#and i have ugly square palms

[thetxtdevil]

hiiii!

pls can i request an enemies to lovers beomgyu fic where they go on a trip as a part of a club trip from university. they’re both like the co-leaders of the club but they argue about everything and don’t get along. when they get to the hotel they realise they have to share rooms and their room only has one bed (surprise surprise). stuff then happens and then beomgyu is fucking you mercilessly in front of the large antique mirror in your room making sure that you’re watching him as he’s doing so, making you squirt all over the mirror.

going through my biggest beomgyu brain rot rn 😭

That seems like a big brain rot,,, I hope I fulfill your fantasies

p.s. a little degrading

--nsfw--

"Alright guys head count! Just so we don't lose anybody" You mumble the last part as you gather your club at the exit of the airport. It has happened once before, yes, you guys were adults but its still not fun to be left behind.

"If anyone is going to lose count its you." says Beomgyu the other leader of the college's World Music Club. The man who gets on your last nerves.

Beomgyu is a handsome, smart, energetic, and musically inclined, everybody loves him but for some reason he just irks you. He can play the guitar really well and when you pick up the instrument you barely play a note before he starts correcting you. You will discuss your favorite music to be interrupted by Beomgyu disagreeing with that choice. even though you caught him once singing/dancing to one of your favorites, he threaten you not to tell anyone. You do the same, getting under his skin, call him ugly even though he gives you butterflies, call him stupid just to steal his idea. Its a never ending cycle.

You were just a bunch of college student trying to get away from school but you had to come up with an idea to make a vacation club oriented. So for spring break the World Music Club decided to go to the beach and scavenge for any music playing or instruments laying around. All of the club was in a van-bus, sitting next to Beomgyu he rolls his eyes when you bounce in your seat looking at the palm tress pass by and a small band on the side of the street playing free style jazz. After long ride to the edge of the island the van drops the club off.

"Why did you have the van take us here?" Beomgyu pouts as the drop off place was no where near the hotel.

"Well this is the square where there is surely a lot of musical opportunities and we need to eat." You wave your hand as if it was all an obvious plan.

All of the club, including you and Beomgyu, finally agreed to eat at the pizza place. There you all stuffed your faces and there you realized it was going to be a long vacation. You side eye Beomgyu as he eats loudly, smacking his lips, you watch as his stupid kissable plush lips turn red by the sauce and then watch him use his thumb to wipe it off to smudge it on you. Then noticing he's been sitting and walking right by your side all this time. Is he trying to irritate you?

Luckily the hustle and bustle of the tropical town distracted you. Live singers, homeless guitarists, and open to everyone steel drums. Perfect for the club and perfect to keep your mind off Beomgyu's lingering stares.

The sun was setting, street lights turned on, as the temperature cools down. You complained about being cold shivering your your thin tank top. "I think it feels nice, here wear my jacket."

"I don't want to wear your stupid jacket." you smack at Beomgyu as he takes the jacket off his shoulders. Eventually you cave in wearing his jean jacket on the walk to the hotel. It smells like Beomgyu, gross.

At the lobby's desk you were given one key. You quirk your eyebrow at the employee, "Is there another key?" "nope"

Beomgyu laughs at you seeing your flushed face looking like you just saw a ghost. Soon after he looked like the same when both of you came to your hotel room with one small "queen" sized bed.

"No, no, and no, I'll sleep on the chair or the floor if I have to" the room was nice, cutely decorated, and a beautiful view of the ocean, you contemplated the state of the situation until you see it, "why is there a damn mirror right next to the bed!"

Eventually Gyu persuades you to sleep on the bed with him. Both cleaned up and ready to get the night over with, however this is a week long trip. Laying on your side facing away from Beomgyu but tortured by your reflection from the mirror. You can't sleep, wanting to turn but stopping yourself from facing the man.

"Stop moving"

"You’re hogging up the bed"

Beomgyu's eyes open to turn towards you. Your eyes widen when you watch the reflection of the man put his arm around your waist and face in the crook of your neck. "If you weren't scared of getting closer, you wouldn't have to sleep on the very edge of the bed."

His breath was warm against your skin, you tried so hard not to sink into the feeling. "Get off, your hair is tickling me," but you don't budge, you just stare into the mirror to see his eyes looking at you through the mirror. He smirks as his big hand snakes underneath your shirt making you squirm to the touch. "I know we don't get along but I can't help but notice how you've been looking at me."

An unexpected whine escapes your lips when you feel his hand brush down to your lower belly. You felt hot, trying hard not to obviously rub your thighs together, "I look in disgust."

"Just admit it y/n." Slowly but surly Beomgyu's hand creeps down to your clothed cunt rubbing circles against your clit. You bite down on your lip trying so hard not to give in, but it was no use, you weren't fighting it and Beomgyu can clearly see your pleasured face.

"Get off of me," you finally escape the cell of his arms lifting your torso so you can at least seem bigger than him, "What's your deal?"

Beomgyu groans in annoyance, his eyes burn into yours. Before you know it the man pushes you down on your back caging you in bed with his arms. All you can look at now is him, his luscious unkept locks framing his dumb pretty brown eyes, and his irritating mouth getting closer and closer to your lips. "Say it" he wants you to confess but all you say is, "I hate you." Beomgyu smashes his lips to yours, kissing roughly. Pent up anger fueling every movement of your lips, tongue, even teeth clash with each other.

You gasp for air leading Beomgyu to abuse your neck. His bites were definitely going to leave embarrassing marks the next day but they felt so hot. Your hands grabbing clumps of his hair pulling the strands only to have him moaning at the sharp pain. Each pull of his hair urges Beomgyu to roll his hips into yours feeling a very distinct bulge. "Would you hate me if I fuck you?" you answer was with a small "mhm" as your roll your hip up against his.

You're too deep in pleasure to see Beomgyu's cocky smile as he watches your face contort. Dipping his face into your cleavage of your deep v-neck, hands roaming down to your shorts dragging them down with your panties. His long fingers glide into your slit satisfied with the amount of slick. "Are you sure 'cus your body is saying otherwise."

You open your eyes looking down to be faced with his somehow perfect thick dick. Throwing you head back once he slides his cock in your folds, pushing his tip against your swollen bud. He finally lines his tip to your weeping hole already feeling the stretch. Suddenly you feel a harsh grasp of your jaw pulling your face to the mirror, "look at yourself, look how pathetic."

You watch yourself become fucked out as you feel the painful stretch of Beomgyu's cock. You could feel every curve, every vein of his member sliding in. It felt so good that you vision of your reflected self became blurry from your tears. Beomgyu gave you no time to relax and adjust, he thrusts in and out feverishly making the weak hotel bed squeak. Your moans were fighting the sounds of the bed, the skin slapping, and his groans. "Still hate me now, huh?" Beomgyu looks at the mirror getting even more turned on by the sight of him taking over you. His release soon follows after watching your fucked-dumb face as you come on his cock.

"Fuck we should go on these club vacations more."

A nuisance,

TxT's Devil

taglist: @inkigayocamman, @naoristerling

[cloudcountry]

Hi AUBURN!! YOU HIT 3K, CONGRATS OMG THATS AMAZING! I wish you health and so so so much happiness ❤️❤️

Would it be alright if I asked for a slice of baklava (I'm so down bad) with strawberry bubble tea? (IM SO FUCKING DOWN BAD)

*sneakily slides a 100 dollar bill over* wink wink

YOU DIDNT PICK A CUP SO UH. WILD CARD.

an order of romantic fluff with jamil viper!

The hotel room smells of coffee and the noises from the city and far more muted than he thought they would be. The dinner he ate with you sits heavy in his stomach, along with the anxiety of knowing it’s just the two of you.

Is this a bad idea?

It could turn bad very quickly. It’s not because of you (never because of you) because he’s the one with all of the baggage, all of the issues, all of the ugly things you’ve taken into your hands and helped him with, even though his situation has not changed.

Even though his situation may never change. But among the things that will never change, there is you, and your never-ending patience for him. It flows like a river, nourishing him until he can stand tall again after a hard days work, just like you used to do in school.

But you’re not in school anymore. You’re celebrating your four year anniversary, and Jamil is so happy you’ve made him your home.

He’s old enough now to acknowledge just how much he suffered, and he’s old enough now to know that the bitterness and anger at how he was treated will never leave him. You never once expected it to, which is one of the may reasons why he cares so much for you.

You step out of the bathroom, hair freshly washed, sparkling with joy. He sees the age in your skin, the way your eyes crinkle, he sees the way you turn to him and smile so sweetly. He knows he looks much older, too.

His fingers toy with the little box he has clenched in his hand.

Were his palms always this sweaty?

He squares his shoulders, opens his mouth to finally pop the question, and prepares to accept the role of husband, if you’ll have him.

[slippinninque]

💧🕸️Bad Day 🕸️💧

(You had one of those days, but you don't end it alone)

A/n: some sweet Fontaine for all the peeps having a bad day!

content: fluff, sad!reader, soft!Fontaine, cursing, bit of a long fic

You slammed the door and locked it, your keys jangling noisily. You didn't hear what Fontaine said before striding into the bathroom and slamming the door behid you.

You had to cry and you had to pee.

One ended up being much faster than the other. The edge of the tub wasn't that comfortable but your tears didn't stop.

You removed your badge and toed off your heels, they were your most comfortable pair but your feet still ached.

Behind your burning lids was the shape of your desk and its mountains of files. Records, invoices, spreadsheets--you couldn't turn it off. You could still feel the keyboard beneath your fingertips as you gripped the edge of the tub.

For some fucked up reason, you swore you still felt someone looming over you and watching you fall apart. You wiped at your face, tugged at your clothes, rubbed your palms along the sink's counter. You tried to breathe but it turned to more ugly sniffles and exhales, the noises clunking around between the tile and ceramic.

"You good?"

Fontaine's voice was a rock thrown through your conscious, bringing you back to your sorry present.

You cleared your throat and stood at attention, facing the mirror on instinct. You looked like shit, "I'm alright! It's-It's bad, don't you come in here!"

Not a lie, but it still felt stupid to say out loud.

You were grown. You shouldn't allow work to effect you like it was, sobbing in your bathroom like you were back in high school. What would he think?

Fontaine was already so good to you, he would worry if he saw you upset.

"I haven't had my kiss yet, y'know..." His voice was nearer to door, low and beckoning. Your eyes welled. His arms was where you wanted to be but you couldn't make yourself move.

Your sniffle tore through the silence--making you wince.

"Mm. You havin' a bad day, baby?

Horrifyingly, you felt your tips tremble as you lied,

"Nah, my day was fine. It was okay. I walked into a, uh, spiderweb on my way in, just now. Got in my eye...s. Got into my eyes."

"Mn. Need me to go away while you handle...that?"

"You can stay....if you want..." You hung your head, "Might take a while..."

"I want to. You gonna the door a little? Jus' so I can see?"

You glared at your puffy faced reflection, "I'm ugly right now."

Fontaine chuckled, "Nah, I ain't goin' for that. You just feelin' that way right now."

The jig was up but the misery wasn't leaving. The more you listened to Fontaine's calming timber, the more you wanted to be in his arms but you couldn't face him. The door creaked as Fontaine leaned against it from the other side.

