! Ugh.” He sniffs, lightheaded. “I ju-uuust - hih’KXXT! gshHT’CHHuh!”

“Is it my fucking birthday and I forgot?” says Eddie, his smile reaching his big eyes. Warmth blooms inside him, his head going all floaty in the best way.

Steve laughs, shaking his head and straightening up. “I just wanted to mbake the mbost of it.” He waves a hand at the window and the invisible pollen that Eddie was seriously going to have to dedicate a song to at this point. “I know you’ve been going crazy with all this gloomby weather and thought you deserved a pick-mbe-up.”

Eddie stares at him for a moment, taking in this marvel of a man. He can hardly believe his luck.

“Oh, I’ll pick you up, alright!” Eddie says with a manic grin before springing into action. With a burst of frenetic energy, he gets his arms under Steve’s ass and hefts him up a foot or two in the air. Laughing, Steve steadies himself by digging his hands into Eddie’s shoulders.  Eddie clambers as gracefully as he can to their room. He can feel Steve’s chest expand against him, drawing in a sudden, shaky breath. Steve’s fingers dig further into Eddie where he’s gripping him for purchase, powerless to cover a spraying “iihh-KSHH!  ah…hah’IITCHuh!” that mists the air behind them.

Eddie squeezes his ass in response, his own dick twitching in his sweatpants. When he reaches their bed, he deposits Steve onto it with a grunt before climbing on top of him.

As ever, Steve surprises him - the world spins in a blur of color and Eddie finds himself flat on his back, pressed into the cotton sheets, Steve straddling his hips. Breathless, he looks up at Steve with stars in his eyes. He’s never going to take this man for granted, ever.

[panthera-tigris-venenata]

Dead Beauty AU (Chapter 5)

Yeah I just wanna post it here too.

Oh and Maeve and Malvina are Flower's, @tiredflowercrown

When Harry exits the Hell Hall his feet are too heavy and his mind is swimming in all the wrong directions: Ivy’s fault, naturally. The mix of alcohol and whatever poison she gave him.

He swallows heavily and bangs his hook to the metal gate, just because he fucking can. He hopes that bitch is suffering as much as he is.

And holy hell, is he suffering: the metal clang just about threatens to split his skull open.

He just hopes dear Ivy heard it too.

On completely unrelated note, he really would like to know how she got Claudine fucking Frollo, please and thank you. That girl has problems, alright, and he’s the one saying it.

Y’know, maybe she decided if she’s going to hell, she might as well go with a blast, and Harry can approve of that.

If he had his flask, he’d drink to that sentiment, even.

More importantly, he still wants his haircut.

Alas, he just starts walking towards the Tremaines – hey, it’s closer, and he doesn’t exactly fancy arguing with his older sister about his methods of delivering demands, thank you. Besides, Harriet is just a fucking hypocrite.

He’s pretty sure she slept with Diego the last time she was vaguely in the vicinity of Hell Hall.

Harry smirks at that.

He drags his feet as he sneers into the shadows, twists his wrist around to stretch it – the light twirls on his hook – cranes his neck around to stretch it too.

Curiously, that seems to send a street rat or two running.

This is fine.

It shouldn’t be too long to the Tremaines now, but he could just swear the bloody streets keep stretching under his feet. He kicks on something at the ground, mutters curses under his breath. And if he loses his balance for just a moment after that, well, who cares?

Two children run by him and he sneers at them to mind their way; his vision goes blank for a moment.

Tremaines’ is right there.

He collapses at the nearest chair.

He breaks open the door, swatting his hook at the irritating decoration above it. He doesn’t manage to tear it down. Shame.

It is an eyesore.

He’d say he hopes Anthony went out already, but frankly, he doesn’t care enough.

„Dulcia, darling!“ he calls out, „You promised me the haircut?“

„Oh, I don’t care,“ he lifts his hand to make a dismissive gesture and lets it fall when he discovers how heavy it is, „Just do your worst. I want Harriet to know I’ve been there.“

She appears behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder and sighing: „Whatever is wrong with you, Hook – my dear cousin is right there, and his mood didn’t get any better.“

She tugs at his hair rather harshly, which he registers mostly because he’s looking in the mirror.

„Also, what the hell do you want me to do with this?“

Dulcia laughs: „Why, that almost sounds like a dare–“

Harry discovers his lips are too numb to form an answer; he barely manages a crooked smirk, twisted more by the cracked mirror. His face feels weird.

Dulcia tugs at his hair again, turning his head from side to side to examine her canvas, and his whole body locks in a horrible spasm. He can’t jerk away or even breathe– his chest starts to hurt.

He watches his lips turn blue – watches Dulcia notice his stiffness and his expression – and curses Ivy. She wasn’t stingy with the dose, that’s for sure–

He manages to draw in a breath, his muscles relax a bit.

„What the hell was that?!“ asks Dulcia.

„So you’re faking choking to death for fun?“

„Quiet!“

She is simply too loud, her voice too high – Harry remembers his manners again and says: „Oh, nothing to worry about.“

„Oh no, that’d be the poison Ivy gave me.“

„Oh, you moron,“ Dulcia’s voice turns soft, placating, „You played Russian Roulette with her?“

Harry hums in response.

„Did you win or lose?“

„…Yes.“

This is starting to get majorly annoying, thank you for asking.

Dulcia deals him a gentle slap over the back of his head.

„Fucker,“ she says, and his body spasms again.

Oh, and it seems the ruckus finally dragged Lord Tremaine over. How lovely.

„What’s he doing there?“ Tremaine asks, as if it wasn’t clear – he came for the haircut. Duh. He told him already.

„Dulcia, why is he choking to death in our salon?“

„Choking to death, obviously,“ answers Dulcia, sounding insultingly uninterested.

Harry would argue, but, y’know. He still can’t breathe.

Well… Why not?

It’s not like Ivy would share the antidote or anything.

Choking is fine, but that humiliation would probably kill him.

Harry watches Dulcia shrug her shoulders delicately, and, yeah. He’s reasonably sure that if he dies in there, she plans to use his head as a training dummy for the little ones.

Which is absolutely unacceptable, by the way.

He breathes in again – fucking finally – and immediately spits at Anthony: „None of your fucking business, Tremaine!“

„My salon, my business,“ he answers, voice stone-cold.

„Dulcia, take this moron to the Mims right now,“ says Anthony, „If he dies at our salon, Harriet will never speak with me again.“

„My life, my business,“ mocks Harry back, turning around to look at the marginally more agreeable cousin, „Dulcia, about the ha–“

The movement makes his muscles lock up painfully again, which is starting to get really fucking repetitive.

„That’d be a pity for sure,“ agrees Dulcia in her overly sweet voice.

Harry manages to catch his breath again: „My sister’s too good for you anyway,“ he says. He just smirks when Anthony attempts to kill him with a glare.

Really, it’s almost admirable how much contempt Tremaine packs up into one word. Just a shame Harry isn’t exactly in the shape to break his nose, right now.

„Dulcia, to the Mims, now. Before I can think the better of it. You are also welcome to just dumb him behind the corner though,“ Anthony raises his voice, which makes Harry snarl at him. What is it with the Tremaines and yelling all over today?

„Angelica, Desdemona, Deborah, go help Dulcia with him!“

„I can take care of myself, thank you,“ he says instead, pushing himself off the seat, and almost immediately collapsing forward into his reflection. Well, fuck.

„Well, good fucking luck with that,“ says Harry, letting the Tremaine harpies drag him away.

„Clearly, you can’t,“ drawls Anthony, and Dulcia grabs Harry’s shoulder, drawing her sharp, carefully manicured nails deep into his skin.

„Now go. I do not wish to deal with your sister in a worse mood than she is now.“

As he passes under the door, he finally manages to tear down the horrid glockenspiel, to his satisfaction and indigent cry of one of the girls, which doesn’t seem like his problem.

Like, at all. That thing has been causing him headaches for months.

Now, Maddy being her usual bitchy self?

That does seem like his problem.

„Absolutely not–“ the demon-witch-whatever cries out, pointing at the list of rules scribbled on the wall with something that’s probably human blood, „You know the rules! No first aid! Your overdoses are not my problem! Your relationships problems should stay your relationships problems!“

Harry sways in the place as the younger Tremaine girls back away from darling Maddy, and Dulcia steps forward a single step, once again speaking in that placating voice of hers: „C’mon, Maddy, who said what about first aid? Just give him the antidote.“

„That’s what first aid is–“ grumbles Maddy.

„I don’t need an antidote,“ chimes up Harry, catching his balance on a nearby shelf, which makes Maddy look like she wants to bite his arm off. Sweet. Maybe he’d finally get actual hook like that.

„I want my hair done, Dulcia.“

…Yeah, no. Maybe, just maybe, he’s not so fine, Harry thinks as he painfully struggles for breath.

„See?“ Maddy gestures at him; he slowly slides to the ground, as his muscles refuse to cooperate again.

„He’s fine. Now get him out of my apothecary.“

„Maddy, be a dear. Just give me the antidote against strychnine. He’s got shit ton of gold on him, you can take it as a payment before he comes to himself.“

Harry would really love to protest that. She can’t take his gold just for a stupid antidote!

However, Maddy looks like she’s considering this: „…How do you know it’s strychnine?“ she asks with some suspition.

„Ivy always uses strychnine.“

That is not a concerning statement at all.

And Maddy doesn’t look too convinced.

Dulcia shoots Harry a look that can’t mean anything else than „You’re so gonna owe me for this,“ and then tells Maddy: „If he dies, Harriet will be out of it and then Ginny will be upset too.“

„I… Suppose I can spare some antidote,“ decides Maddy finally. He didn’t know she cared for Harriet’s witch all that much, but then again, Gothel can make herself likable like nobody’s business. And she is high most of the time, she has to get the stuff somewhere. He supposes it makes sense.

After that, the Tremaine girls leave, and Maddy quickly gets tired of staring at him, instead alternating absentmindedly playing with one of her dolls, yelling at one of her cousins in a language that makes the hair at the back of Harry’s neck stand, and preventing some mangy kid from randomly tasting the shit on the shelves.

He doesn’t fight Maddy when she forces a pill into his mouth in a pause in between spasms, and doesn’t swat away Dulcia’s hand when she offers him water with it.

That should count towards his debt to her, by the way.

The kid keeps singing in the same language.

Harry tries to ignore that and just focus on his breathing and, more importantly, about ways to get back at Ivy. Might that bitch be slowly dissolved in acid while listening to this crazy little Mim kid singing the demons to sleep or whatever.

Said mangy little Mim kid comes over and pokes at his ribs.

„Is he dead yet, Maddy?“

„Don’t know, don’t care. You know how to check.“

Harry does not wish to know how the Mims check if their customers are still breathing or not.