While you decided that you didn't want to be seen, you still wanted to feel him. The stupid mistakes you made during the day surrounded every thought, making you doubt every move you thought of making.

Frustrated, you put your face into your hands, rubbing vigriously.

He made a sympathetic noise as if hearing the noise in your head.

"The spiderweb was that bad?"

"....It was awful."

"Fuck them spiders, tell me what happened."

The words burst forth and you couldn't stop them. Not for how you were hounded as soon as you clocked in at work. Or when you were questioned about responsibilities that weren't yours, chastised for 'not doing your part ' when you were so busy doing all the other parts.

The sob that burst out of you when you recalled how two supervisors treated you so tersely, how humiliated you felt on the way back to your desk with all eyes on you.

"I know how to do my job, I do. I make-make mistakes, yeah, but not all the time! I can fix them, I do fix them. I just...get knocked off my square and it's hard to square back up."

You were spiraling, the thoughts were faster than the words--you weren't sure if everything was matching up. You felt like you were failing, you felt like you were falling--

You cracked the door and spilled into his arms. Fontaine softened your launch at him by taking you both down the wall and onto the floor. You squirmed into his lap as you cried and after a while, he told you to breathe.

The first was shaking but the next one was a bit better. You both waited until didn't feel as if you were crawling out of your skin. Finally able to be still, sagging with a pitiful sigh.

"There we go." Fontaine pressed his lips to your hair before resting his cheek on the top of your head, "Got all them webs off?"

There wasn't much in the huff you let out but something unlocked in your chest. You still felt weepy, but the sharpness of your misery was worn away now that you talked about it.

" 'M sorry for how I came in, " You sniffled, "I should have at least spoke to you."

"That ain't shit. I was more so worried with what I was hearin' comin' from the bathroom," you felt Fontaine shift back to speak down to you, "You think I ain't never walked through a spiderweb?"

You shook your head as you breathed in his warm-soap scent.

"Not the same. You're too cool for spiderwebs."

"Shieet. Them shits get everywhere, get on everybody. Most of them stick good 'nough to follow you around for a while."

His words made you detach from his chest but you couldn't meet his eye. Fontaine's finger stroked down your cheek as he continued

"No, I don't like seein' you upset but I ain't gonna think less of you. You bringin' spiderwebs in? Let me know. I'll help pull 'em off you."

How lucky were you? This man was going along with a silly little metaphor for a shitty day and sitting on the floor as he wiped your face. How lucky were you?

You turned in his arms and wrapped your arms around him as best you could. Work didn't matter. Not while you were here, where you belonged.

Fontaine pressed more kisses to where he could reach.

"...Thank you."

"Aint' gotta be thanking me, baby. You're good. You had a bad day, did what you had to do, and came home to me. That's all I want."

Fontaine easily rearranged you to be lifted as he stood. Hanging on, you finally began returning the kisses that you were given. Fontaine made a show of standing still and reveling in your attention.

"That's it," he praised, "Now, tell me where you at."

"At home."

"Who you wit?"

"My man."

"That's right. You wanna know what your man wants now?"

You smiled for the first time all day, and nodded.

He set towards the kitchen, "For you to eat this good food he made and to lay your pretty ass on him in bed. I even got your dippin' sauce, see? I ain't even forget it this time."

Nodding as you closed your eyes, your heart aches turning into a hum at the promise of more love.

"Yeah, I see it."

--------------------

end notes: ah, just a little something that wouldn't leave my head! fluff stuff takes up so much room in the brain lol! tell me how you liked it! thank you so much for reading!! 💕

✨taglist✨: @megamindsecretlair @thadelightfulone @mag1calenchantr3ss @cocoeffects @wide-nose-and-wonderful @8ttached @thadelightfulone @hobiesmain @thickeeparker @longpause-awkwardsmile @ms-angiealsina @educatorsareslutstoo @mysterychick93@mcondance@sageispunk@kindofaintrovert@hunnishive@notapradagurl7@blowmymbackout@educatorsareslutstoo@blackerthings@miyuhpapayuh@westside-rot

(please let me know if you want to be added to the list! I'm sorry if i missed anyone i love you all so much lol! 💕✨💜)

[sordidmusings]

Buggy Headcanon: Comforting his partner on their appearance

A/N: headcanons requested by anon! Thank you for the request this one was really sweet. I hope it's what you wanted and I hope that you’ve been having better days ❤️

Word Count: ~800

Warnings: afab!reader (they/them pronouns), slight thirst for a bullet there but nothing explicit, gets very sappy but thats my shit so if you don't like it get ready to square up 😤

Get a dose of some love 🤍!!

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

Buggy is your biggest fan, just like you are his

He’s always letting you know how highly he thinks of you, whether that be with compliments (usually crude or goofy ones), clinging to you (you’ve heard of velcro dogs, let me introduce you to Gorilla glue Buggy), and touching you with either reverence or greed

Most often, he'll try to take your mind off of it by joking around and acting dramatic

He'll let out an offended gasp. "You're insulting my favorite person in the whole wide world?? TAKE IT BACK."

He'll collapse onto the nearest surface, throwing the back of his hand to his forehead like a true thespian, and bemoan, "My love - my sweet, wonderful, breathtaking love - is the greatest fool. Grab the hat and shoes; they're saying they're ugly again."

"Uh, yeah, but you know what that's perfect for??" *blows raspberry on it*

The reverent touches come in best to ease your difficult days - the way that he traces eyes and fingers across you with awe makes it hard to disbelieve his attraction. He’s learned from your brushes and kisses on his nose that the best balm for insecurities is unflinching affection. 

He loves you deeply and that extends to all of you. Everyone has their favorite pieces of each other of course, but the few parts that he had started out indifferent to (due to his distraction towards your highlighted features) had also gained a rosy sheen because they’re yours.

There was a particularly bad day you had where no sweet words or cuddling would break through your low mood. He had you tell him every one of your insecurities so he could caress each of them with loving hands and tender kisses. You felt much more content at the end; he had proven that not a feature on you would have him hesitate or flinch away. It was quite the opposite actually - he fell in love with you more with each emotional wound you trusted to his care, and he only saw you as more beautiful as you in your totality came into focus before his eyes.

The greedy part of him takes any chance to squeeze at you. A lot of the time it's playful - a passing slap to your ass, a pinch at your waist before he jumps away laughing, a palm at your breast enjoying the feel as he moves by. But there are times where it’s more insatiable - a hungry mouth pressed against breasts and stomach and hips and thighs, grasping fingers sinking into soft skin along with nipping teeth.

While he isn’t the most comfortable with sentimental words, he is actually really great with them. They always hold more weight to you, because he saves them for when you need to understand the truth of his feelings.

It’s not that he never says affectionate things - “There’s my showstopper!”, “So pretty”, “That’s perfect, sweetcheeks” and “Love you, little star” were very common in your life - but he avoided waxing poetic because it made him feel vulnerable.

This is partly due to the exposure he feels at stating such emotions after fiercely shielding anything that could be hurt behind steel plating, partly because this is you so any rebuff could break him (he worries about this not because he questions your devotion, but because he questions his worth), and partly because he fears that his words and feelings are stupid and inane, especially in the face of your own troubles

His own devotion has him push past those fears, because he would do anything to see you at peace or happy and smiling.

After a day of playing, teasing, working, and loving with each other, you still found yourself bending under the weight of the negative voice in your thoughts. Buggy had noticed the sorrow dragging down your features and felt his own heart ache.

The transition to bed was slower than usual to make time for him to keep distracting you with gentle touches, delicate kisses, and helping hands easing your tasks.

You found yourself bundled in your favorite sleepwear and cradled against his chest. You had choked up a bit when he knew to choose these clothes for you and helped you change into them. Buggy may come off as only brash and chaotic a lot of the time, but he diligently saved away any information he could about you, using it to love you better.

When the comforting pressure of his arms, the soft swipes of his hands on your skin, and the lulling warmth of his body underneath you had replaced any harsh thoughts, you began slipping into a peaceful slumber.

Buggy noticed you moving on to dreams so he gifted you one last promise to take with you.

“I would take my chances with the depths of the sea to fall at your feet and worship every piece of you.”

@fanaticsnail tagging as requested ( ´ ∀ `)ノ～ ♡

[pervcoded]

cunt. starring baji, chifuyu

content warning: Aye this shit is evil. FTM misgendering- reader ‘passes’ but Baji is very diminutive of/disrespectful of his identity in this. Chifuyu is his accomplice. They are not good in this lol. Rape rationalizations, Dacryphilia (Chifuyu). Sadism (Baji). Hard non/con, reader uses he/him pronouns but Baji will refer to him as a female. degradation/humilation. Implied bajitora. Lots of cursing (fucks and shit, mostly). Wishing for death (brief ment).

Reader is referred to as: Man, Slut, Whore, Girl. Bitch. Boy.

Readers genitals referred to as: cunt/pussy, boypussy (1), clit/clitty. (small adjective) penis. Dick. Cock.

“What a fucking cunt.” Yeah. You could say the same thing. 

He pinches your clit cause you got too much attitude on your face. Brows too furrowed, lip too thick. Makes you look like a man. “I am a grown fucking man!” Yeah, you say that, but this pussy ‘tween your legs got Baji thinking a little different. 

It’s juicy and fat. Clit a mimicry of the soft thing dangling between his legs. It looks cute in the light when your legs are open long enough.

Flicks your little clitty and you squirm and writhe and he has to hold you down by your neck cause you won’t stop fighting him. That’s okay, though. He hasn’t gotten any in a while, can’t promise he won’t cum quick. 

“You wanna run around with gangs with this shit between your legs? Look! Pussy so fat it fucking dangles, y’all.” He announces to the crowd of one, your scowl deepening even as the heat seeks to melt your facade. He grips your calf and lifts your leg too wide, your thigh tensing and jerking painfully.

“Pussy like that… just begging to get fucked.” You mourn the loss of your dignity, your hands leaving the iron cable at your throat and darting to your shirt, fingers plucking at the dangling end to drag it over your delicates.  Baji doesn’t have enough hands to stop you, but he doesn’t seem to care, looking towards his blonde friend.

“Ever seen boypussy, ‘Fuyu?” Chifuyu still hasn’t entirely grasped what’s happening.

You’re from somewhere else. Different gang, probably. But you’re dressed down right now, sweatpants and hanes shirt and jacket, windbreaker. Baji mentioned a favor he had to cash in on. There was an apartment, polite old lady in the lobby, slow elevator. Hallways with The Shining carpet, this potent bad feeling,

Now you, bent in half on your own bed. Granted Baji’s doing most of the work, but it makes Chifuyu uncomfortable watching you contort that way. You’re all lines and edge and box and square. You got a little plush though; nice thighs, cute ass, tummy …

He’s gotten ahead of himself.

“Ah—No, Baji-san.” He comes closer at the curl of Baji’s finger. “Well get the fuck over here, then. Hold hi— ” Baji’s lip raises like he’s all boxer and bully, like he’s got another fucking stupid idea,

“Come hold her still, dumbass.” You buck at the accusation, suddenly so lively you actually clip his hip. Dumb bitch. His hand leaves from ‘round your neck and you take a deep breath, palms darting to cradle a crushed larynx. 