„I’m still alive, kid,“ he tells her, „Shut it.“

„Shame,“ the kid sighs, „Maeve said I get to dissect the next moron that overdoses.“

„Maeve also said you’re not supposed to talk like that in front of the customers, Malvina.“

Harry snaps his teeth at Malvina as she tries to poke at his ribs again.

„If that’s all, ladies,“ he grits in between his teeth as he pushes himself up, „I’ll be on my way.“

Malvina steps away from his as he struggles to regain his balance – he almost falls down as the doors to the Apothecary fly open and CJ greets the shop with a bright smile: „Hiii!“ she says and turns to him, „Freddie said you’d be there, Ettie’s getting snappy again– ooh, can we get some of that candy?“ She points to a shelf of brightly coloured expired candy.

„You lot are not allowed weed,“ notes Maddy dryly.

„Why not?“ asks the little Mim kid; Harry seethes at the sentence.

„Pleeease?“ whines CJ, making big eyes at Maddy and slipping her one of her gold bracelets over the counter. Harry barks out a laugh.

„This never happened,“ says Maddy as tears open one package, stabs her nail through some gummy bears, and gives the mutilated candy to CJ, „And if it gets into your head wrong, don’t fucking come back here.“

„Don’t worry, Maddy,“ answers Harry, grabbing his younger sister’s arm before she gets any more bright ideas, „I’ve had enough of this place for quite some time.“

He leads CJ outside.

„How stabby is Harriet?“ he asks.

CJ swallows one of her gummy bears as she thinks of an answer, carefully storing the other pieces in a napkin in her pocket: „Hmm… Not as much as when I bleached her hair. Kinda about when Frollo wouldn’t stop ringing the bells cos of some celebration or whatever.“

Harriet spent most of that time too drunk to form a coherent sentence, and honestly, Harry doesn’t blame her.

„No, wait! Like when the Hearts twins got the jewelry she wanted at the market the other time!“

„Well, then,“ Harry smiles at his younger sister,„How do you feel about a new haircut, then?“

„Yes!“ she jumps in her place, „Yes! Harriet’s gonna be so pissed!“

Anthony, too, and it’s not like anything interesting is happening at the port now: He seriously doubts Ivy managed to forward their demands to her youngest cousin yet.

[amberlide]

Last Sentence Tag Game

RULES: Post the last sentence you wrote (fanfic / original / anything) and tag as many people as there are words in the sentence (not going to do that XD).

Apparently I was tagged by two people for this, so I have to do it XD Thank you so much! @animasola86 and @thefeatherwrites I loved your snippets!! :D I decided to make a separate post, because I'm gifting this to a friend @tessari-the-dreamer and I want her to find my sneak peaks instead of scrolling down... ;) So, since I stopped posting I thought it would be nice to share some lines for all my WIPs, so people know I'm not dead, but I'm just writing like crazy XD as always, Penelope x Garreth ;) I'm tagging @oceangirl24 and @mikaharuka, Tess, if you feel like it! No pressure!

Everything is SFW!! (Yeah, what a surprise, right? :O) Nothing is edited so it sucks...

Main fiction: THATP Chapter tbd - Jealous Geminids Amit chuckled, tousling Penelope’s hair. “Well, maybe I have some Korean ancestor, who knows?” Garreth blinked in surprise. “Korean?” “Yes, Penton is half Korean,” Amit promptly replied. “Actually, a quarter.” Penelope corrected. “You also have a second Korean name, right?” Amit continued, trying to remember it. Penelope nodded. “Jandi or Jan-di.” “Oh, that’s interesting! What does it mean?” Natty clapped her hands, her eyes shining with interest. “Grasses,” Penelope shrugged. “My father thought I would be easier to raise than his plants, but apparently that wasn’t the case.” A quarter Korean? A Korean name? Garreth couldn’t stop blinking in disbelief. How many things didn’t he know about his friend?

Hexed - Chapter 7 - The forbidden fruit (part II) Despite having meticulously prepared for that night, Penelope had to admit she couldn't shake the feeling that she was orchestrating more of a trap than a romantic encounter. Similar to the intricate strategy of certain orchids, mimicking the appearance of insects to draw them closer and utilize them as pollinators, she was deceiving, creating an illusion. Like those flowers, she had crafted her own mirage—a silent invitation to entice him into her desires, aiming for him to succumb to her allure and satisfy her longing for intimacy.

Out for bids - Chapter 1 - The Auction Ignoring her words, Garreth leaned forward and took the other quill from the inkwell, swiftly shifting the sack of gold from the contract he made to sign it.  Penelope grabbed his wrist, before he could do it. “Please. Sir,” her tone was low, pleading almost, as she emphasized the last word, but as she met his steady gaze, she realized the unforgivable mistake she had made. She saw his jaw clenching, a muscle twitching under his freckled, pale skin, his eyes shimmering in what she could only imagine was devilish pleasure.  There was no way he would renounce to her. 

A cabin in the woods - Chapter 3 - Healing attempts (wolf!Garreth fiction)

He tilted his head, what was she doing? He felt her hands on his back, gently caressing his fur, leaving him shivering in pleasure with each gentle stroke of her small fingers. She was moving towards his tail, when she reached it, she suddenly couched, “Let’s check if you are a lady or a gentlemen,” she mused, “I can’t really say from your size…”  Realizing what she wanted to do, he stiffened and immediately sat down, warmth spreading all over his body at the thought as his rear touched the ground. “Oh come on!” she huffed, and started to gently pat his thigh, trying to let him rise. He didn’t move, stubbornly remaining seated. There was no way she was going to check his privates! “Wolfie, please! This will take only a minute, you have too much fur to…” she didn’t finish the sentence as she sat on the ground, still trying to get him up.

[direwombat]

Caress to the cheek after a moment together. - for jakesyb

flaksdjfal;sdfkj i swear i didn't mean for this to be as smutty as it is but uh... enjoy. this one takes place before (but on the way to) them developing/realizing they have feelings for each other. also general warning for jacob being creepy and misogynistic. syb is working on convincing him she's. y'know. not an object, but it's a process rip

When Jacob emerges from his post-coital half-doze, Sybille is already dressed and pulling on her boots. She sits at his desk, her body folded in half as she leans down to do up the laces. Dexterous and clever fingers make quick work of the knots. The strong, sinewy muscle of her arms flexing as she tugs hard to make sure they’re secure, before rising to her feet and grabbing her jacket where it had been discarded on the floor. 

Jacob shifts to lay on his side, propping his head on his knuckles, as he watches with mild disappointment as she pulls it on. The garment barely manages to hide the hard work he put into marking her skin, leaving only the faint blush of purple bleeding past her collar. His movement catches her attention, and when her eyes meet his, he flashes her an incredibly self satisfied smirk. 

“That bad, huh?” he asks, as if he hadn’t just fucked so hard he had to clap his hand over her mouth to muffle her screams. 

Fond exasperation is how he chooses to interpret the look she’s giving him. His smirk widens when she cracks a small smile and rolls her eyes. “No, Jacob,” she says, the distance between them quickly closed with a few strands of her long, long legs. She kneels on the hardwood floor next to the cot where he lay, resting one forearm on the thin mattress while the other strokes his mussed hair. “You did just fine.”

“Just fine?” he repeats as a question. Part of him knows she’s purposefully underselling just how badly he’s ruined her for anyone else, but he still can’t help but listen to that possessive beast telling him to pull her back underneath him and show her just how fine he can be to her. She’s his, and he feels the constant need to prove himself worthy. “Well, we can do better than that.”

She huffs a quiet laugh. Her hand trails down the side of his face, almost tenderly. If it were anyone else, he would have slapped their hand away. But not her. Only she can touch him like that. Only she can see him with his guard down like this. She cradles his cheek, thumb gently rubbing back and forth over his cheekbone. “You know I can’t stay,” she says, and if he didn’t know any better, he might have thought she sounded sad. 

Of course she can’t stay. She has work to do, destroying everything his brother worked so hard to build. Of course she can’t stay. She has to go reporting back to Eli and his pathetic excuse for a militia, and pretend like she isn’t sleeping with the enemy. 

But it doesn’t stop him from grabbing her wrist, thin but nowhere near brittle, and dragging her hand to place a kiss to her open palm. “I know,” he answers. But someday she will. It may not be today. It may not be tomorrow, but someday she’ll stay because she’ll realize that this is her home. Not the Wolf’s Den or Falls End. Here, in her rightful place -- next to, on top of, beneath -- with him. 

Someday, she’ll stay because she’ll have nowhere else to go. No one else to turn to. And when that day comes, he’ll be there, ready and waiting to welcome her Home. She’ll be safe with him, he’ll make sure of it. And when the day comes for them all to retreat underground, she’ll be right there with him to keep the Armory in order and to warm his bed. Fulfilling her duties like the good little pet he knows she can be.

His cock twitches at the thought. 

Always a perceptive one, somehow, she notices. One corner of her lips quirks up and her gaze drifts down and to the side in the way they do whenever she’s considering mischief. Her tongue darts out to wet her still swollen lower lip before she draws it between her teeth. When her eyes snap back to his, the fire behind them, while not blazing as it was just a mere few hours ago, certainly smolders with some kind of heat.

Pulling her wrist free from his grasp, she leans in and presses her lips against his as she snakes her hand underneath the covers. He grunts and barely suppresses a shudder, bucking his hips as her chilled fingers ghost along his length. “You want me to stay longer after we fuck?” she whispers, wrapping her hand around him and giving him a few solid pumps. “Get a bigger bed.”

[insanitybl00m]

QSMP Player-sona lore

because I can

if you haven’t seen my drawings of these OC’s check them out!! (Should be the previous post assuming I don’t get distracted)

My pronouns are They/He/Ellé and those are the pronouns Q!Bloom uses as well. Both me and Q!Bloom are trans-masc. etc, etc. basically this is a sona, so if I Identity as something; so does q!bloom.

so. Q!Bloom is half demon. A born demon like Mouse not a fallen angel like bbh and Tina. I think their other half is human? Idk most of their lore doesn’t touch on that part so it’s kinda not solidified in my mind yet what their other half is but I’m guessing it��s human. They are also a pretty young demon. Maybe like 200-500? (Younger than Tina but idk Tina’s cannon age)

Going to touch on demon things and then get into like their character arc! Q!Bloom was taken by the Feds when they were a little demon. (As almost all halflings are (halflings being avians, shifters, anything that is only partially human or has a human form (foolish is a humanoid by my classifications so not a halfling)))

One of his few memories of this time period is when the Feds numbed his wings. (CW: non-con medical experiments). Avian wings can be clipped, demon wings can either be cut off or torn to shreds by tearing the skin like membrane. (Demons have bat wings so basically look up bat wings). The Feds didn’t want to “harm” such a unique “creature” so they put numbing chemicals into the muscles. Though q!bloom has done so much work to try and strengthen their wings the most they can do is move them. No gliding with them and you can forget about flying. Again, q!Bloom was an experiment to them.