He jams a finger up your pussy and you scream. 

Maybe this shit is The Shining and you’re Missus Duval, because Johnny is here.

Fuyu is trying to kick off his shoes. How polite of him, you don’t think, as he clambers on the bed -  grabbing your hands and forcing them back into fluff and blankets. Looks nervous; but not as much as you are. You’re trembling, trying so fucking hard not to cry, and it makes Baji hard like fuck all else. He doesn’t afford himself a moment to contemplate the nuances of who you are—or to him, what.  Finger’s going in and out, but it’s not like you make it easy. It’s like fingering a crack in concrete.

Any hole’s a goal, and hole-y fortune smiles upon him now, he thinks. He’s hit the fucking jackpot.

And you’re not ugly or anything. Just too boy. If you were in Toman he thinks he’d put in a special uniform request with Mitsuya. Any whore shouldn’t wear a skirt past ‘er thigh - easy access is important. 

But you’d probably look like you’re playing dress-up. He’s got a slimmer wasteline than you, and he’s a man.

You’d make a really ugly girl. Need a bag over to head to fuck you— maybe shave off the happy trail, get your skin all nice, smooth. “Um, Baji?” Baji starts going for his belt. “Yeah? Fuck you want? Wanna use ‘er mouth? Go on, I don’t give a fuck,”  Chifuyu blushes piggy-pink, then says, “Nah, It’s not that boss… Ah, you sure ‘Tora won’t get mad at you?” Baji sucks his teeth at the mention of that cock hungry twink. “Who givesa fuck? If rabbit wants the carrot, he shouldn’t be surprised he gotta share it.” Kinda likes when that slut gets a little loose anyway, Baji can throw his weight around, bust his lip and Tora’ll love it. Probably ask him to do it again. Lick the blood off his knuckles and then give him head, get him used to the smell of your cunt on his balls.

Baji’s tugging on his belt like some dickless virgin, can’t slide the leather out of place fast enough— 

You’re still kicking, even if he’s got your leg tucked under his arm. Still think you got a chance, but you’re wasting all your damn breath on struggling, you don’t notice he’s got his cock out until he’s raising your hips to his height.

“F-fuck off!” The dog makes a face, showing you his top teeth all like “F-Fuck off!”, mocking you and shit. You’re not sorry you got caught selling on his block, but he’s making you a lot sorry he didn’t bash your brains in when he found you. You’d prefer the bloody nose, broken ribs, black eyes, punctured lung.

Anything but this, man, fuck— 

“Dude.” “Dude.” “Listen to me! Fuck—stop! I’m, I’m sorry alright? Just d..don’t— ” Whine whine whine whine whine. Yap yap yap. Blubber lips; so scared shitless you can’t even keep your drool in your maw. He spits into your babbling mouth, and you choke on it. Baji gets a good grip on your cheek and shoves your face down into the bed, lines himself up. “Shut up bitch. Just take it.”

Pushes the tip in just a little. Just get a feel for it. “Oh fuuuuuuuuuuuck. Oh fuck yes. Damn bitch, you’re ti-ight, ah,” he moans, nails in your hips to keep you still.  You buck like a filly with no home training, and he’s fixing to break you in, bareback.

It doesn’t feel good dry. He’s too big, the fucking bulldog, and you’re not high enough or drunk enough or fucked up enough to get your pussy wet. Or maybe your pipes are broken. That shit you take to make your jaw cut like that, flatten out your hips— that’d do the trick. Might not be an all bad thing though, he could probably cum in you as much as he wants.

“Sure you don’t want her mouth—fuck—‘Fuyu?” He pushes in a few more inches with a little wiggle of his hips. It burns. “Tight, whore’s tight.” Swallows, “I’m gonna break you in half if you don’t loosen up, bitch, c’mon,” Your back arches and your hands thrash in Chifuyu’s grip and you’re barking and fighting, and Chifuyu’s got this look on his face. Like he doesn’t know if he wants Yakisoba or Top Ramen. Baji doesn’t know what the fuck there is to think about. He’s muttering shit to himself, spine firepole straight and cheeks blushed beetroot red. “I don’t know Baji, I don’t think I can just… y’know?” You interrupt with a groan. He looks down at your heated face, tears skimming your cheeks. He doesn’t like how it turns him on.

Chifuyu shrinks away from that feeling physically, grip loosening a little on your wrists, and you take the opportunity to pull. Fuyu near hops out of his skin to keep you in place as your struggle revives itself.

“Nooo no no, fuuuck that! I’ll bite your dick off, I’ll fucking—ugh!”  The dark hared demon maintains the pressure on your hips. “What you’re gonna do, is back up on my dick. Quick and easy, slut. C’mon.” 

Baji wants you down to his balls. He’s only half-in and you hate it. Loathe it. Despise it. He’s humping with puppy precision and has wandering hands, grabs up on your ass, tits—lack thereof, only settling at the back of your knees to tug you forward. He brings his head up to meet his friend’s ambivalence, talking as if you’re not even there. “Fine. Fuck the slut or don’t ‘Fuyu, don’t matter to me. Better I get some than you, anyway.”

God you hate this guy's fucking guts. He better paralyze you after this shit, cause as long as you’re breathing, he’s destined to become dust, you will crush him and kill him and fuck him,

Fuck him,

ah. Your chest feels tight. All the scared that was chased off by your fight and flight surges back into you all at once, potent and suffocating. “S..stop! Please, just stop..” You sob, and Baji levels an unimpressed expression at you. “What happened to all that fight you cunt?” He taunts, jostling you. “You giving up on me now?” You respond with tears. Baji seems unmoved. Chifuyu’s heart aches bittersweetly, and his hard cock throbs in anticipation, watching the water delicately arc down the sides of your face, over your cheeks.

Chifuyu doesn’t hold you any more cause you just wanna hold yourself now. Hold yourself and cry, cry, cry. It’s freaking him out a little, watching a man be pushed to such distress, though of course he’s having more… conflicted feelings about it. If you get any louder, someone might catch you. With your pants down. Bent over. Cock five inches dick in your pussy. Imagine if your whole building knew you had one. You don’t know what they’d think - couldn’t fathom it, probably, and who knows; they might want a piece too!

Look at how much you hate this right now. You couldn’t handle the embarrassment. He won’t do that to you - won’t let that happen. You’ve already done enough, now it’s his turn. His hands move to the front of his jeans. “Ah, Baji… slow down.” The sound of pants unbuckling follows, denim sliding down thighs. A slow, incredulous laugh. “That’s what I’m talking about! Hold on Chifuyu… C’mon bitch. Move.”

Baji’s gets you into a better position, buddy ‘Fuyu lifting your chin and looking at the lost life from your face. Expression dazed? Stony even? Irrelevant, ‘cuz it scrunches up funny when he puts his tip in your mouth. 

You groan in what sounds like pain as he slides into your throat, but it’s gotten much harder to hear you now. You’ve gone gentle, twitching and hiccuping and crying, but no kicking, no punching. Baji’s a little sad to see the grit go.

You’re still so tight - and it’s starting to hurt instead of feel good. He grits his teeth, reaches his thumb swipes daftly at your little soldier. God, he’s never seen anything like it. Your hood is huge! Your little clit really does look like pinky-sized penis. Kinda glorious, in a way- it wobbles and twitches when he pokes it and it makes you writhe- if you weren’t an in incompetent slut you might’ve been able to get some place with that kind of ambition. He strokes you slow, and Chifuyu starts pumping in and out of your mouth.

Drags his dick along your tongue and it feels like sandpaper. Your jaw opens up a little more for him, and inch by inch you take it, til his balls are resting against your nose bridge all nice like.

“Oh look at that, girlie’s getting wet…” Baji rubs your slick over his finger, pinkish pomade stretching a slim film over the tip of it. “Maybe that dick is doing something for her, Chifuyu. C’mon, don’t be afraid to fuck the slut now,” Baji slurs, getting comfortable with Chifuyu’s rhythm.

In and out. In, and out.

It’s agony. They seesaw with the coordination of blind mice, Chifuyu resting his cock in the snugness of your throat, not as eager to move as Baji - who’s doubled his ministrations on your dick, trying to get you to open up more for him. Antagonism and hatred bubbles to the surface mostly, but your cock has started feeling a little more sensitive since Dickhead’s learned to stroke it properly. Stuck his fingers in his mouth for lube and is using his whole wrist to work you, two fingers diligently stroking either side of your dick. You groan and Chifuyu feels it, full body tremble as he grabs for your chin, determined to stay in your throat. “Keep- keep doing that, feels nice… ah,” The last thing you give a shit is making sure he’s having a good time, but it’s not like you can help it.

“Yeah… That’s it. Open up for me, bitch. Gonna fuck your cervix - make you suck my dick clean after you make me cum. You’d love that, wouldn’t you, bitch?”

You hope you choke on it.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀TOKREV/BANNER ART by @/KenWakui

all content written by me @ciematis, is owned by me, and you are not allowed to repost or translate my works. don't put my shit into ai generators, don't steal my shit and put it on wattpad. thank you.

[lousirs]

If you could add scenes or change certain designs to the uglydolls movie what would they be ? (Idk alternate institute design or random filler scenes)

For exemple i wish they insisted more onto the « doll school/training » thing.

Or another exemple, i had this idea where instead of Ox finding out bout Moxy and mandy being in danger with the printer thingy, he would’ve (seeing moxy’s missing) suspected Lou done something/has hurt Moxy and while running in the Pipe to the institute, he hears Moxy and mandy screaming for help (would’ve added a lot if you think bout it)

Gotta save this 65mill$ budget 💪💪🤩🤩

good question and wonderful ideas! i very much agree with the ox finding moxy/mandy scene. he should've been worried that he hadn't seen moxy in a while. sure, she was upset, but she is never so quiet... so he goes to check up on her, only to find an empty room, and panic arises. he tells the other uglydolls, and they go around town calling her name. and then ox reaches the sunflower pipe. realisation sinks in: "lou must've gotten her". and so the uglydolls help each other to get up the pipe, and through the darkness there is a faint red glow and screams for help.... dramatic... but maybe a bit too dark for a kids film, who knows xDDD

anywho, i have a lot of things i would change about the movie tbh, but to name a few: (buckle up everyone cause i got a lot to say)

first and foremost GIVE THE UGLYDOLLS (besides moxy and ox) A PURPOSE. babo, wage, luckybat and uglydog are the main characters technically, and yet they serve no purpose. if you removed them, and only had moxy find the institute, nothing would've changed. my fix? allow them to do what they are good at to win over the prettydolls.

from what is shown, i'm guesisng moxy is a reporter, luckybat is a fortune teller (or something like that), wage is a cook, babo is a builder and uglydog is a DJ. so! have luckybat tell the prettydolls fortunes (reading their palms or something idk), have wage cook them a nice meal, have babo build a cool contraption for them and uglydog host a dance party. and all the while, moxy is writing about the institute, life there, how lou is a big ol' meanie head, etc. this would've fixed so much, because in the film, the prettydolls turned on lou so quickly, so GIVE THEM MORE OF A REASON TO besides "ew prototype" and "he kicked a baby!!!". make the prettydolls warm up to the uglydolls, not due to their appearance, but due to who they are inside and what they enjoy doing. make them think that lou is wrong for being so cruel to them.

speaking of this, moxy writing down everything about the institute (perhaps to put into the uglyville newspaper) could be a point of tension! lou doesn't want his reputation to be smeared, so there could be a scene (i'd say after the training montage where lou is further trying to dissuade moxy) where lou tears up all the pages of her notepad, leaving her feeling devastated, but still determined to carry on despite the odds.

the only other point i have about the uglydolls is their designs. i would've loved to see them more like their original counterparts, cause they feel a bit too cutesy to be truly 'ugly' or whatever in the film. especially the stitches around the eyes, they should've kept that!! more of a handcrafted ragdoll look, i suppose!

for the institute... i feel like this is a hot take, but i like how empty it is. kind of shows how empty and artificial trying to be 'perfect' is. the repetitiveness of the institute also works to show that as well... buuut they could've taken it further. perhaps they could've gone for the more city-like area like they did in concept arts, but have it a lot more organised (too organised), so everything feels disorientating. for instance, the dolls houses are all clunked into a square area, same with the training course, etc.

this concept art, although looking sterile, still feels quite open and lively, like that of a big city. so they could make it feel more suffocating? who knows.