Eventually the Feds told him that he should interact with the other islanders, (this is right after the eggs were kidnapped)

They are also the only living test subject of the happy pill trials. They gave q!bloom a higher dosage then they gave q!frvr or q!pac. They basically called Q!Bloom into the offices and drugged them, as they already needed more test subjects and what better than an islander who is used to being experimented on? The Feds were shocked when Q!Bloom lived.

Q!Bloom wasn’t given the antidote until he stumbled into the order with withdrawals; they were begging for cellbit to do something. They didn’t realize that Cellbit had already set up an intervention for pac and frvr. And they didn’t have enough of an antidote for q!bloom (they hadn’t even known q!Bloom was drugged). pac had to make another one when he snapped out of the happy drug infested world he was living in.

and that took hours. Q!bloom was left in a state of panic, with withdrawals from the pills. They got better with the antidote (very slowly). He still has flashes of these periods. Pac suspects that since q!Bloom was put on such high of a dosage, some of it will still linger in their system for years, maybe for their lifetime. (The amount would have been lethal to a normal human but q!Blooms a demon so they just suffer).

So they have days where they have all of the withdrawal symptoms for up to twenty hours at random. No particular trigger either. It just happens.

BUT

there was one good thing to come out of the drugs.

and that was flora.

Flora was another “mistake egg”, a “problem egg”. She was desperate to leave the Feds offices and when the Feds drugged q!bloom Flora saw her chance to escape and took it. Flora tucked herself between q!blooms wings and purple backpack. (Bloom’s backpack lies flat on her back between her wings, she can’t fold them up properly to fit in the backpack because of the fed experiments). She wasn’t seen as q!Bloom teleported away, briefcase full of drugs and dizzy.

q!bloom spent weeks in their home, drawing like a madman. They had vivid memories of their past at times and drew and drew and drew. Flora hid from them, it was terrifying to see.

—“Was this worse than the Feds office?” She thought at some point.

when q!Bloom was unconscious after getting the antidote Cellbit brought them to their house. Cellbit knew how they would feel about the sterile, white hospital of the order. It would feel too much like the Feds offices. (Cellbit and q!Bloom bonded over their trauma due to the Feds. Cellbit was the only one q!Bloom truly trusted.)

but that’s when Cellbit met Flora. He was making sure Q!Bloom was ok.

—“demons like the warmth right?” He questioned as he layered a fourth blanket over Bloom. Roier promised to be over with soup soon, right now all Cellbit could think about now was that his little brother was in a coma.

(Found family, Cellbit and q!Bloom are like brothers because of yk shared trauma (yes I said little brother, although q!bloom is lifetimes older than Cellbit, in terms of Demon lifespan and human lifespan Cellbit would be older, Bloom is still a young demon))

he saw Flora, a little egg, wearing a cape and with a small flower tucked into their hair. —C:“Hello?” The egg ran away. C:”I’m not going to hurt you, I just want to make sure you’re ok.” The egg was cowering in the corner of the kitchen, a small knife held out in front of them, shaking. C:”woah! Hey I’m not from the Federation. I hate those guys.” F: “you do?” C:”yeah.” The egg put down the knife. F:”who are you?” C:”I’m cellbit.” F:”who’s the crazy one?” C:”Bloom? This is his house, he was under the federations drugs.” The egg nodded. F:”I know, that’s how I escaped.” C:”so the Feds don’t know you’re here?” The egg shook their head. “Ok, we’ll figure that out later. What’s your name?” F:”the Feds call me Finn, but I hate that name. I’m a girl not a guy.” C:”ok, so do you want another name?” F:”I can do that?” C:”of course!” F:”what should my name be?” C:”if you want I could just call you flower until you decide, because of your flower in your hair.” F:”ok, I’ll think about one. How’s the insane guy doing?” C:”Shit Bloom!” Cellbit scooped up Flower and raced into Bloom’s room. He was still unconscious.

When q!bloom woke up they met Flower. q!bloom instantly berated Cellbit for giving them such a shit name. Like cmon, flower. That’s like calling richas shirt. Q!Bloom named her Flora. Q!bloom noticed that their transflag was draped around flora’s shoulders. Flora had been using it as a blanket when she was still hiding from Q!Bloom. After a bit Flora and q!bloom became really close. Q!bloom explained how they had also been an experiment of the Feds. After a bit Flora started calling q!bloom her Pa. (Like “my Pa Bloom took me…”)

And that’s all I have for now

I really want to write out his full story rn. Believe it or not this is a summary (with little dialogue bits because I couldn’t convey the interactions well by just explaining it)

yeah!

hope you enjoyed listening to my rambles!

[emotionalstressball]

I posted 53 times in 2022

That's 39 more posts than 2021!

34 posts created (64%)

19 posts reblogged (36%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@but-imagine-if-they-did-say-that

@thememedaddy

@toots-senpai

@smutty-ki113r

@mens-rights-activia

I tagged 52 of my posts in 2022

Only 2% of my posts had no tags

#meme - 20 posts

#creepypasta - 18 posts

#meirl - 13 posts

#eyeless jack - 13 posts

#fanfiction - 8 posts

#jeff the killer - 8 posts

#lol - 7 posts

#eyeless jack x reader - 7 posts

#creepypasta fanfics - 7 posts

#proxies - 6 posts

Longest Tag: 60 characters

#somebody with art skills better than me wanna draw please??

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Daisy [E.J. x Reader

-got some horror coming up in this bitch-

[IIII] -Author Note: ooooh~-

Feelings.

Something I don’t really like expressing, ever. Whenever I had a cut as a kid I didn’t want to bother my parents so I’d suck it up try to get a band-aid. So now when I’m in this circle with a people I don’t know, I’m scared.

I’m in a feel circle. For the next five minutes or so we have to sit and talk about our feelings. Taking turns in a circle. “Y/N” my name is called. “Hm” I hum looking up. “Y/N. . .this is the third time, are you ok?” she asks. “yeah” I mutter. “How do you feel?” she asks. “fine” I mutter. “Y/N could you elaborate please?” she asks. I shake my head and go sit in one of the couches moved to the side. The lady sighs and moves on to the next person.

”You can’t run forever” A voice whispers. Well actually two, The Burrly Twins. I almost jump from my seat. “I can see things others don’t, I can see you running” they say leaning into my face. “We won’t tell anyone, as long as you promise to do what we say”. They’re practically breathing down my neck at this point. “U-um” I glance at McCathe who’s laughing with some kids. “Y/N~” they say in a sing-songy tone. “Rose, Elena! Leave the poor girl alone” the instructor says. My literal saving grace.

Rose and Elena sneer at the poor woman and walk away. I lay there for a moment in shock. Running? Running from what?

The circles break and McCathe saunters over to me. “Sooooo. . .what were you and the Twins talkin’ ‘bout?” she asks. Propping up her elbow on the arm of the couch. “I don’t know, if it was a talk. . .” I mutter. “Don’ worry she does that to all the newcomers. Ya know, threats and stuff”. “Yeah but. . .never mind, it’s fine” I say sitting up. Rubbing my temples with my middle and forefinger. “Well anyway, the rest of the day is free, wanna hang?” McCathe asks. “You mean like suicide or-“, “oh fuck no! I mean like hang out!” McCathe basically screeches. “haha yeah, right”.

Me and McCathe Geeror were more or less friends. I was surprised to find out she was very athletic, I guess I never paid attention to her. She was pretty basic, like her name could be Bethany and some common last name. She had a six pack, and her muscles rippled when she ran around the small track. Her hair was cut short, shoulder length. And she had round brown eyes that look like pure milk chocolate when the light hit them. We sat down in the grass. The sun was setting as we sipped on our water bottles.

“So basically,” I said. “Everybody has caught Roxanne and Michelle kissing?” I ask. “Yessss, there we go, my little gossip student!” McCathe exclaims. “‘Cathe you’re crazy” I mutter. A soft smile gracing my face as she stares down at me in awe. “Well, kinda the reason I’m here sweet pea” she laughs. Laying her head next to mine.

“N/N?”.

“hm?”.

”How ‘bout. . .we check out that forest?”.

9 notes - Posted January 5, 2022

#4

Daisy [E.J x Reader]

-chapter one because it doesn’t sit well with me leaving ya’ll with just a prologue-

[I] -author note: The chapters are numbered by Roman Numerals.-

We arrive at the destination.

A tall grey building with a flat roof. Surrounded by trees and trees. Pine and Oak being the prominent tall plants. There’s a woman out front. Her hair neatly tied up in bun, a dead look in her eyes as she stands and waits. How long has she been standing there? It’s in the middle of the night. The lights are on in some rooms up on the top floor. The building is looming and dark and. . . and scary.

I suppose you’d be confused as to why I’m being sent to Rosswells House for the Mentally Ill. (Pronounced: rose-wells. Stupid) Well I beat up this girl, bully. I think she’s still in the hospital. Anyway. It was turning cold, the leaves were already dying. This girl that is- that was in most of my classes (even though it didn’t matter if she wasn’t) made my life living hell. Her name was Annabelle Doobly. (Pronounced: Doo-ble. Stupid)

Tall with wavy blonde hair and and bubblegum pink strands of hair in the front. And she always wore these really tight crop tops with skirts, or shorts on the bottom. I won’t lie, she was hot. Like urban high school Regina George hot. And as much as she was pretty she was evil though. Because one day, on that cursed day, Annabelle The Asshole burned my schoolbooks, along with my homework (that was due that day), backpack, and toiletries. And if you’re wondering: How did she burn that shit without the sprinklers going off? She left her class, broke into my locker and burned it outside (Which is also bad for the environment so double fuck her). I met her in the hall when it was lunchtime. Well didn’t really meet her because I sort of, stomped up like a raging bull. I grabbed her by the hair and threw her down. Holding her down while everyone in school watched because I had nothing left to lose anyway I was gonna fail almost every class in one sitting.

It took one punch and then I couldn’t stop. I wasn’t just fed up with her BS, my parents just went through with divorce, my Aunt (who turned out to be my cousin) died two days ago. It was a lot, and now I hate myself more than I hate Annabelle The Astronomical Dumb Bitch (name created by my classmates) because I was no better than her. I took my feelings, my insecurities out on her. I blacked out. I only came back when three teachers and seven students who didn’t have their phones out pulled me off her. My knuckles were bloody and cut a little and I was still punching where her face would be. That’s when I saw my Mom, angry as fuck.

Anyway. That’s why I’m at Rosswells House for the Mentally Ill. Because I guess in some cases I am.

My mom grabbed my suitcase from the trunk as I reluctantly left the passenger side. It was like she was rushing me to leave, like she didn’t want me here. But I guess I should take in account her cousin dying and Dad filing for divorce. You know because he found another woman who was twenty-five and single like my mom. And you know, maybe she’s like this because I’m leaving. Maybe.