(i get that uglyville is quite clustered and tightly packed too, but that feels more like a comfortable closeness)(so the institute could be an uncomfortable closeness)

one scene they could've added for the prettydolls is the spy girls being hesitant to throw moxy and mandy in recycling. their expressions as moxy is going down the pipe shows fear and regret, and yet this brief, and they go back to being fine afterwards??? i get lou not giving a shit, but c'mon girls, you just helped kill two dolls! kidnapping isn't good either, but recycling innocent dolls is on a whole other level.

even if it was just a small piece of dialogue between the girls and lou, it would've worked... like:

"surely you aren't going to actually recycle them? that's way too far lou!"

or

"we didn't agree to this lou! you just told us to take them to you!"

and lou shuts them up and says how they'll be perfect yada yada idk. and that could be a breaking point for the girls, where they begin to distrust lou, because bro's a maniac.

i've mentioned this in a previous post, but i believe that the novel's version of lou and ox's backstory makes a lot more sense, in how lou stepped on the line ox was passing to make it seem like he failed the gauntlet, and the robots dragging ox to recycling. instead of ox making other dolls fail, and lou being like "imma show you recycling now. cya bub"

similarly, mandy getting the audience to coax lou into running the gauntlet makes more sense than him running the gauntlet on his own accord, fully knowing that he would be exposed. yay, peer pressure!

nit-pick here, but i wish they made nolan more 'imperfect' design-wise. although yeah, his hair and eyes are different colours and his uniform is too small, he has no socks and lost a button and has freckles, it all seems too... polished? like, his freckles are just around the cheeks, and although yeah, people can have exactly that irl, i would've loved if they went harder on it. same with his hair, the green parts are in a neat clump, that still matches the hair model of the doll. so fuck it! have him have messy hair with green strands randomly placed on his head, make his freckles heavier, so they cover his arms and legs etc too, make his uniform have hanging out threads and missing parts, etc etc! alsooo further push him having a long neck, small head, being tall, whatever. cause it's barely noticeable... (which i guess works cause lou picks up on the smallest of things but stillll i want a more 'imperfect' nolan xD)

that's all i can think of for now, and the post is long enough as it is sooo yeah xP

[sehtoast]

In the quiet moments before bed, Homelander and Ben share their hopes and dreams for the future, finding solace in the knowledge that they'll face whatever comes together.

Either a small fic or a HC format if this is something you are interested to write about.🙏

I just wanna see more cute moments with one of my fav couples. 🥹

asdfghjkl thank you for this ❤️😭 on this episode of domestic benlander bliss...

"Well, we can’t just move to the cabin.  What would you swing from?”

These were the moments that make everything so special.  The soft times, the after, when the world was quiet and it was just them.  No obligations, no wailing sirens (yet), and no assistants pestering them about their next daily task.

“I could attach a web to you.” Ben says.  “Have you fly around a bit.  Course you’d be doing all the work, but…” 

The bug lays on his side, palm supporting his head as he stares down at Homelander.  A faint glow from the TV illuminates them both, long forgotten as they’d wandered into their favorite bedtime subject.

The future.

“Nope.  No free rides.  Well, except on my–”  Homelander raises his brows suggestively.  

“Oh my god,”  Ben groans through a laugh.  “Later.”

A brief pause.

“Some nice houses in Queens, and I could still swing around.” He says.  “Christ, never thought I’d be able to afford something like that, let alone entertain the thought, y’know?”

“Oh please, it’s just a house.” Homelander says as though it really wasn’t that big of a deal.  “How much could it be, like two hundred thousand?”

“Uh… times four and then some.”  Ben replies, reaching for his phone.  He taps away, pulling up a real estate website and snuggles in to make it easier for both to view the screen.  “Man, check these out.”

Homelander scoffs at the most plain looking house he’s ever seen.  “Boring.” He says, swiping his finger along the screen to scroll through.  “Ugly– no way– not happening.  This one doesn’t even have a fence!”

“Oh the horror,” Ben teases.  “Life’s more than a white picket fence, y’know.  Besides, I prefer a nice stained wood approach myself.” 

“Of course you do.”  Homelander scoffs.  “Eeew, this one has a pink toilet!  God, look at the tile color–”

“There’s a reason some of these don’t show the interior.  Did you see the green kitchen cabinets earlier?”

“Yuck,” John groans.  “I don’t know about Queens, babe.  They seem like psychopaths.”

“Blame the seventies.”  Ben says, scrolling to the next one. “Oh my god is that fucking–”

“Leopard print wallpaper! What the fuck is wrong with people...” John chortles.  “Oh, hey, this one’s nice.”

“What would we do with four thousand square feet?”  Ben asks, head tilted back to catch whatever expression his love must be wearing.  “I mean, we’d have Ryan running around too.  Could make him a dedicated Lego room– ooh, and a little studio for his home movies.”

“Now you’re talkin’.”  John says. “Wait, wait.  Yellow walls– no way, babe.”

“We could always just paint– holy shit, is that stained glass in the foyer?”  Ben’s brows raise.  "But yeah... We could paint it. We could make it anything we want, y'know?"

Homelander’s arm wraps tighter around Ben’s shoulder, drawing him closer.  One day they’ll settle somewhere that’s wholly their own.  No hustle and bustle of the tower.  No PA’s to terrorize them. No more circus acts.

Just them, Ryan, and a slice of peace that was all theirs.

One day.

For now, though, they can dream.

[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon - Purring Bonus Scene - Part 2

Jaskier grew used to hearing Geralt purr. He purred when they were sitting by the campfire after a good meal. He purred when he had a quiet moment to sit in the sun. He purred when Jaskier was able to convince him to let him rub his back. He purred when he was able to soak in a hot bath after a hunt. And he purred as he lay in bed or on his bedroll, listening to Jaskier quietly work on one of his songs.

He purred when he was happy, so it confused Jaskier when the bard heard him make a sudden, short purr while they were in a crowded market. There were people everywhere, talking, laughing, haggling, and singing. Jaskier was loving all the activity and bustle. There was so much to see, and so many people to talk to.

Geralt started to get uncomfortable. There were too many f***ing people. They were too f***ing close. There was too much f***ing noise. There was just too much going on. He wanted to leave. Now. But they also needed supplies.

A man jostled him by accident, bumped by another market goer, and Geralt made a noise...

Jaskier looked at Geralt when he heard him purr suddenly. The Witcher was glaring at a man who was very quickly stammering appologies and trying to disappear into the crowd.

What the h*ll...?

That purr hadn't sounded like his regular purr. It was deep and rolling. And if Jaskier hadn't had such a good ear for sounds, he would have thought Geralt was growling or 'Hmm' ing threateningly.

Geralt had growled at people before. It was very useful as a warning to stay away, to scare most common folk away, and to express annoyance.

Jaskier had been on the receiving end of a growl several times when his chatter got on Geralt's nerves.

Geralt had been growling at people all morning. They had been bumped and jostled several times already, and Jaskier figured that Geralt was starting to reach the end of his patience.

But that purr concerned him.

He noticed the way Geralt shifted restlessly, pupils dilating slightly as he met his eye, throat working to hold back another purr. Something was wrong. Geralt never purred in public.

Jaskier switched to using Handspeak. He held one hand out, palm up, and shook it horizontally, then curled his fingers into a fist, leaving his thumb and pinky extended, then tapped the sign against his chin.

(What's wrong?)

(I want to leave.) *weird purr with visible effort to cut it off*

(Trouble?)

Geralt's movements were stiff, (No, I just...) *more weird purring* (Let's just go-!)

A man stumbled and bumped into him just then, and Jaskier saw Geralt barely keep himself under control. Geralt ugly growled but managed to keep his arms at his sides when he really wanted to shove the man across the square.

"My apologies, Master Witcher!" The man stammered, clutching his cap and backing away as Geralt gave him a severe scowl. Other people were now giving them wide berth and eyeballing them nervously.

Geralt huffed and twitched his head, signalling for the man to go. The man backed away, bobbing his head in a storm of frantic apologetic bowing that made him look like a nervous pigeon.

Jaskier lightly touched Geralt's arm, feeling him bristle, then relax. He was now looking at every movement, turning at every sound, constantly scenting the air. It clicked: Geralt was overstimmulated. It was time to go.

(Let's go back to the inn.)

*suppressed weird purr and a curt nod*

They had hurried back to the inn, Jaskier leading Geralt through the less crowded parts of the market. Geralt had gone up to their room, closed the curtains and curled up on the bed. He pulled the blanket over himself, then started purring. Geralt closed his eyes and focused on the rythmic sound of it, of the steady vibration, and let it slowly chase away the tightness in his chest.

The sound of Geralt's purring was kind of relaxing. Jaskier found it interesting that this Distressed Purr sounded different than Geralt's Happy Purr. It gave his brain an odd sensation. If he closed his eyes, the sound almost made him feel like he was rocking or swaying.

He realized that this deep, rolling purr was Geralt's way of self-soothing. He wondered if it was the equivalent of an extremely distressed human rocking themselves. The thought bothered him. How many times had Geralt done this in his years on the Path alone? How many times had laid in his bedroll, or in a bed at an inn, alone and Distress purring?

Jaskier sat on the edge of the bed, then hesitantly started rubbing Geralt's shoulder. When Geralt didn't pull away or growl at him, he slowly laid down and cuddled up against his back.

Jaskier heard the purr get a little quieter after a few minutes.

After about an hour Geralt's purr dropped off and he got up to putter around the room. He was looking a little bit better. Less like he was five seconds away from biting someone.

Jaskier let him stay in the room while he returned to the market for the rest of their supplies. Niether one of them ever mentioned the incident.

From then on, Jaskier did his best to keep an eye on Geralt when they went anywhere with crowds. He was good at reading people, and he started paying more attention to Geralt's subtle signs of discomfort. When he noticed the Witcher start getting restless, Jaskier would do whatever he needed to do to give his friend some breathing room.