But I guess I’ll never know because by the time I feel like asking she’s driven off and this lady. This pencil thin lady with her dead stare and tight bun, leads me inside the building.

11 notes - Posted January 2, 2022

#3

Daisy [E.J x Reader]

-i’m gonna put a link to chapters and a link to the one on Quotev-

[III] -Author Note: . . .enjoy.-

We go to sit down at table after getting our food. Mashed potatoes, peas or green beans, and what’s supposed to be steak. “. . .and that’s Josh and Amanda” she points discretely. “Hm” I hum. “Are you even listening?” McCathe asks. “Josh. . . Amanda” I mutter poking at my food. “AND Roxanne n’ Michelle who are totally into each other but don’ wanna say nothin’ because their parents are really stric’ Catholics” McCathe blurts out like it’s important. “And like, how the forest her is haunted, but nobody gives a fuck” she whispers. I lean in. “Haunted?” I asks. “Well, less haunted, and more. . . inhabited” she says. Her voice getting lower. “Anybody who’s ever gon’ into the forest has never not came out scared half to death, or, found dead”. McCathe says. Grinning creepily.

“wow” I mutter. “Yeah, it’s crazy” she says. Shoveling a spoon full of mashed potatoes in her mouth. “How come they don’t have breakfast food?” I ask eating some (peas/green beans). “I don’t know, it was like this when I got here” she says messing with her so-called-steak pieces with her spoon.

“I’m not eating this” she says dropping her spoon on her plate. “yeah” I mutter and do the same. The pencil thin lady from before, walks around the cafeteria picking up plates. “who’s she?” I whisper. Nodding my head over in the lady’s direction. “That’s Ms. Posherbumble” McCathe says. “We call her Miss Bumblebee for fun because she’s always hovering” she snickers. Ms. Posherbumble walks over to our table. “It seems you ladies have gotten along well, are you done eating” she says. A sort of, fake looking smile is on her face. She does not pass the vibe check.

“Yeah, we’re done” I say glancing at McCathe to confirm. “Mhm” she hums and nods her head. “Ok then, thank you and head towards the sitting area.” Ms. Posherbumble says gathering our cups and plates and walking off into the kitchen. “She is like a bumblebee” I say laughing lightly. “yeah. . .but anyway we nee’ to go to the sittin’ area”. McCathe says getting up out of her seat. I follow suit and we walk-well I follow her to the sitting room.

McCathe is strange. But she knows things, that might come in handy. And you know, she isn’t so bad.

12 notes - Posted January 4, 2022

#2

Daisy [E.J x Reader]

-lil story from Quotev, I post chapters there first-

[Prologue] -Author note: start of a new series, deleteing some Tumblr posts. . .-

I sat in my garden. Butterflies, mainly Monarch, fluttering from flower to flower. The sun beaming onto my (skin color) skin. I lay there for god knows how long. This would be my calmest moment if it weren’t for my circumstances. The grueling and dark circumstances.

I sit up. Willing myself to hop on my feet. The grass tickling my toes as I walk to the sliding screen door. I open the door and walk inside the house. The aroma of flowers. Lily of the Valley, Hyacinth, and Lavender. My bare feet walk across the polished floorboards. Across the living room to the front door.

Maybe I shouldn’t be this calm?

My mom is sitting on the bench next to the front door. Her face dark and twisted with worry. “I’m ready.” I say. My voice quiet, barely audible. “Y/N you know I love you”. Mom says getting up to try and give me a hug. I take a step back. “Right.”, I respond. My tone cold and slightly harsh. I look away from her. Breaking her heart even more. “You need help, I’m getting you help”. she says her voice cracking, trying not to cry. I ignore her. “I’m getting in the car”. I grab my suitcase and walk out the door. My black suitcase with (favorite animal) stickers all over it bumps up and down over the gravel drive way. The tiny rocks dig into my skin as I walk.

I pop the trunk and press down the handle on my suitcase. Lifting it up and sliding it into the trunk before closing it. I walk around to the side and open the car door. Getting into the passenger side. The stars twinkle, and the moon shines brighter than usual. Illuminating the walk between the front door and the car. My gaze travels up to the porch steps. Expecting my mom to walk out any second.

But she doesn’t. Instead I wait fifteen long minutes. Either she’s punishing me before my “punishment” or she’s crying. I assume number two automatically when she walks out. Eyes puffy and red, nose twitching when she sniffles. Tears still falling out of her eyes every now and again.

Maybe in a different life, a different universe, a different timeline even, I wouldn’t have been sent away.  I wouldn’t be holding back tears. Tears of regret, tears from knowing the only person that took care of me all eighteen years of my life is crying, because I won’t see her again until they deem me stable.

Mom opens the driver door and slides inside. Closing the door with a pull. There’s silence. Suffocating silence, but I don’t want to be the one to break it. “I’m sorry. . .” she whispers. I turn in my seat so I don’t face her. Tears falling down my face. The salty waterfall staining my cheeks. My bottom lip quivering, I sniffle. Loud enough for her to hear and she tries to reach for me but takes her hand away. I shake and shiver as I silently cry.

As my mom, drives me straight to my impending doom.

16 notes - Posted January 2, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Growing

TW: Cannabalism

2

~

Y/N sat on the couch. Watching TV as usual because Slenderman was busy. Jeff was on the couch also, unusually cheery. Sophia the First started playing. The intro going as usual until Y/N noticed something, Jeff was singing along. “I was girl in the village doing alright, then I became a princess overnight. Now I gotta figure out how to do it right, so much to learn and see”. Y/N hopped off the couch to go sit next to Jeff and sing. And that evening was spent watching Sophia the First, with Jeff.

3

~

In a house full of killers. You don’t necessarily have any good role models. Today was a great example.

It was noon, the warm sun a barely shone through the bare weaving tree branches. And drawn sheer curtains. Y/N was hungry. A common predicament when no one wants to take care of a child. Y/n sat there, hangry. Until Eyeless Jack walked in.

Jack, was calm and probably one of the most sensible out of the few she’s met so far. “Jackie!” Y/N exclaimed. Hopping off of the barstool and hugging the tall creature. “I’m hungy“ she whined into his hoodie. “Well, what I’m about to eat you probably shouldn’t“ Jack said. Prying the tiny human off of him. “Pleeaaassseeee” she pleaded with all her might. Puppy dog eye level ten.

”Fine” he sighed in defeat. Jack opened one of the many fridges and pull out a jar. A jar coated in red with organs inside. Y/N had always been fascinated as to why they had all those things in the fridge, she always wanted to try one. Jack, the laughing one, said it tasted almost like candy.

Jack, (no eyes man), opened the jar and the irony scent filled her nose. “It smells. . .” she paused. “Int-Int-teresting, yeah”. She nodded, content with her try at the word and sat back down on the bar stool.

”How do I eat it?” she asked suddenly. Rolling up her sweater sleeves and grabbing a few napkins. “You just grab it, and bite” Jack stated. “ok” Y/N muttered dipping her hands into the cold jar. “oh! It’s cold!” Y/N exclaimed pulling out a kidney hastily. Jack chuckled and pulled one of his own. “And just bite“ Y/N repeated to herself.

She opened her tiny mouth as much as she could and bit down. Blood dripping down the sides of her mouth as she pulled back and chewed. Jack watched her reaction first, surprised she actually went through with it. “mmmmm” Y/N hummed thinking. “7/10, needs salt“. She said hopping off the stool and climbing a counter. ”Dad- Slenderpman said salt is a seasoning, and seasoning makes things taste better so if it‘s gonna be nine or whatever comes after that, salt.”.

Y/N didn’t finish the kidney because mid-way she felt vomit traveling up her throat. Jack with his super speed, got her to a sink in time before her tiny cheeks exploded. Jack groaned, his heightened senses weren’t helping.

Y/N didn’t like the feeling of throwing up but she was gonna eat some more later. No matter what Jack told her.

(shit i did alot)

[uncouth-the-fifth]

imagine damian and the reader at the wayne gala. he gets jealous when he sees her flirting with someone else. he ends up pulling her into a bathroom and fucking her in front of a mirror while saying that other person can’t treat her like he does

and that’s how the reader finds out damian has feelings for her. all this time he acted like he hates her because he’s in denial

Title: More Than They Ever Said

Paring: Robin!Damian (18+) / Canary!Reader

Tags/Warnings: semi-public sex, oral (f receiving), vaginal sex, bathroom sex, slight underage drinking (reader is like 20 lol), mentions of golf.

Word Count: 7150

Notes: sooooo.... this def evolved beyond a drabble lol. the way gala sex kills me every time 😭 I was a little mushy w Dami here bc I miss his sweet side. This also sounded a lot like goldenspecs12's request from Wattpad, so I hope you don't mind that I meshed the two together 😚 I leaned toward Damian liking the reader more than being in denial, but that’s the only thing I sacrificed between the two requests. This one is my fluffiest and most romantic yet 💖

"can I request Damian w a Queen reader, like she's Oliver and Dinah's child? say the reader is a hero but not very active, like she comes in when her parents can't. so when she and Damian meet, they hit it off. The main request is that they sneak away at a gala held by Oliver and the reader and Damian have sex."

Ask to be added to my taglist for future posts!

The party was more fun than you thought it would be.

Benefits were usually chalk-full of old, wealthy people that thought they made good conversationalists. The board members of Queen Industries were tired of Oliver trying to escape their claws, so you’d been recruited in his place. While your dad got to play minigolf in the penthouse’s massive party floor, you were confined to the lounge, playing up what an intelligent, capable business partner you’d be when you were CEO. Fellow businessmen gruffed about their plans with you while their wives cooed and drank, pinching your cheeks.

You thought that you’d hate it, but the attention and the praise was nice. It made you feel like you were helping your dad and your family’s company, which was constantly criticized and judged for it’s choice in CEO. Everyone called your father a lazy silver-spooned idiot, but he was one of the only men in Star City who actually cared. By the time you had Q.I’s biggest donors laughing out of their seats, Dinah’s hands slipped over your shoulders and you were kissed on the side of the face. Thank you, she mouthed, and your position as family support-beam was covered.

Since most of the benefit-goers were at least forty years your senior, you gravitated to your dad. From the penthouse’s upper balcony, you could see his friends circling around the tiny green mats they were using as a makeshift golf course. Usually, Ollie made sure his public persona’s aim was as garbage as his taste in drink was. But tonight, he played as Green Arrow, who never missed. Not once. Especially when it came to Bruce Wayne, who’s golf game was abysmal at best.

But like Oliver, Bruce was a new man tonight. It looked like he was ready to break out the batarangs any minute now. The two men were barely civil about the viciousness of their competition, and if the view of the game from the balcony was interesting, then from below it must’ve been the greatest show of fragile masculinity ever displayed. You had to make fun of them.

The only opening in the circle of men, who all had their hands on their chins as Bruce lined up his next shot, was by the floor-to-ceiling windows to one side of the game. Just one man stood there, hands in his pockets. You slid next to him, unbothered, and squinted at the game.

Everyone in the crowd was dead silent. Bruce was lining up his golf ball so it would roll into a mug a couple of feet away, so you helpfully provided, “A little to the left, Mr. Wayne.”

Your words overlapped with someone else’s. Where you had said Mr. Wayne, they had said Father. Then the man next to you was his son, but...

You would have never guessed it would be him.

Reasonably, you knew that Robin was Damian Wayne. Oliver could be a little loose-lipped at times, and by his judgment you’d been a teenager just a year ago - what could a twenty year old do to Batman’s secret identity? Not much.

Until you saw Robin without his mask.

Damian was achingly beautiful. He was your age, but he stood and talked like he was much older. There was an angle to his shoulder that made him seem astute and sexy. His eyes fixed on you when you spoke at the same time, and they were a surprising mossy color that jumped out against his tan skin, like plants flourishing out of rich soil. There was just enough blue in them to make him seem haunting. Any moment, you felt like he was going to corner you and whisper your future throatily in your ear.

Looking into them, those piercing eyes, for longer than a second made you want to blurt, “You’re much prettier without your mask.”

But that would expose his secret to every golf-loving idiot in earshot, so Oliver had been wrong. A twenty-year-old like you could do fatal damage to Batman’s secret identity, but for Damian, the short-tempered, snappish leader of the Teen Titans, you would risk anything.

Damian stared, and you stared. He squinted, wet his lips, then turned back to the game. This was your only acknowledgment that he recognised you. His voice was deeper, smoother, than you remember it. “Queen.”

You shifted in your shoes, almost laughing in shock. “...Wayne.”

The game grew boring and Damian didn’t say anything else, so you said nothing too, sneaking glances at him. The last time you’d spoken to Robin had been in costume, when he’d thanked you for assisting with a mission. He’d really been thanking you for standing up for him. You didn’t team up often with the Titans, but when you did, you found that they were unusually snappy and mean with their leader. Not necessary on purpose, but you could tell that Damian couldn’t take as many bites as he pretended to. Standing up for him had been a simple thing. The good thing to do. Now, with that look in his eyes, it almost felt like he still thought about it.

He must have, because the kiss you shared at the end of that mission had glowed with heat. To be fair, you both may have believed you were going to die (before the team pulled through and saved you), so it could’ve been a heat-of-the-moment thing. But this was Robin - if he didn't want to kiss you, he wouldn't. And yet he did.

You’d kissed. And the energy of that kiss lingered between you now, drawing you closer together, putting tiny smiles on your faces. He was cute. Cuter without that mask on.

You stood in the stupid golf silence, feeling foolish. Flirting with boys was much easier in fishnets. It didn’t help how fine Damian’s profile was. He had soft, feathery lashes that occasionally touched down on beauty marked cheeks. His lips were even fuller from the side, forever drawn in a curious line. And those eyes, when they caught yours and danced away again, were much too nice to hide behind a mask. You couldn’t get that thought out of your mind.

When Bruce finally made his move, you leaned in to whisper something to each other at the same time, accidentally knocking shoulders.

“I - apologies,” Damian flushed.

“Oh, um, my bad,” you rubbed awkwardly at the spot where you’d collided. “...You were going to say something?”

Damian’s eyes flicked to your fathers, then to you, unimpressed. He lowered his voice so only you could hear. “They’re awfully hypocritical, don’t you think? Father snaps at me everytime I use my skills in public, and yet he’s putting with perfect aim like it’s not the very same.”

Chuckling, you rolled your eyes and scooted closer, ducking your voice into the bubble between your bodies. “My dad’s the same way. Don’t aim in the house, he says, unless it’s him trying to beat Bruce Wayne.”

Your company’s shoulders turned sideways, leaning into you. His breath ghosted the hair on your neck, standing it on end, and again that silky voice sent tingles down your spine. Damian must change his voice as Robin, because he never spoke like this then. So huskily, so low.

He shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

You watched him. He watched you. You ran your tongue over your teeth, and Damian subtly adjusted his slacks from his pockets.

At the same time, you asked each other, “Would you like to get a drink?”

_

Your hiding place was a loveseat in the lounge, between more businessmen and their ditzy heirs. The bartender was your family’s, so he smiled and turned down your request for a drink, courtesy of your dad’s strictness. Luckily, he didn’t recognise Damian. You watched him order it at the bar, his rings catching the light, the muscle in his arms peeking out from under his blazer.

“I think he suspected I wasn’t of age, so he only gave me one.” He took the place next to you, propping his ankle on one knee and lounging out like a panther. Damian offered the cocktail to you, once he’d decided the coast was clear. It was a cute gesture. “Is that acceptable?”

You fished a five dollar bill out of your purse. “Only if you take this for paying. Don’t think I didn’t see you try and sneakily get that past me.”

Damian scrutinized the bill, then you, somehow managing to be a smartass without opening his mouth. Instead of thinking about how nice it would feel to kiss the slight crease between his brows, you traded hands with him so the bill was in his and the drink was in yours. The gentle brush of you palm to his knuckles put way too many butterflies in your belly.

You talked about everything and anything. About home, family life, your cities. The best of it was when Damian dipped his head so only you could hear him, keeping your secrets close and your bodies closer. This was the only way he talked about Robin, so you circled back to any vigilante subject you could think of just so Damian would keep purring into your ear like that. Better yet, he was smart. Talking to him was engaging, and within minutes he'd entranced you, so you sat there talking for more than an hour. Around you, the party rotated and went on.

At one point, you took a drink of the cocktail and passed it to him to share. Damian placed his lips right where yours had been, licking up the cocktail salt and gulping it down slow, adam’s apple bobbing, like it wasn’t the taste of the vodka he was savoring.

Eventually, your bliss was broken. Damian was called over to his father, again, to discuss business, and he left you with your remaining cocktail and the memory of that mission. You couldn’t find a reason to move from your seat. When you’d realized that you and Robin had been led into a trap on that mission, it’d been too late, and your efforts to escape became more and more futile. All you could do was pray the Titans got to you on time. Robin had offered you his glove as the walls closed in, and you’d watched up-close as he assumed you were both about to die. The fear in his eyes was strange - like it was familiar to him. At the same time, you cupped his neck and he held your upper back, and you’d kissed fervently, sweetly.

Damian had put his forehead to yours, and promised even as the trap shrunk around you, “You were excellent. More excellent than they ever said.”

In the big picture, it was a strange last remark to make, and afterwards you’d been too happy about surviving to think about it. But in the moment, you understood. You were understood. Somehow, Damian had reached into your soul and gouged out the words you’d been dying to hear, from your parents, from anyone, and uttered them to you with burning conviction. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe he meant it. Damian found you excellent. Someone, somewhere, didn’t think you were a failure.

Odd, how you’d never seen the face of the man you thought you’d die with (until now), and yet he saw you so easily. You watched him follow his father into the party crowd now, wondering. The Titans had saved you before you could ask what he’d meant. More importantly, before you could tell him the same. He was excellent.

_

Once you’d finished off your drink, you left it at the bar and grinned evilly at your family bartender. He rolled his eyes and slyly delivered you another, which, on your superhero schedule, would not have you drunk yet. Another heir to some big company was seated at your right, ignored by his father enough to look for some small talk with you.

He was one of the cute, nerdy types that were usually in awe of you. Girls, available girls, were typically rare at these kinds of parties, so he took you not having a boyfriend as permission to flirt with you. Unfortunately for him, your seat gave a perfect angle on Damian across the party floor. He was impressing the wives of Wayne business partners, who flocked around him like they’d flocked around you, pinching his cheeks. You could almost read their lips enough to guess what they were saying. What a handsome young man you are! Oh, Bruce must be so proud.

“...and then my father flipped over his kayak! Would you believe it? Two thousand dollars, thrown right in our family’s lake.” Your company snickered, howling at his own story.

You circled the rim of your glass, watching how Damian tried to teach some of the women phrases in Arabic. Unknown to them, they were some pretty funny swear words. It threw you into a bout of giggles, and the man next to you kept talking, spurred on by the noise.

The flock of hens around Damian receded, and his shoulders slouched in relief. That was cute, too. It wasn’t often that people understood how draining these parties were, but for people like you and Damian, it was a racetrack of endless, boring circles. Everything was a formality. Few things were genuine. Damian turned, and you caught his eye to let him know you were going to meet him. He nodded toward a side hall, his mouth a curious line again. If you looked at it long enough, it felt like a smile when he mouthed, escape?

Your company was still talking. He stopped when you grabbed his tie and planted a pity-kiss on his cheek, waving to him as you bounced away. “Sorry, kid. Not my type.”

_

You planned to bring Damian to the secluded balcony on the second floor to unwind, but instead, you were taken by the wrist and maneuvered into an empty powder room. It was colder than the steaming party air and smelled like champagne, with couches to sit on and mirrors to powder at. For a bathroom, the lights were warm and low. The noise of the party went quiet the instant the door was shut, like you and Damian had entered your own little world. No more circles. No more back and forth.

“Here,” Damian said, noting the mirrors. He tilted his head as he asked, like he was nervous, “Is this acceptable?”

“It is the ladies powder room, but I’ll give you a pass, since you’re cute.” You joked. Damian didn’t make a move to relax on one of the couches yet, hanging in front of you like there was more he wanted to say. There was more you wanted to say, too, but no good words came to mind.

But the silence wasn’t awkward. Again, Damian stared, and you stared. The glass he brought with him was set down. He put one fist on the counter beside the door, and like honey had been poured on your nerves, you realized how easy it would be for him to push you up against it. Kiss you senseless. Heat drooled off of him this close, and you wondered if he’d still lean in to whisper to you even if you were alone.

The lack of words drew to a point where something had to be said, anything, but his eyes felt so good on your skin and it was interesting to see him nervous. Something strange told you that Damian liked the silence, too.

You wet your lips with your tongue. Damian cleared his throat, and took a sip from his glass. “Was I interrupting something?”

“Between me and that guy?” You smiled gently, like you were reassuring him, and laughed to yourself. “Oh, man, you should’ve seen it, Damian. Poor kid really thought I was flirting with him. He’d totally convinced himself, it was hilarious.”

His profile was tense in the mirror, which you stole glances at to watch how the amber light played on his handsome skin. When Damian swallowed his drink, his throat rolled in the sexiest way, and immediately your mind fed you with visions of suckling, kissing, tonguing his neck.

“Why’d you ask?” Your eyes sparkled. Damian drew a step closer, and you used the opportunity to swipe a drop of alcohol from the corner of his lip with your thumb. “You jealous?”