Or just flat out help him get the f**k out of where ever they were so Geralt could find a quiet place to Distress purr until he felt better. Eventually, Jaskier became very good at helping Geralt completely avoid those situations without him even realizing what was happening.

And Geralt didn't just purr like that when he was overstimmulated. Jaskier heard him purr like that several times when the people of a town had been less than friendly towards him. Oh, he tried to pretend that it didn't bother him, but his purr said otherwise.

Jaskier usually gave him his space, and busied himself on the other side of camp, pretending he couldn't hear him. If Geralt started looking too gloomy, the bard would casually wander over and hand him a mug of tea. Jaskier would then wordlessly drape a blanket around Geralt's shoulders.

He reasoned that since Witchers had several cat-like qualities, that surely they would like to be warm like cats did. He would then sit close beside Geralt, because cats liked to cuddle. It worked most of the time. Geralt would get all warm from the tea, and he would relax. His purr would change from Distressed to Happy as he would start to doze off, leaning on Jaskier...

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Imagine Dame and his gf have been together for a year and a few months. somewhere along the line, gf opens up to Dame about her past relationships and eventually tells him her traumatic experiences with an abusive ex. Dame is angry, but he really just tries his best to make sure gf is ok and comfortable with him.

fast forward a few weeks later, gf is out and about shopping, and coincidentally runs into the abusive ex. he tries to butter her up a bit and start conversation, but gf isn’t having it. she tries to walk away from him, but he grabs her wrist and aggressively tries to talk some “sense” into her. by the time someone intervenes, there’s a dark purple bruise left on her skin.

when she gets home, she’s a little shaken up but refuses to tell Dame what happened. Dame being Dame and having his strong instincts, he reaches out to grab her, but she immediately snatches her injured wrist away. Dame gently gets ahold of her arm and pulls her sleeve up, revealing the injury.

“baby…..who the fuck did this?”

She’s looking everywhere but at him. She even has fear in her eyes. It has Damion beyond worried and his anger is creeping up on him like a monster from the shadows. She’s spooked about something. Whatever it is has to do with that ugly bruise on her wrist like someone had squeezed to the point of snapping.

“Baby,” Damion squared his shoulders and his eyes became furious, “who did this to you? Talk to me?”

She wrenched her arm away from him and covered her eyes. Her body crumbled from her crying and Damion felt as if he’d been stabbed in the heart. Hearing her cry and seeing her like this was a fear of his. Not his baby girl. He was seeing red. Damion wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. He didn’t push, he waited for her to be ready. She cried for a while until she was a quivering mess and the front of his shirt was soaked with her tears. She finally sat up and Damion wiped her face.

“Talk to me, please,” Damion pushed down the shakiness in his voice, “who hurt you?”

She sniffled, “I should have told you a long time ago. But I wanted to leave the past in the past.”

Her face scrunched up and she pressed the palms of her hands into her eyes. Damion caressed her left knee with his thumb.

She exhaled as best as she could. Damion noticed that her fists were clenched so tightly. Looked like a defense mechanism. He frowned.

“…my ex used to abuse me…”

She sobbed again and Damion allowed her to speak. But the way he was feeling at the moment…he was bubbling over with rage. The instinct to protect and defend her kicked in. Her ex put his hands on her? And from the looks of it he did it again?! Damion couldn’t sit still any longer.

“…it took me years to heal from that. I’d finally gotten away from him and moved on with my life. I met you, I felt like I could finally just…just enjoy love and not be worried that the same thing would happen to me again.”

She continued to cry and it was becoming difficult for her to speak.

“I saw him—I saw him today,” She wiped her nose, “He tried to talk to me and I didn’t want to hear it. Why should I even listen to what he has to say?! He didn’t change! He—he grabbed me so tight,” She re-enacted the grip he had on her and she broke down in front of Damion, “HE GRABBED ME! HE GRABBED ME!”

Damion squeezed her tightly and his own tears began to fall. They rolled down his cheek slowly and he felt so defeated. If he would have gone with her, none of this would have happened. He can never let this happen again. Over his dead body.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Damion said with the most deranged look on his face, “I’m gonna kill him.”

She didn’t object. She knew what he would say when she told him. While her body shook from crying, Damion would rub her back while thinking up different ways to find this guy. He wanted to force his hands down on a table and take a hammer to fingers, breaking each and everyone past the point of repair. He wanted to beat his face in with his fist so bad that his family wouldn’t even recognize him. So many things.

“I love you, and I blame myself for letting this happen to you,” Damion stroked her hair, “What’s his name?”

She closed her puffy eyes for a brief moment before opening them again.

“Chris Walker.”

I need to know how he looks. I’ll find him. And when I do, I plan to pay Chris Walker a visit.”

[sugarpsalms]

WIP Wednesday Thursday once again sksksk. Now that Quarter, oh Quarter! and 'Til All These Things be Done, My Dear are finished and up, I'm mostly working on finishing off two drafts of fics for friends. Howmstever, I'm also still chipping away at that mishuggy fic, Tend to the Flame, I've been occasionally talking about. So, since the other two are gifts (and I don't want to risk sharing any part of them since the giftees follow me 🤫), have a snippet of that!

—

He thought about the word wraith again as they passed through town—Shanks and Buggy ahead of him, hip to hip. The bustling streets weren't roomy enough for all of them to walk abreast, so Mihawk fell back, watching them from behind.

They cut a handsome figure, under the moon and occasional streetlamp, and the town was alive around them, the night market in swing. They could've been locals for how at ease they looked, content in one another’s company as only old lovers can be. 

They looked back at him often, gracing him with attention. He still felt like a ghost.

It threatened to make him morose—more morose, his mind supplied unhelpfully. He was keenly aware of his mood and fought to get out from under it. If he was a ghost, he told himself, then he had been all along; and his lovers, who surely knew this, had never minded. Perhaps, Mihawk reasoned, it was even what they liked about him. There were stranger things, certainly, to want in a man.

Feeling a bit better, or at least determined not to feel worse, he focused on the market as they made their way back to the harbor. 

The smells of coffee, pastries, and freshly ground spices competed with puffs of perfume that vendors spritzed as people walked by. Groups huddled around tables of jewelry, whole fine cloth, clothing, and hats, haggling for whatever caught their eye. Musicians, dancers, and troupes of performers weaved through stalls, vying for attention and crooning for coins. A number of the more lively ones drew Buggy in, and the clown stopped often to ogle at their costumes, props, and face paint.

Shanks, ever indulgent, didn't rush him. Mihawk didn’t either. He enjoyed watching Buggy air his charms out on strangers. He liked how women blushed when Buggy admired their lipstick, how men squared their shoulders when Buggy palmed the embroidery across their chests, how Buggy himself seemed unaware of his own allure; that, or uncaring about who he caught in its net.

“At this rate,” Shanks said aside to Mihawk, who was idling with him by a shuttered shop, “we may get to bed by morning. I hope you weren’t in a hurry.”

Mihawk hummed, unconcerned, as Buggy laughed like a seagull at something a prop girl was saying. It was an ugly sound. Mihawk loved it all the same, and the girl looked like she’d drink it if Buggy deigned to spit it into her mouth.

[gardens-light]

The Basketball Game

Everything happens for a reason, right?...

Well... that's what you kept telling yourself anyway. Sometimes it was the only thought that kept you going. Kept you fighting each and every day.

New York City. A place where dreams came true and nothing but greatness happens. That was what you believed in. The fantasy which inspired you to just leave your old life behind. Abandon everything you knew, and move to the wondrous city of lights. But that was your downfall, the lights and hype of New York blinded you. Only to hit you hard without mercy...

The streets were a harsh and cruel place to live. Making ends meet seemed impossible, but you couldn't go back to your old life. You wouldn't go back to your old life! Return to that thankless, dead-end job? Surround yourself with people who called themselves 'friends?'

No! Hell no! You were here and you swore to make something of yourself! The daily struggles of the streets may been getting tougher than usual lately. And keeping your positivity alive may be getting harder. But you've called the streets of New York 'home' for over a year now. And tonight, was the night where everything changed...

Content: Mild coarse language. Reader meeting TMNT for the first time.

Alright! Almost there. Damn! I knew I shouldn't of taken time to help Jason organizing his crap.

Squeezing your body through the vents of Madison Square Gardens. The cheering and rhythm of the crowd could be heard below you, as you found an exit and climbed onto a hidden runway. The atmosphere was buzzing with anticipation, you could feel it- even all the way up here!

"Whooo! Yeah guys! We made it just in time!"

An unfamiliar voice echoed, as you approached the safety hatch which lead to the Jumbotron. You paused for a moment, mainly to catch your breath but also being cautious to whomever found your hiding spot.

An airhorn drowned out the crowd, and more cheering voices came from the hatch.

"Alright! When I say 'go!', you say 'Nicks!'"

"Go!"

"Nicks!"

"Go!"

"Nicks!"

"Great..." your muttering voice grumbled. "Not only have I missed the start of the game, but there's some strangers in my spot." A heavy sigh left you, as you leaned over the metal railings of the hidden runway. Placing an elbow upon the railing, as you rested your chin in your palm.

"Shoot it! Shoot the ball!"

"Yeah! That's what I'm talking about!"

The sound of an airhorn signaled the first store of the night. And from the cheering of strangers below you, it was from the New York Nicks. As you went to turn away, the scent of fresh pizza filled your lungs. Causing your stomach to rumble and your mouth to water.

It's been ages since you've had anything decent to eat.

If there's people hiding in the Jumbotron. Then... really they're not 'supposed to be' here.... A smile formed upon your lips. No harm, no foul I guess. Plus, there's pizza. How could I say 'no' to that?...

Slowly and carefully climbing over the railings, and shuffling down the metal support beams, as you made your way through the safety hatch.

"Oh guys! Could it be any better than this?"

"Yeah bro! I wanna be down there!-"

"Sit your ugly self down there, you'll get people running for their lives."

A chuckle almost broke your concentration.

"Haha, na you see me? I look good bro-"

"Hey! Hey! We've got the best seats in the house! Anyone could sit down there!-"

"Whoa!"

Losing your footing, your grip slipped from a bar. Causing you to tumble down and land on a metal platform with a heavy thud. Pain trembled throughout your back, and your face winced from the hurt. You could feel multiple gazes lock onto you, the strangers holding their breaths.

"What the fuck?-"

"Where did she come from?-"

"That was quite a fall..."

Their panicky tones drowned out your grumbling and groaning voice. In the midst of their whispered shouts, you felt a large hand carefully cradle the small of your back. As one of the strangers helped you upright.

"Are you alright, Miss...?" their concerned voice hinted a small hidden fear within their tone.

"Ye-Yeah..." you muttered, "sorry to give... you... a... fright..."

Your voice trailed off into silence as you gazed up at the individual who held you. With wide eyes and shock flashing across your features, your whole body stiffened as your gaze fell upon blue eyes. Who equally gazed at you with a worrisome gaze, behind a blue mask.

Your eyes trailed from their gaze onto green, scaly skin which covered their features and down to the rest of their body. The straps across their chest draw your eyes to their plastron, as the rest of your senses awakened. You realized your whole body was in their strong arms.