It was the touch or the suggestion that made Damian pause. He didn’t stutter, but lagged over what to say, eyes vast and wanting as they raked over your face. “I don’t get jealous,” he clarified, “but… I do intend to be the only man to kiss you tonight.”

Damian’s hand took your chin. Your belly exploded with instant arousal, hitting you like a bullet of liquid lust. “You’re the only man who’s kissed me like that,” you whispered, taking his tie in hand. “I hope that’s always true.”

His voice had gone throaty. “May I kiss you again?”

Again, he reminded you.The two of you had kissed before, and it had been spectacular, terrifying, and excellent.

“Please,” you said, and Damian rushed to your aid.

Not a moment more was wasted. Curling his tie into your fist, you drew him in, slow and deep and wonderfully. Damian’s cologne hit you before his lips did, and both made your core throb for friction. Two broad hands slammed your hips into the door. His fingertips smoothed up the fabric of your dress, pressing you back and squeezing you in until you could feel his belt buckle against your belly. Damian was a sweet, magnetic kisser, chasing your lips like he was on a crusade to save them. Each time they met, he swam deeper. The point of his nose bumped against your cheek. You hummed your laugh against his lips, and Damian groaned as he pulled away, readjusting, twisting, testing the limits of the kiss. And you followed him at every step or more, revelling in his taste.

You didn’t want him to think you wanted the kiss to end, so you drew the hands braced under his blazer around his neck. Soon, that didn’t feel close enough, so you cupped each side of his face and pecked Damian until you were breathless. He brought you in until your arms were flat to his chest, the kiss almost vertical in its intensity.

He groaned when you parted, gasping and blinking just inches from your face. Your mouths were still connected by a thick string of drool, which hung until it split and clung to Damian’s chin and fell, marking a wet strip down into his collar. You panted, watching it go.

Damian left your waist to hold your wrists, keeping your hands around his face. He settled warmly into your touch, basking in it, and the pure enjoyment on his face made you smile. You wondered if anyone else had cared for him like this. If Damian had ever felt someone hold his face and treasure it. The thought gave you a strange urge, so you followed it.

You brought Damian’s brow level with your mouth and sweetly kissed his forehead. Then his nose bridge, then his temples. His face was so quickly warm that you giggled. In the most unsubtle way possible, Damian drew back his hips so you couldn’t feel the heat there, and closed his eyes, begging you to continue.

“I want you,” you whispered against his jaw.

Damian shivered. “You have me.”

You shifted one hand to his shoulder, giving yourself more room to nuzzle and kiss his neck. The line of drool was still there, so you cupped his skin and tilted his jaw up, and in one stroke, licked all the way to his earlobe. Damian’s moan poured from his mouth like a growing flood. You even felt his thighs press together between you, and pleasure tingled in your throat when he choked at the glide of your tongue.

He released your wrists, reached beside you, and locked the door with an audible click.

Then, Damian devoured you. Both hands hooked around your back, arching your chest into his, and finally, bringing his bulge between your hips. You clung to him for dear life, helpless as his teeth pressed into your neck like a vampire. Damian fed like one, too, suckling the skin there like he was starved. Your panties were so wet that you were desperate to get out of them, grinding your core against his.

Damian retreated, gasping. He licked the spit off of his lips and glared into your eyes. Bluntly, he said, “I want to eat you out.”

Once more, you kissed him, delirious with excitement. Your lungs burned for air, but your core burned harder for him. “Take off that suit and you can do whatever you want to me.”

His eyes gleamed. “I plan to.”

Quickly, you shoved your hands into his sleeves and pushed them off his shoulders, giving you a crisp glimpse at his carved shoulders. Damian's fingers blurred from button to button, but he saved the last for you on purpose. You worked in tandem and with little thought. If he could, Damian would steal a kiss, and you would bite his lip and chase him into more. When that last button was popped, his white button-down parted for a gorgeous plane of hard-earned muscle. His abs, ribs and pecs were pockmarked with scars, shrapnel marks and in some places, bullet holes. You stopped.

At your staring, Damian pressed his lips together.

“It's.. not appealing, I know,” he monotoned.

“No,” you disagreed, palming his stomach, “it’s impressive. All these do is show how strong you are, how long you've survived. You're so… built...” you didn't hide your thorough examination of him, “...I mean, we have to be to do what we do, but still… It suits you. It's sexy.”

You worried you'd ruined the moment with your babbling, but he glimmered under your praise. Damian brightened in the way only Damian could, smirking devilishly and towering over you like a supervillain.

“Sexy?” He pressed his naked chest into yours, whispering hotly in your ear. You could feel his silk tie pinned between you. “Does that mean I'm your type?”

You rolled your eyes. “Eavesdropper.”

“Temptress,” Damian replied, just as easily.

To claim your title, you found Damian's belt and pulled on it until the clasp gave. It made a satisfying whipping noise as you ripped it off of him, shouldered into his space to grab his waist in one hand, and cupped his throbbing boxers in the other. Damian's sigh came hoarsely and wanton from his mouth.

“Fuck me,” you demanded, grinning with delight.

Instead of wasting time on a response, Damian fell to his knees, a faithful worshipper. He did the gentlemanly thing and helped you kick off your heels. The tile was icy on your bare feet, but it only mattered until Damian ran his hands up your thighs. Sliding his fingers underneath the fabric, he bunched it up your middle, peering up at you smugly through his lashes. You could feel the debauchery of it - Damian, on his knees, tie hanging still from his neck, pinning you to the door. You, your legs spread and wanting.

Damian sucked in a breath. Your panties had an obvious wet patch, put there by him. He thumbed it carefully, watching your brows tense and your eyes close, basking in your initial whine. All of it enchanted him. You were soaking because of him, trembling because of him, marked because of him. There was not one place he would rather be than here.

Damian collected your sweetness and sampled the taste on his thumb, trapping it behind his smug smile. He ran his tongue over his teeth, spreading the flavor around his mouth, savoring it. As Damian rolled your underwear down your legs, his cock twitched in his open fly. You were beautiful. Oh, he was going to enjoy this.

“Put your leg over my shoulder,” Damian ordered, smirking, “I want to taste you.”

Warmth exploded in your cheeks. “G-go ahead.”

Gradually, you situated your leg across his back, pussy tensing at the touch of the cooler air. This didn't matter for long. Damian's warm lips nuzzled and kissed the thigh closest to him, painting messy reflective circles on your skin with his kiss. Even that made your legs tense wildly, so Damian shoving his wet, blazing tongue into the folds of you cunt pumped moan after moan from your mouth.

“Damian!” You yelped.

Oh, he definitely liked that. Damian pinched your ass and used his mouth so passionately that his head shook back and forth. He darted right for your clit, sucking it until his cheeks were hollow and humming smugly between your legs with every squeal. Parting your folds with one hand, Damian kissed your core just as dirtily as he'd kissed you. The dangerous glint in his eye never faded. He plunges his tongue inside you in earnest, slurping obscenely, purposefully. There's no need for Damian to shoot you cute looks or put on a show - his skill was the performance, because that skill was unbeatable. Your pussy was already tender, fucked nerveless by Damian's filthy mouth. He vibrated your cunt with a deep groan before he drew away, face dripping with slick like a pornstar’s.

“You're suitably wet,” he said, matter-of-factly, “would you like me to use my fingers?”

All the strength you had went into a weak, pleading nod.

Damian was polite enough to grant you your bearings first, letting you grip his hair and squeeze the counter before he resumes. You give him the sweetest, most precious whine when Damian licks you open again. He wisely starts with one finger and builds from there, earning you with pumps and curls of his digits. Damian's talents quickly become a currency, one that you exchange with mewls and pants of praise.

“So good,” you whine, “oh, fuck - fuck, just like that…”

Damian smirks between your legs, jamming his fingers faster into your sore pussy. Lust sizzles low in your gut, ramped up again and again by his thrusting. It’s so powerful that you roll and buck off the door, your hips in his face. You want him - want him more than you want anything.

“You're ravaging,” Damian hums between licks. His eyes are closed, but that only gives the way he touches you more meaning.

It’s so surprising from his mouth that your hold on his hair slips, setting Damian free. He pants, catching his breath, and it’s easily the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen in your life. The effort has slouched him from his knees to his calves, further spreading his legs and opening up the fly of his pants. A solid bulge has formed and spilled out there, straining to escape his briefs like an arm in a sling that’s too small, way too small, for someone of his size. Three of Damian’s fingers are still twisting inside of you.

Slowly, Damian tipped back his head and hung down, arranging himself beneath your cunt. “So beautiful.” His free hand splayed where your leg met your hip. “May I touch you?”

“I-I get it’s the gentleman thing to do, to - to keep asking, but fuck, Damian,” you cursed, “you can do whatever you want to me.”

Damian’s intense jade eyes were so dilated that you could barely make out the color. He dragged his cheek against your thigh, fingers still circling inside you, and grinned like a shark. It was probably a bad idea to give the heir to the Demon’s Head that much power over you.

His other hand squeezed your skin, slow to passionate, from your belly to your breasts beneath your dress. It’s clear by the way Damian looks at you that he loves what he sees. The texture of his veiny, calloused hands feels good on your waist and ass, dragging you closer to him. He chuckles when your back arches, when your nails press into his hands, his back muscles, throwing himself into his task. Damian’s nose prods your folds as he licks you clean, tongue dipping and sliding against your sore clit. It’s like he’s done this for you before, in this exact way. Though he utilizes his tongue the most, his lips too are brutal, matched perfectly to fit your pussy lips.

But that tongue - how Damian’s jaw isn’t tired, you don’t know. He parts your folds and latches onto your clit, flicking his tongue at superspeed until drool and cum bubbles from your sensitive core. Your back winds tighter at every vibrating lick, paralyzing the muscles in your legs with glorious pleasure. It’s so exquisite you start to melt to the floor like warm clay, only to be bolstered back up by Damian, both hands viciously squeezing your ass. He keeps going not for you, but himself, sucking down every last drop of your juices.

Shattered, you twist hopelessly into his mouth, chasing the strained feeling like it’s the last you’ll ever glimpse. “Fuck, fuck - D-Damian, ah…”

“Did it feel good when I made you cum?” He teases, “It certainly tastes good. All those filthy little noises you make for me…” Damian shakes his head at himself, like it’s too fantastic to indulge again. He leaves your clit with a satisfied kiss. “Beautiful.”

Once more, the words are surprising to hear from him. You always considered Damian the prude type, but here he is, on his knees for you, mouth and chin glittering with your juices while he teases you in low, sexy tones. At your surprised look, Damian has the gall to blush.

With his ring finger in his mouth, he ponders, “If a man has never said that to you before...” pop, “consider me surprised.”

“Never while finger-fucking me, at least,” you admited, legs still trembelling. “It was sweet. You… you meant that?”