"Now what Leo?"

You turned your head, only for your eyes to widen more, as your gaze fell onto three more strange green creatures. A scream begun to bubble in your chest and creep up your throat. The blue clad felt your muscles stiffen, as you pulled your limbs closer to your chest.

"Oh shit..." his voice mumbled.

"She's gonna scream!" a gritty voice grumbled from the largest, muscular one.

"She's gonna give us away!" the panicky tone slipped out of the slimmer build creature. Large round glasses magnified their worried gaze.

"We'll give you pizza!"

Just as your mouth opened, it was immedictly silenced as the orange clad held out a pizza box towards you. A almost complete cheesy pizza presented itself to you, while the missing slice remained in the orange clad's hand. The steam of freshed goodness filled your lungs, bringing you back to reality.

The mixture of scared, concern and hopeful expression across their faces, simply just gazed at you in silence. As you carefully took a lose slice from the box, and bringing it to your lips. Their heavy sighs of relief filled the air, as you melted into the warmth and delicious taste of the slice.

The blue clad terrapin carefully sat you down, allowing your legs to dangle off the ledge. A warm yet unsure smile came to his lips, as he introduced himself.

"I'm Leo... and these are my brothers Raph, Donnie, and Mickey."

"What...? What are you doing here?" although you found your voice. It couldn't hide it's shaky tone.

"Us? What are you doing here?" Raphael's grunty voice challenged. As though he was pointing out the obvious, of as to why they were hiding.

You bit your bottom lip as you hesitated before speaking. Slightly rubbing the back of your neck in discomfort, as you weakly smiled. "I-I... rather not say anything."

Before Raphael could pry for more of an detailed answer, Donatello quickly cut him off. "That's fair. Could we at least have your name?"

"Y/N..."

"Beautiful... And Y/N, we promise not to say anything- you didn't see us, and we didn't see you. Alright?"

You returned his warm smile, answering the purple terrapin with a speechless nod...

At half time, the lights dimmed down to release a small amount of darkness. As the screens of the Jumbotron lit up the stadium, as well as inside where you sat with the brothers.

"Ladies and gentlemen. One year ago, a shadow fell over our city."

You curiously watched the terrapin's get onto their feet as they looked around. Listening to the voice that echoed over the P.A system.

"New York was under siege by the notorious villain-Shredder. Along with his army of the Foot Clan. Shredder ruled our streets. Until one day, from out of the shadows, there shined a glimmer of hope. He was just a humble cameraman, but when danger struck the heart of our city, he single handedly battled the Shredder!"

You raised an eyebrow, taking a quick pause of eating the last couple of mouthfuls of your pizza slice. As the build up of speech continued.

"Locking the villian up behind bars! And now! Please turn your attention to the Sports Side, as we meet the man who earlier this week received The Key to the City. Please welcome! Fern the Falcon!"

From above you watched the 'hero of the city' leave his seat from the side of the court, waving to the cheering crowd. As he approached the female reporter, with mic in hand, she prepared her first set of questions.

"Fern. Tell the fans how a regular New Yorker like yourself. Who single-handedly hunt Shredder down, and bring him to justice."

He smiled, "well truth is, Jill. I actually had help from a couple of friends."

Michelangelo pulled an excited grin, as he tried to contain his bubbly attitude. "Oh no way! He's gonna give us a shout out! Wait for it!"

"Thunder and Lightning!"

The terrapin brothers sighed, as Fern showed off his small biceps and kissed them through the sleeves of his leather jacket. You looked up at Michelangelo, seeing the disappointment but also hurt flash across his green features.

"Am I missing something?" You asked, finishing your pizza and wiping the grease off onto your jeans.

Donatello looked up at his older brother in blue, as Raphael let out a grunty huff and crossing his arms.

"Believe it or not, Toots. But we saved the city."

You let out a chuckle, but your voice soon faded back into silence as Raphael shot you a dirty look. Leonardo rolled his eyes, placing his hand on his waist, while the others groaned. His blue gaze met yours, as you shuffled closer to him, when he finally sat beside you again. A small sigh left his mouth, after a slight hesitation before speaking.

"Let's just say... We know Fern quite well, and it wasn't 'just him' around when Shredder ran amuck. For 'reasons' us four, couldn't really take the credit for bringing Shredder down. Therefore Fern is simply sticking to the arrangement we had with him."

"Yeah well. This 'arrangement' has us living the rest of our lives in the 'nose bleeds.'"

Your heart could feel the stuttle hurt in Raphael's voice. You tried to give him your best smile, in an attempt to comfort him.

I know what it's like to sit on the sidelines...

Although he saw your smile, Raphael quickly turned his attention away from you. And shifted onto his youngest brother, who took a mini straw out of Donatello's backpack. You watched curiously has he perched himself behind Michelangelo, watching over his brother's shoulder, as the orange clad lined up a shot.

Before you could ask what they were planning, a surprised expression came to your face as you witnessed the terrapin, land a spitball on Fern's cheek. You placed a hand over your mouth, attempting to hide your smile from Michelangelo, as he passed the straw onto Raphael.

Fern quickly lost himself and begun to look around, as the spitball landed on his cheek. Pure confusion expressed on his features, knocking the cocky attitude off his face. You tried to keep your chuckles down, as the brother's cheered Michelangelo's shot.

As Fern tried to compose himself, and continue with his 'heroic' speech. Raphael placed the straw to his lips, preparing his silva for a good shot. The terrapin's cheers only got louder as the red clad's spitball marked Fern's face. Laughter bubbled to the surface of your chest, and giggles escaped your mouth. As the brother's danced around you, flapping their arms and mimicking bird-like noises. As Fern quickly shuffled back to his seat on the side of the basketball court, the spitball's still on his face.

At the sound of the airhorn, the basketball game was resumed. Losing yourself to the enjoyment of the game, your voice joined in with the brother's as they chanted the word, 'defence.' Looking up at Michelangelo, whom was enjoying the second last slice of pizza. Your eyes widened, as he held the box out in the open, it slowly begun to tilt at an angle that the last slice begun to slid down.

Holding your breath, you tried to reach out for the box to balance it.

"Mickey!-"

"Y/N! Watch out!"

But it was too late. Michelangelo's face exclaimed in silent horror as his eyes watched the last slice fall out of the box, and down onto the court below. Leonardo quickly grabbed your hips and pulled you into his chest, saving you from following the pizza's fall. The terrapin pulled you closer to him, your chest pressing against his plastron as you sat in his lap. The others hid in the corners of the metal landing inside the Jumbotron, as you heard one of the players from the Nicks team slip up on the pizza slice.

"Damn it, Mickey!"

"I'm sorry! I'm sure we can still come up here for the next game."

You looked up at Leonardo, his heavy sigh brushing against your cheek. His blue eyes looked down at your soft features, "I suppose we need to call it a night. Wanna lift home?"

You returned his warm smile. "Sure..."

Tag List

@veevoilet

@pheradream15

[heranubis]

LAST HOUSE IN THE BAYOU: Infernal Alex Keller mini-series ◇ chapter II. PURPLE LOOSESTRIFE ◇ img cred ◇

For the first in a very, very long time - you dream about the house again. You're small again and everything is hazy - your footsteps echo louder than they should when you walk down the hallway that seems to go on forever. You get the feeling you're being watched, but the eyes in the pictures along the walls only stare ahead. You swear one of them blinks - if only for a moment - but then all is still.

And then you hear the hooves. Soft thuds that're loud in their own right as they follow behind you - slow, thunderous, hunting. You are small and scared and whatever is behind you wants to hurt you; or so your mind screams. But louder than the voices screaming in your head is one you haven't heard since you were a child. The old woman. Her voice now is more... firm, angry.

"You shouldn't be here" she says, and you feel clawed hands resting on your shoulder. You are small ans scared and whatever is behind you is holding you. And you feel a long, thin tail as it wraps around your ankle. Demon is the only thing your mind can think - and you do what little you would have done. You cry.

There is nothing soft about these tears, they are loud and ugly and full of emotion. The clawed hand on your shoulder lets go, but leaves behind a warm sting. The old woman stands before you now, and her face is still blurry but you get the distinct impression she's smiling at you. "Welcome home, lil' one" she whispers fondly. And for a moment, just a single breath, the sting goes away.

- ◇ -

You sit up in bed, sweating and gasping and looking around with wild eyes. You know very well what that was. It was a warning. In the years of your family's abscence, something... dark has made it's den between these old wooden walls. Long since have you believed in spirits, especially those who still seem to haunt from childhood, but not once have you ever felt something so... malicious.

And for a moment, just a quick blink-of-the-eye, there's a figure standing in the doorway. The first thing you notice is how tall he is, and the second are his hooves. The tail that whips behind the figure almost angrily, how it curls and lashes and there's a sharp spade at the end. You can't see his eyes but you feel the anger he looks at you with. "You shouldn't be here" he says - your chest hurts, a deep burn that fades into a sting. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

The figure is gone - the doorway is empty and you can breathe again. You're somewhere between tears and terror, because you're nowhere near the old house. How far can this thing follow, how long will it torment to get its way. Just as everything seems to close in, you feel a familiar comfort settle over your shoulders. And a thought comes to you - the old bottle tree, how it seemed to laugh in joy when you first came back to the house.

An idea comes to you - one that soothes you enough to sleep again.

- ◇ -

The next morning, you have a bottle and twine clutched tightly in hand as you walk up the old pathway. It's a whiskey bottle - the only one that called out to you, the one that now feels right in your palm as you look up at the old, large tree. The limbs seem to bend down for you to reach, the breeze kissing your cheeks as you quickly tie half of the twine around the neck of the bottle and the other around the branch.

"I don't know your name" you say, almost hesitant. The bayou is silent as if every creature is lurking and waiting, outside observers to this unknown fate of yours. "I don't know who you are, but I put a bottle on the tree. For you." There's a brief sound, like something trampling down the stairs inside - something running to the door.

But you see nothing, the door doesn't open nor are there any shadows. There is only silence, and a foreboding feeling. You square your shoulders and put on a brave face, fists lightly cleanched as you walk up the stairs. "This is my home, my family's home - and I won't let you chase me out. I don't know what you are, or what you want. But if you want to hurt me, you can get the hell out."

And you'd swear to anyone who'll listen - that something curled around your leg and a voice hisses in your ear. "No" it says. "You shouldn't be here. And now you're mine."

- ◇ -

You continue working on the house as planned - dusting old furniture and deep cleaning the windows to let in more sunlight. You ignore the feeling of being watched, blindly shake your leg when you feel his tail try to curl around it. That's the most he touches, but he watches constantly.

There's been no need of a name for him, nor does he offer one up - perhaps it's better that way. There's power in a name, control over the soul - or what remains of one. So you call him demon, and he calls you 'mine'. His favorite way to bother you is clicking his hooves against the ground, though one sounds distinctly more metallic than the other. You never look at him long enough to figure out why.

He follows you to the motel, some nights. Stands at the end of your bed while you sleep, simply watches you. And other nights, he stands in the old wooden doorway and growls at you to not come back. You never listen - this was your home first, and you'll not be chased from it. His presence draws forward others who have long since tried to rest - and now many ghosts walk the hallways of the house in the bayou.

The demon is like an invasive weed, crawling into roots and trying to strangle out the others. But what he doesn't know is that you're a gardener - and you care deeply for the flowers that bloom in the cracks of the old wood.

[redmelawashere]

SNS 2022 Prompts week 4

Week 1 summaries are here! 

Week 2 summaries here :) Week 3 summaries reporting for duty.

Full fics can be read here on my AO3 😊

I finally completed them THE SECOND DAY OF THE SNS 2023 EXTRAVAGANZA. WHICH I WILL ALSO BE PARTICIPATING IN. Stay tuned on my AO3! Those new prompts will be uploaded as of tomorrow :)

22 - Traveling Together

In which there is a cold hotel room, Naruto starts to feel more like herself, and there is a shared moment of intimacy between her and Sasuke in the early morning somewhere in Northern Lightning Country.

(Pt. IV of the "Sun and Moon", "Early Mornings", and "Naruto Opening (Diver)" prompts and honestly, an excuse to write 3500+ words of women empowerment pwp.)

23 - Royalty AU

"I’m sorry, but not all of us are related to the King and have the pleasure of being an insolent, pompous, shithead in front of the entire continent without fear of retribution.”  She stomped past him, hoping that this would be the last she’d see of Uchiha Sasuke. Her mother tells her a week later that Sasuke has accepted the proposal.

She takes the letter, handwritten by the King himself, and rips it up into tiny square pieces

(A very loose HouseoftheDragon!AU, without the incest, and a dash of arranged marriage.)

24 - Angels and Demons

“Alright kid,” Naruto started midway through the day, rubbing her temples. “Why am I an oni?”

“Because you ensnared, Sasuke-kun! All he does is stare at you all day!”

“Ugh, haven’t you ever heard of like, women supporting women?”

(In which the Daimyo's relative is a massive royal pain in Naruto's ass.)

25 - You Bring Colours to this Bleak World

"Come with me." he commanded in a low and dangerous tone, his red eyes gleaming in the darkness of her room.

She stared at him with disbelief, not knowing whether this was yet another one of her hallucinatory dreams or some sick, twisted joke.

(The sister fic, and pt.II of “Soulmates” prompt.)

26 - First Love

He sighed heavily, pressing the heels of his palms into his forehead.

"Dobe—I didn't mean—fuck—what are we going to do with all of this? We are going to be eating onigiri for days."

(Sasuke is reminded of the fact that he was the one who fell in love first. Pt.II of the "Going on a date" prompt.)

27 - Side by Side

“You’re free to interpret it as you like.”

“Did it make you think of me?”

Sasuke froze, staring at her with piercing, obsidian orbs.

“Yes,” he admitted lowly. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

(In which Naruto starts to feel better and Sasuke, once again, has to shake the blonde out of her ugly insecurities. Pt. V of the "Sun and Moon", "Early Mornings", "Naruto Opening (Diver)", and "Travelling Together" prompts.)

28 - Greek Mythology

“Sasuke, I’m sorry—”

“—F-fuck you.”

He has to keep moving.

(A Hades!AU for the Greek Mythology prompt featuring Zagreus!Naruto and Maegara!Sasuke instead of the classic PersephonexHades adaptation. Another yaoi fic! )

29 - Touch him and I'll kill you!

“—What are you two talking about?” Ino interjected again, eyes darting between her two solemn friends. Sakura looked at Kiba who nodded. The pinkette then cupped her hands around her mouth, whispering loudly, “we think Naruto is pregnant.”

“Oh? Tell me everything.”

(The one where rumours are swirling around Naruto and Sasuke's expanding family. If only they knew the truth was more furry in nature.)

30 - Rockstar/Band/Music AU

“Wait, your training sessions are a secret?” Sakura hissed; eyes narrowed suspiciously as she grabbed another piece of barbeque ribs.

“Jinchuuriki things you normies wouldn’t understand,” she shot back. “Seriously. You think he tells me about his music career when we’re busy beating the shit out of each other or meditating with our Bijuu? Obviously not.”

(In which Naruto lied. She did know, and accidentally became a secret back-up singer for Bee and everyone loses their goddamn minds. Crack treated seriously.)

31 - Winter

“Do you care if I record something?”

“Yes. I don’t want my fucking face all over the internet and especially in your dumbass TikTok’s idiot—which, by the way, I’m still pissed about.”

She turned to him with a raised eyebrow.

“Stupid Tiktoks? Okay, I’m sorry for posting that one video of you without asking, but I guess it's kind of funny that you think they’re stupid, considering you’ve been spying on my profile for months.”

(AKA Naruto becomes TikTok famous in the ninja world and Sasuke has had just about enough of her going viral every other Tuesday. Crack treated seriously.)

[phantasoba]

Puck achieves a new level of annoying (part 4)

"I'll ask again, what were you two doing?" Henry demanded. Puck, who could usually come up with an explanation to anything, was stumbling over his words. Sabrina wasn't much better.

"We were watching a movie and fell asleep, that's all." Sabrina managed to say, somewhat calmly. She was still wrapping her head around the fact that she had been practically cuddling with her archrival and first crush, Puck. Her father glared at the fairy boy but seemed placated enough to leave them alone for now.

Daphne, however, was grinning wider than ever, even though her palm was in her mouth. Once she calmed down, she held out the little green camera to Puck. He took it, raising an eyebrow as he turned it over in his hands.

"What's this, Marshmallow?" he asked, holding it up to his face and looking through the lens. He turned toward Sabrina and pressed the little button on top of the camera, laughing happily as it made a loud click.

"It's your last Christmas present. We picked it up from the store today." Daphne explained, watching the fairy as he took the small photo from the slit. His face scrunched up as he tried to figure out why it was black.

"It will take a second to develop, gasbag. That's how polaroid cameras work." Sabrina commented, rolling her eyes. Puck stuck his tongue out at her.

"I figured the camera thought you were too ugly to take a picture of." He teased. Sabrina threw a couch cushion and it hit him square in the face. Without missing a beat, he threw one back, but she blocked it with another.

Soon, all three children joined the fight while Red watched from afar. If this was any indication, the new year would be a good one.

"Hey," Sabrina began once a truce was called. "Why'd you take a picture of me anyway?" Puck was laying on his back, a pillow resting on his stomach. He waved a hand dismissively but said nothing. Sabrina figured that he was still breathless from the fight, but still frowned at the way he brushed her off. Daphne got up from her seat on the floor and skipped over to Red. The two girls went upstairs together, leaving Sabrina and Puck in the living room floor.

The silence that filled the room was a comfortable one, even when Sabrina started putting the room back the way it was before the fight began. Soon, not a pillow was out of place, aside from the one Puck was still holding onto.

"Today was fun," Puck said suddenly, startling Sabrina. She raised an eyebrow at the statement but said nothing. "We should do stuff like this more often." When she turned to look at him, she found that he was staring at the small picture, but it wasn't the one Puck took of her, rather one that showed both of them asleep on the couch.

"Where'd that come from?" she asked, feeling her face grow hot. Puck shrugged.

"Found it on the floor by the couch. I'm thinking Marshmallow took it." he said. Sabrina sat down next to him, though she attempted to position herself where Puck wouldn't be able to see her bright red face. She couldn't bring herself to be mad at Daphne, the picture came out quite cute after all.

"This is probably the coolest gift I've gotten in a while," Puck commented sometime later. "Now I finally have a way to document all of my awesome pranks." His mischievous grin was back, and he eyed Sabrina in a way she didn't like.

"Whatever you're thinking about doing, forget it. If you pull some vile prank on me and take a picture, I will end you."

[lambden]

oops here’s an accidental follow up to 2021’s valdskier fill for ‘mending clothing’ 😅 now with 150% more pining valdo and 500% more sexual tension! also i’m sorry for paraphrasing and bastardizing sarah dessen, elvis costello, shakespeare, greek mythos, the bible, etc etc… i have no excuse except that valdo minorly possessed me

@whataboutthebard november 7 prompts: taking off clothing, mending clothing

M, 2.4K words, valdo/jaskier (slightly unrequited), background geraskier (ooo we love pain)

The stinger sneaks out between thick slabs of wood meant for keeping in noise and warmth and keeping out light and sobriety, and as the chord hits Valdo’s eardrums, his traitorous heart swells. On this Continent committed to tearing itself apart, there are only a few masters of his craft left standing. Valdo has studied, loved, or taught them all— and unless his ears deceive him, he thinks he might have caught wind of the one person who fits into all three of those categories.

And he has perfect pitch.

He enters the tavern just as tonight’s entertainment is ushered off-stage to some back private room, and thus only catches a glimpse of a coat far too ugly to house the man he knows. But Valdo trusts his gut; he doesn’t order a drink, instead brushing past the barkeep with grandiose excuses of bardic solidarity. The door to the back room swings open slowly onto a narrow staircase, and when Valdo ascends it he finds an equally narrow room awaiting at the top.

There, standing amidst— are they his band? They must be his band, although their dirty attire and sallow faces separates them greatly from anyone Jaskier would have played with at Cintra or Oxenfurt— a small group of cloaked, wide-eyed strangers, is his equal, his rival, and though admit it he will never, his muse. Jaskier’s mousy hair hangs long around his chin, and his coat is really, truly dreadful. Even more upsetting than his garb is the dismay he wears on his brow and frown, and the fervour in his voice when he stammers, “Valdo— what the fuck are you— you can’t be seen here!”

Valdo’s gaze sweeps over the local chaff. If these are the best musicians that this backwater town has to offer, he doesn’t think he’s got much to worry about. He scoffs, raising his palm to the other bard and keeping his tone as peremptory as he can. “Calm down, Pankratz. I rented a suite close by; no one will pay us any attention there.”

Jaskier twists to exchange some complex look with one of his compatriots; the man’s hood casts most of his face in shadow, but the whites of his eyes shine as he nods. Still flustered, Jaskier turns to Valdo and he nods too, albeit much less certainly. Although Valdo cannot say he understands the need for such dramatics, he respects them anyway, making sure the door slams shut between them on his way back down the stairs.

He doesn’t bother glancing behind him the entire journey to his suite, only pausing at one corner before hurrying into the crowded town square. Valdo half-expects his tail to abandon him in the rabble, but when he makes it to his inn and nods to the innkeep, he sees her nod to someone behind him as well. 

Disguising his smile as best he can, Valdo leads Jaskier through the winding hallways to his rented room. It reminds him a bit of a classic tale they would have both studied at Oxenfurt. Only in this story, when the door to his room swings shut behind them both and he turns to finally see Jaskier, neither of them are struck down by the gods or turned instantly to salt. Jaskier stares, his gaze as arrestingly bright as always, and Valdo swallows his smile so aggressively that he’s sure he looks quite sour.

Then in the same instant, they both ignite:

“Why in the bloody fucking fuck are you here?” 