It was hard to imagine Damian Wayne finding anything beautiful. Even you, who was pretty enamored with him, figured he would judge by quality or skill, not beauty. The words tasted new on his tongue.

Slowly, Damian stood and stretched, his shoulders tight after staying in the strange position for so long. Lifting his arms coincidentally let his waistband sit lower on his hips, flashing his green boxers your way while showing off the huge, carved muscles of his arms. Truly, Damian’s subtlety was unmatched. You didn’t mind his miniature bragging fest - not when he had so much to brag about. Eating you out had put an excited shimmer in his skin, so the gold-toned lights of the room reflected sexily off his sweat, already accenting his kissable tan.

“I did,” he told you, moving on to his sucking middle finger. His other hand played on your thigh, stroking it. “I’ve always been… drawn to you. Every mission we’ve had together. I have a profound feeling that we are very similar.”

You laughed. Not at what he said, but the timing of it. “Would you believe me if I said I felt the same way?”

Damian made a face like his heart was doing jumping jacks. “A few hours ago? No. But now…” he barricaded you against the door, first with his hands and then his hips, closed in so tightly that you had to look past your nose to meet his eyes. “Your crush is adorably obvious. I’m annoyed that I didn’t see it before.”

Your rounded your hands against Damian’s shoulders, then his tie. It twisted nicely around your fingers, silky and cold in comparison to your flushed skin. You were tempted to fix your dress, but nothing, not even the world ending, could make you leave this room.

“My crush is obvious? Damian, all you’ve done for the last two hours is sneak me drinks and imply how much easier it is to be around me.” You grinned, “What’d you say earlier? There you are, Queen. Finally, someone intelligent enough to speak to me.”

Damian shrugged. “It’s true. Your knowledge of bioluminescent ocean life is fascinating.”

“I can’t believe you said that after giving me head for ten minutes.”

“It’s actually been closer to twelve,” Damian smirked.

Playfully, you pinched Damian’s cheek, then pulled him by the tie into a starved, energetic kiss. He must’ve been praying for your permission to continue, because the plan he’d been forming is quickly put into action. You’re hugged, arms scooped under your back as you kiss him. Damian surrenders his mouth to a bit of revenge tonguing while undoing your dress. No amount of kissing will pull him from his task, but your hand is a special case - it smooths down the front of his boxers and Damian melts.

“Y/N,” he groans.

Damian petulantly resists the temptation to close his eyes, but your touch is soft and sweet, demanding him to yield. Your lips suckle on his neck and Damian’s knees buckle. If getting his mouth between your legs didn’t turn him on, then this will finish him for sure.

“I missed you. Kissing you.” You purr into his throat. “One could never be enough for me.”

Is this what it’s like to be wanted? Damian asked himself. The only possible answer thrilled him, and he found himself pouring even more passion into the kiss, into you, wanting to share that rush of affection. You respond to his every touch with vigor. Damian’s heart stalls each time your thumb strokes his face, each time the other strokes him through his slacks.

“Me either,” he rasped, and helped you out of your dress. His tone was shy, but his words held too much depth to be meaningless. I want a wealth of them. I always want to kiss you, was what he wanted to say, but Damian was too embarrassed to raise the words. This moment was too special to ruin with his hopeless romanticism. He kissed you again and again, and to his amazement, you kissed him right back.

“Fuck me,” you begged him between breaths. “Right here. I don’t care if we’re caught.”

I don’t care if we’re seen together. I want to be seen with you, I’m not ashamed of you.

Damian cupped your face and almost knocked you both over with the strength of his kiss. Nose-to-nose, eyes closed, he commanded, “Bend over the fucking counter.”

In a blink, Damian turned and there you were, open and waiting for him. The sink was hip-level, so the bend was nothing but perfect - Damian could fuck you from behind and watch your lust-blown reflection without issue. Your perfect pussy drooled leftover cum down your legs, making your sex shine in the light.

In the mirror, you watched Damian’s eyes darken in delight. His pupils followed the line of your ass to your back, appreciating it like an artist would, like he intended to paint you later and needed to memorize the greatest shapes of your figure. The marble was icy against your hard nipples, which Damian had exposed when he’d impatiently shoved down your bra. Now, he cupped one of your breasts as he bent over you, kissing and suckling his way down your back.

“Perfect,” Damian hissed.

Shyly pressing your butt back against him, you buried your face in your arms and bit your lip, waiting for him to open you up. Damian’s shadow came to hover over you, and in the mirror his eyes were vicious, pools of circling sharks. “Are you ready?”

“Mhm,” you nodded. “Take your time.”

Though you weren’t being sarcastic, Damian took it that way and pinched one cheek of your ass. “With you? I will.” Then, with the same smoothness, Damian asked, “Condom?”

“Pill,” you replied, and Damian nodded his approval.

His pants rustled as they fell down his legs. Where you couldn’t see, Damian committed the sight to memory - his cock in hand, your pussy spread open, all for him. You squeaked when his hot tip touched your cooling clit, and squeaked again when it glided down your pussy and tested your opening. He knew he’d found the way when you winced.

In an unsurprising moment of compassion (for those who truly knew him), Damian kissed the top of your head and offered you his hand. “Would you like to hold it while I…?”

You took his hand and squeezed it to your chest, squeezing him closer in the process, too. “Thank you. Go slow, for this part…”

Damian complied. His sweat-sticky chest hovered warmly over your back. Even if Damian was big, you were wetter than you’d ever been in your entire life - any pain would quickly slide into pleasure. He braced himself with a deep inhale, and a hot, sharp sensation told you that he’d entered you. Where you choked in a needy gasp, Damian poured out his version of a whimper. You both held it. Then, breath by breath, you were struck with the realization that you’d been dying to feel this for weeks, for months, and only now was that heat being satisfied. Damian’s tongue and fingers had come close, but this is what would cure that aching emptiness - his big, girthy cock.

The deathgrip you had on Damian’s hand loosened. “You look perfect,” he murmured into your hair, instantly making your core flutter. “Oh,” he chuckled filthily, “you like that? Funny, how badly that idiot at the bar wanted to be in my place right now…but it’s me who gets to pound into—”

“Damian,” you warned.

He smiled smugly against your neck. “Nothing.”

Dutifully, Damian withdrew his hips, taking all of the heat with him. When he rolled back in, a hot, tingling sensation roared over all of your senses, and you let the moan at the top of that tsunami loose. It was clear that he couldn’t fuck you like he wanted to with one hand fished down at your side, so he glued both to the base of your back and started to thrust in earnest.

“So full...” You mewled, and Damian became a human pile-driver.

Your head seemed to roll off your shoulders with every crazed, rhythmic slam, so you grabbed the faucet and held on for dear life. Every slap was so loud, so powerful, that you prayed this one random bathroom in the penthouse was soundproofed. Anyone walking past would know you were getting railed out of your mind. You tried to compensate by moaning and squeaking quietly, but with force came volume. It didn’t matter how silent you were, Damian’s hips, your ass, the squelch of him inside you - each noise filled the bathroom, echoing off the tile.

The only way you could think to describe him was filling. First, there was the hot, cinching tension of his hands fused to your waist. Then there was his cock, which begged to be squeezed more and more with every pass. You responded to each throb with a mighty clench, which bent Damian over you like an animal, gasping for breath. His balls were painted with your slick. The closer you came to orgasm together, the closer Damian came to you. His hands migrated to higher on your sides, then up by your shoulders, then around you, where Damian kissed your back and rubbed your belly while he made love to you. He talked more than he moaned. Your ear was filled with sweet nothings, with vicious promises of what he would do with a whole night alone with you.

Damian’s reflection was wild with lust. He met your eyes as he fucked you, whispering how beautiful you are, how good you take his dick. His deep green eyes were so dark you couldn’t make out the brown in them anymore. The long muscles on his arms drew taut with each thrust, making his biceps bulge and pin your hips to the sink. Soon enough, a bruise would form from the pressure. One of many treasures from tonight - you would be thinking about Damian in his crisp suit for months to come, and the mess he’d become with you now even longer. Your pleasure built and built and built, like a nail struck further into the ground with a hammer. A very, very big hammer.

“M’ cumming,” Damian husked, slowing his plowing to a sloppy glide. Even his endurance was spent, and you were glad he’d spent it all on you. “Where d’ you…?”

You braced your hands on the counter, then on one of Damian’s. Together, you smoothed his digits down your stomach and between your soft, abused folds. “Inside me, please, please please—” you begged him, “fuck, a-as deep as you can go.”

As a test of your flexibility, Damian turned in and kissed you. Just as he parted your lips with his tongue, he parted your folds with his fingertips, overriding your clit as his cock throbbed inside you to the hilt. He took the invitation as a command. Damian pressed in until you could feel his abs mold to your ass, then stuttered his hips in quick, agonized dips to get himself there. With his fingers and his cock putting stars in your eyes, you finished first.

The white marble counter fizzed in your vision, until all you could see was that powerful, endless white, humming in your mind’s eye. Still, Damian wasn’t finished yet. You bumped your temple against his chin and hummed, “Cum for me, baby… fuck, a-ah!”

Your pussy’s throb raced and raced until it spilled over, pulling Damian right under the current. One clench and he was done for, so the velvety, periodic squeeze of your cunt emptied his store. You hung there, spasming in unison, until that overwhelming heat spurted in a ring around Damian’s cock and flooded out of you. Only then did his fingers stop on your clit, and you settled warmly in each other's arms and tried to remember your names and who you were.

Damian pulled out, then snuggled back in. He would’ve been nervous any other time, but he’d just put his dick inside you, so a little instinctive cuddling could be forgiven. On shaky legs, you turned around and sunk into him. You could tell by how he was eyeing the sink that he was desperate to get clean again, so with one kiss (on the cheek), you set Damian loose.

In companionable silence, Damian cleaned up and you collected the clothes abandoned on the floor. Staring at the corner where you’d just had the best sex of your life put an embarassingly pleasant warmth in your chest. Interesting, how one terrifying moment could become something as special as this. Fascinating, how you’d felt like you’d known him all your life.

“You know… I think you’re excellent, too.” You told him, finishing off the knot for his tie.

Damian dipped his head to hide his smile, but something so bright was impossible to hide.

[huge-enthusiast]

Miraculous fic recomendations!!

This is just an excuse to show all my bookmarks? Yes. Yes, it is. I'm pretty sure most of this fics are really popular, but try see if you find something you didn't knew about!

All of the fics will be rated Teen and up audiences or lower. Also if I don't put the author's tumblr is because they didn't put it in the fic or/and I couldn't find it.

Pairing: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug

knowing you by emsylcatac (they are not really the author of the fic but that's the account that says in the fic, the actual author doesn't have an account).

After dropping their transformations months ago, Marinette and Adrien see each other for the first time after being apart. They've both left too much unsaid and have to work to pick up the pieces of their confused hearts.

Chapters: 1/1

Post-reveal but mostly ladynoir, light angst with happy ending.

the last day on earth by Reiaji

The first time Marinette sees Chat Blanc, she's fourteen years old. The second time, fifteen—the third time, seventeen.

The closer she grows to Adrien, the harder it is to save him.

Chapters: 1/1

Post-reveal lovesquare, kinda heavy angst, hopeful ending.

tell me something i don't know by carpisuns (@carpisuns here on tumblr)

Do you think it still means something? To love someone, even if the universe said you had to?

The odds of having a soulmate are about negative one billion (or something like that). But somehow, like they always have, Marinette and Chat Noir find themselves together. They’re ready to finally tell each other everything, but it turns out that even soulmates have to keep secrets, and while their bond draws them together, duty forces them apart.

Chapters: currently 17/28 (WIPs can be exhausting but this one is 100% worth the wait!)

Mostly marichat but almost all of the lovesquare sides make an appearance, soulmates au, mostly fluff but it can get angsty if it wants to.

One Thing After Another by SKayLanphear

Marinette notices that, sometimes, Adrien acts a little out of the ordinary--like the time he stood in a cardboard box for no reason, or when he actually hissed at Nino. It's only when she starts to notice the similarities between Adrien and a certain feline that she begins to get suspicious.

Basically, Adrien acts like a cat when he probably shouldn't.

Chapters: 15/15

Mostly adrienette with one sided reveal by Marinette's side, miraculous side effects (by both sides wich is really cool!), it's fluff with a lil tiny angst for drama.

This would take some getting used to by Codango (@codango here on tumblr!)

Adrien peeked out from behind the chimney even as the magic of his own Chat Noir mask fell away.

She was still visible, her dark hair bobbing under the street lamps a couple blocks away.

“Marinette.”

Adrien blew out a confused breath. His fiery Ladybug… was the quiet little mouse who sat behind him in class?

“What. The.”

This… would take some getting used to.

Chapters: 8/8

Adrienette with one sided reveal by Adrien's part, awkward flirting, just fluff, nothing to worry about.

comfort food also by Reiaji!

In Marinette's house, cooking is a language of love, and Marinette loves Adrien more than most.

Chapters: 1/1

Adrienette with a little of ladynoir, super super fluff, a lot of insight into Marinette's chinese heritage.

The right side of his face by walkingonthestars (@hamsternamedmarinette here on tumblr!)

Marinette and Adrien are able to remain in their new seats in the back of the room at the end of Chameleon.

Chapters: 1/1

Adrienette, fluff with light angst.

it's a long way forward so trust in me by aloneintherain (@captainkirkk here on tumblr!)

“You’re not the only strong one around here, Chat,” Marinette said. She looked a little winded, but she wasn’t struggling to hold him up.

This close up, he could see the freckles on the bridge of her nose. He could see how that smug smile lit up her eyes. He could feel the strain of her arms—and wow, okay, he really wasn’t the only person around here with muscles.

Six times Marinette carried Adrien (plus one time he carried her).

Chapters: 1/1

All the sides of the lovesquare! Fluff with LOTS of mutual pining.

a fight that you were born to lose also by aloneintherain

When the prosecution starts throwing around the word victim in reference to Adrien, he has to stuff his hands under his thighs to keep himself from bolting out of the courtroom.

Adrien had felt unsafe during those last few weeks, but, until he had woken up and seen Father silhouetted in his bedroom doorway, that had only been paranoia. Father was controlling and cold, but he wasn’t hateful. Adrien was isolated. He was often hungry. And some weeks ago, when he had snuck out to visit Nino, sitting thigh-to-thigh on his bed while Adrien cried in that silent, crumbling way of his, he hadn’t argued when Nino put a hand on his shoulder and said, tentatively, That’s abuse.

But Adrien remembers being small and Father touching his hair after he’d aced another test; Father holding his scribbled drawings like they were something precious, and framing them around his office; Father, dressed as Hawkmoth, his eyes wild behind the mask, lashing his sword against Adrien’s baton; Father, collapsed against Mum, crying into her ashy hair.

Adrien finds out Gabriel is Hawkmoth, and Gabriel gets to bring his long-waited plan into action.

Chapters: 1/1

This one doesn't really focus in the ship that much as is an Adrien character study and an exploration of his relationship with his father, but they're still there so I put them here. Really heavy angst (this is one of this fics that haunt me in the middle of the night) with a happy ending. ❗TW: parental abuse, eating disorders❗

Supercut by LNC

Marinette loves her friends and Adrien can't deal.

Chapters: 1/1

Post-reveal lovesquare, again light angst, an exploration of Adrien's insecurities, Marinette Dupain-Cheng deserves the world, happy ending.

Madame Snare by jettiebettie

“Sounds like a lot of work for nothing. She should take this as a sign to have a relaxing weekend with no responsibilities.”

“It's a lot of work she put her whole heart into. It wouldn't be right for it to go to waste,” Adrien whispers to him. The look on Marinette's face is enough to cause Adrien's own heart to ache. If anyone deserves the satisfaction and pride from a job well done, it's her.

“Too bad there isn't anyone else who can walk in those death traps,” Plagg says. Adrien hums in thought, tapping his chin.

“I could.”

Chapters: 1/1

Marichat, episode-based, Chat Noir in a dress!!!, light angst but it's mostly just idiots being idiots and a lot of fun.

in the same sun by peachcitt (@peachcitt here on tumblr!)

"It’s hard to believe that I saw you last at the peak of summer, when the sun was close and warm - and so were you. It should go without saying that I miss you. I miss you something terrible."

//

"It’s been seven months to the day since I’ve seen you. I wish you were here more than anything else."

Two letters, signed with initials instead of names, found in Paris, France.

Chapters: 1/1

Ladynoir, just angst, that's it, written like letters. No ending, just pain.

an uncurtain discovery by Missnoodles (@ladyofthenoodle here on tumblr!)

When he returns from school on Wednesday afternoon, Adrien discovers the darkness in his own home. He struggles to come to terms with it. To his utter mortification and delight, Ladybug is nearby to rescue him.

(He does not discover that his father is supervillain. That will happen on a different Wednesday.)

Chapters: 1/1

Ladrien, it says it's crack, and don't get me wrong, is super funny, but I also found it sad as fuck?

An Open Secret by Kasienda

Adrien whirled around toward Marinette. She smiled at him.

He couldn’t smile back. He stared at her like the dumb blond model that he was often accused of being.

Something shifted in her expression. And her warm open Marinette smile transformed into Ladybug’s grin. He was looking at Ladybug right now.

He knew Ladybug’s name!

Her name was Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

And he couldn’t say anything! Not to Marinette! Not even to Plagg, who had confided two weeks prior that Master Fu was growing increasingly paranoid since the location of his home and hideout had been compromised. Their master had apparently decided that Chat Noir and Ladybug would have to give up their miraculouses if they ever discovered each other’s identities.

It wasn’t fair!

...

A fic where they both know, but can't openly talk about it.

Chapters: 4/4

Post-reveal... but is it? Mostly adrienette and ladynoir, fluff with light angst and them being absolute idiots at hiding their secret identity.

golden (like daylight) by okayanna (@anna-scribbles here on tumblr!)

Friendship, Adrien decided, shaking off the mental image of Marinette’s hurricane eyes and hesitant mouth, parted in a small, careful “o.” He had a very strong friendship with Marinette. That was all.

or

Adrien thinks a lot about words, love, and Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Chapters: 1 + epilogue

Adrienette but has lots of ladynoir, another Adrien character study because I hate myself, it tries to not be angst but the writing will punch you in the guts and make you cry, it's so good.

Strangers in the Bright Lights by poodles (@ladybeug here on tumblr!)

Adrien is about two drinks in when he sees a girl at the end of the bar wearing black cat ears. It's kind of weird, so he watches her, and although it's crowded he can see her face when she turns around. She’s wearing a Chat Noir mask. He takes a quick look around- nobody else is wearing a mask. Just her.

Adrien finishes his gin martini and heads over to her. He could use some company tonight anyways, he hasn’t told anyone he’s back in Paris and Nathalie won’t arrive in town for another month. And it’s been a rough day, okay? A rough move! He’s not sure he wants to be back yet, and he spent most of the day in the Agreste mansion sorting through some photographs of his father he found in the study. Maybe he wants a drink and some stranger to tell him he’s pretty! That’s not a crime, is it?

Chapters: 1/1

Adrienette but it's also ladrien??? I think??? It's super super angsty but they're both drunk the entirety of the fic so it's also really funny.

Pick-Up and Chase by also SKayLanphear

After she accidentally trips into Adrien and apologizes about "falling for him," Marinette learns that he's no match for cheesy pick-up lines--whether they were unintended or not. And while she finds it flattering that he turns into a flustered mess with only a few words, Marinette comes to regret making him uncomfortable. That is, until she learns he's Chat Noir. At which point the phrase "just deserts" becomes a permanent fixture in her everyday plans.

A story in which Adrien is flustered, Marinette is smooth as glass at dropping lines, and Chat Noir gets the romance he was always asking for--even if he doesn't quite know how to handle it.

Chapters: 10/10

Adrienette with one sided reveal by Marinette's side, it doesn't say it in the tags but I'm pretty sure the characters are much older than they actually are in the show, so much fluff and so much flirting.

Pairing: Alya Césaire/Nino Lahiffe

Nino Has Done Nothing To Deserve This by GuardianKarenTerrier (@guardiankarenterrier here in tumblr)

It's nothing, really- just an innocent comment, a joke. But when they hear it, Nino and Alya come to a realisation.

There were, in retrospect, dozens upon dozens of hints. Now that they're suddenly aware of all their friend's flimsy excuses and rushed explanations, they're not only sure how they've missed it, they're not sure how anyone else has either. They realise that it had to be magic protecting their friends- and that same magic has ceased to work on the two of them.

Well, this means they'll just have to start watching over their friends themselves.

Chapters: 7/7

This is more a found family fic than anything else, Alya and Nino are the mom friend, has light angst but it's mostly identity shenanigans in the most bizarre way. ❗TW: eating disorders❗

christmas lights by demistories

Nino checks up and down the street, checking to make sure there’s no raging akuma headed his way before he crosses quickly and ducks inside the small café. He closes the door quickly before the icy air can blow inside and tugs his beanie down over his ears. He spots Alya sitting alone in the corner.

Chapters: 1/1

Just fluff!! Really short but really sweet.

hold on, i still want you also by Missnoodles!

Written for the @thedjwifizine ! Wich I also recommend if you wanna binge a lot of djwifi fics while also looking at amazing art!!!

Five times Alya ran into her ex, and the one time he stopped being her ex.

Chapters: 1/1

Light angst with a happy ending! I don't really like the ex-lovers to lovers trope but this one is the only exception.

I will continue to expand the list in the future! But by now I hope I was helpful in the search of new fics!