“Really, Jaskier, I know that your voice isn’t what it used to be, but there’s no point in retiring— why am I here? Why the fuck are you here—”

“Retiring! I’m sorry, perhaps you were too late and missed my sold-out show—”

“A sold-out show in a backwater hovel, my, how will I ever overcome my jealousy—”

“I haven’t heard of any of your shows selling out in over a; well, no, make that ever—”

“Some of us are less concerned with finances and more interested in honing our craft—”

“Oh, I bet you and your fucking craft have spent some nice long winters together, just honing it up—”

“At least I find my inspiration without having to step around piles of horse shit all year long,” Valdo sneers back. “Tell me, darling, how is the muse?”

He fully expects Jaskier to bite back, and when no rejoinder comes, a new and unwelcome shudder runs up Valdo’s spine. The other bard looks as though Valdo has slapped him, his usually brilliant eyes lowered to reflect nothing. Duller than Valdo has ever heard him, Jaskier mutters, “What the fuck do you want, Valdo?”

“I want my greatest rival back,” Valdo answers without thinking. Last time he was brutally, unreservedly honest, it had thrown Jaskier for a loop. He expects the same quick turn this time, and for Jaskier to embrace their regular dynamic. When Jaskier doesn’t even glance up, the pit in his stomach only grows. “I… well… You haven’t been to many conferences or competitions as of late!”

Heaving a gentle but tremendous sigh, Jaskier still doesn’t meet his gaze. “There are more important things in the world than music.”

“No,” Valdo dismisses without hesitation. “Music is the great uniter. Something that people who differ on everything and anything else can have in common. A song may not be able to change your mind, but it can infiltrate your heart, and the heart could change your mind.”

When he finishes the quote, Jaskier is finally watching him. But in his expression is a funny sort of bemusement that makes Valdo’s heart race slightly faster; panic, no doubt. “You read my thesis.”

“Had to keep myself entertained somehow,” Valdo mutters, instead of the sore, ugly truth: that he read it as soon as it was published, and his intent had been to decry it to all who would listen. But instead, he had found it frustratingly genius.

“Valéry, I don’t know what you want from me,” pleads Jaskier.

“Well...” A plethora of ideas come to mind, but only one of them is stupid enough to maybe actually work. Truth be told, he hadn’t given the rumours of Jaskier’s residency in this town enough credence to really think this plan through. But where logic fails, perhaps nostalgia will suffice. He soldiers on: “I’ve torn a hole in one of my very favourite articles of clothing. Perhaps you could mend it for me.”

Jaskier stares, unimpressed. This part went smoother last time. “You know, there are plenty of fine tailors.”

“Of course,” Valdo lifts his chin proudly, bracing himself. “But I find myself hesitant to trust just anyone with this sensitive matter.”

With that, he removes his trousers, which are free of any runs or loose seams or frayed threads. Then Valdo takes a heavy inhale before stripping out of his smallclothes, pulling them down his thighs and around his knees. There is a small hole of fabric missing at the crotch, worn away after years of use. But otherwise his smalls are clean, if slightly sweaty from the journey to fetch Jaskier.

He drops them to the floor, and scoops them up with one hand. Jaskier stares, quite shamelessly, at what Valdo’s garments were previously adorning. Valdo doesn’t move to cover himself, but he does clear his throat expectantly, breaking the silence between them. “That is, unless you have more urgent plans. I’m sure that witcher keeps you on a busy schedule.”

“No,” Jaskier chokes out, finally glancing away from Valdo’s prick and crossing the room in only a few steps to yank the drawers out of his grasp. “No, that’s fine, this— this is fine. You have a needle?”

He indicates that Jaskier should check the small bag on the nightstand, and he quickly finds and retrieves the meagre sewing supplies that Valdo has yet to even open. Jaskier struggles to thread the needle and Valdo bites back a hundred entendres; he’s in too vulnerable a position to tease. Instead he retreats to the corner of the room and sinks into a chair next to his discarded trousers. 

Sitting like this, with a distance between them and his legs bared, allows Valdo to recollect the last time they saw one another. He thinks of it and presses his lips together, his mouth remembering how Jaskier’s had felt. Across the room, without glancing up at all, Jaskier chews his lower lip— it makes him look decades younger, somehow.

Valdo’s breath catches in his throat. Jaskier looks up, instantly catching his gaze across the room. Mildly, he offers, “I can get you something else to cover up.”

Valdo shrugs. “If you’d like.”

Neither of them move to do so. Valdo reaches down but cowers at the last moment, resting his palms atop his thighs. Jaskier’s eyes flash, but he says nothing, only twisting his lip gently between his teeth as he returns to his needlework.

Because he’s in the most vulnerable position of his life, or because he’s never allowed himself anything good, or because he knows better than to think this can end well, or because he thinks they’re at their best when they’re at their ugliest, Valdo speaks without thinking; “So. Tell me, Julian. Where is that witcher of yours, anyway?”

The change is instant, and horrific. Jaskier’s voice drops to an awful bitter and clipped tone. “No clue.”

“Ah.” Valdo, appropriately chastened, frowns. “You were so happy last I saw you.”

Jaskier’s frown only hardens. “I was a fool.”

“A fool in love,” guesses Valdo.

“But a fool regardless,” Jaskier snaps back. “Do you care what pattern I stitch into this?”

“Dealer’s choice.” That makes the bard finally glance his way, and then glance very obviously down at his prick, still clamped tightly between his thighs. Jaskier nods sharply before turning back to his needlework. 

His fingertips move deftly over the softly worn fabric as Valdo’s fingertips dig into the meaty muscle of his legs. Between them, his cock twitches, desperate for attention. It might be the strangest thing they’ve done together yet. Perhaps the strangeness is what finally prompts Jaskier to speak again.

“He told me he no longer wanted me in his life,” admits the poet, his gaze flicking down to Valdo’s cock even as his heart drifts to another man. It says a great deal about Valdo that his arousal does not falter, and that in fact this jealousy, combined with the attention, makes his erection even harder. 

But Valdo is nothing if not a gentleman, even to his greatest rival. Voice unmistakably thick, he tells Jaskier firmly, “Then he was the fool.”

Jaskier laughs; there is no humour behind it. “No, he… he might have spoken brashly, but it was a necessary wake up call for us both. He was grieving, and I was…” He swallows, shaking his head. “I followed him around for decades. I was worse than his horse, I was…”

Valdo tuts. “You can’t blame a poet for being hopelessly romantic.”

“Not much of a poet anymore,” mutters Jaskier.

“Well, that much is true,” Valdo agrees, steadying his hands on his bare thighs and crossing his ankles primly. Juxtaposed with his hard prick, still throbbing between his legs, his prudence must seem amusing. “I’ve heard your recent compositions, and I must say, I would much rather listen to a dog bark at a crow than even one verse of Burn, Butcher, Burn.”

The reference to the classic that they had both so enjoyed in school brings a pleased, clever grin to Jaskier’s lips. He sets Valdo’s smallclothes down on the bed and then rises to his feet, steadying his hands at his hips and staring Valdo down. “Valdo,” he begins, teasing but nervous, in a way he usually isn’t.

Mocking his tone, Valdo echoes, “Jaskier.”

“You found me here.”

“A stroke of good luck.”

“For both of us.” Jaskier takes a step towards him. Valdo is reminded abruptly of chess. He is also reminded abruptly of his lack of dress; he shifts in his seat, knees spreading then closing again. “Valdo, are you going to have some big melodramatic overreaction if I tell you I’ve missed you?”

“Yes,” hisses Valdo. “Absolutely. Don’t you dare.”

Jaskier ignores him, humming, “What was it you asked me for last time? So pitiful, and yet it had a beautiful, memorable ring to it.”

Valdo puts on his best Gwent face and pretends not to remember, parroting back Jaskier’s words cruelly; “No clue.” His traitorous cock dribbles between his thighs, and he shoves his knees together.

“I don’t think you would have come here with the same strange request if you didn’t remember,” Jaskier’s grin turns downright dangerous. “You begged me to be mean. I don’t think I was quite capable of it back then, but. Good news! I’m much meaner now.”

Damn the bard. This is the very thing Valdo had wanted, and the very last way he’d wanted it. He shakes his head, spitting harshly, “You may look the part, but I know you, Julian. Inside, you’re still that bleeding heart poet, aren’t you? It’s unmistakable, even when you’re dressed like a pirate and a lush. It’s in your eyes, and that little twist of your soft pouty lips. You can’t even pretend to be cruel to a man who you once called your greatest rival! You just don’t have it in you.”

The pout Valdo mentioned comes out in full force now; Jaskier is practically smouldering. “I ought to accidentally forget to take the needle out of your drawers.”

Valdo hisses, “That isn’t exactly the prick up my ass I had in mind,” and Jaskier takes the bait, lunging forward. His soft lips capture Valdo’s harshly, and both of them exhale— Jaskier, with the relief of someone who really needs a good release.

Valdo, with the agony of someone who has dreamt of this for decades.

Jaskier is not as gentle as he had always imagined; perhaps his ‘Path’ has wrung that from him, despite all his soft qualities that never seem to fade. But he is passionate, taking what he needs from Valdo and giving him the world in return. They don’t make love but Valdo never expected them to, and when Jaskier moans his name— his real name— into his shoulder, it’s nearly enough to curb the yearning.

He leaves with mended undergarments and a brand new, deeply familiar hole in his heart.

[lexdrabbles]

Thought You Should Know

Hi! Happy New Year! I promise I didn’t abandon this fic, life just got REALLY in the way. Alternatively: Yes There Is A Third Chapter To This Fic. Remember how I said it’s built around a dream? No? Well, it is. Here you go. Please enjoy: Son Boy Comfort Ultimate.

Word count: 3,684 (Chapter 3)

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Ship: Love Square (Mainly Adrinette)

Warnings: None

Read on AO3

(Chapter 1) (Chapter 2)

Chapter 3: A Consideration of Everything that is Right and Wrong in The World

Chat Noir’s first akuma after making the discovery was… well. To say it was harsh would be an understatement.

It was the end of the day, but they had still been at school. Adrien would not have known what to do with himself if he had been home. He felt like a bit of a delinquent: Nino, Alya and Marinette had talked him into skipping fencing to go to the cinema with them and watch the first showing of a movie Nino had been raving about for months. He got Kagami to cover for him and everything had been going to plan until that point, but then again why should he ever get to have nice things? He was pretty sure that was not allowed.

As soon as the first ball of slime splashed and stuck to the courtyard floor, the group exchanged looks and a quick “meet back at the theater” before running to hide separately. Nino bolted upstairs to the classrooms, Alya and Marinette ran into a bathroom; he quickly ducked into a broom closet and transformed, ready to get the whole thing over with as soon as he could. He was trying really, really hard not to think.

The akuma’s… suit? Whatever they were wearing— it was really ugly. It looked like a crafts store had thrown up on them: they were covered in the same indescribable-colored slime (purple? Orange? Blue? Brown? All of the above?) their projectiles seemed to be made of, embedded with every imaginable shade of little balls and beads and glitter, and what looked like random bits of plastic. They also had a pair of huge, chunky, bright hot pink headphones. They had leaped into the middle of the courtyard almost right as Chat Noir emerged from his hiding spot, and their voice was a loud, grating whisper.

“Come on out, children! Don’t you want to look at all the pretty slime mixing together?”

“Has anyone ever told you you have a terrible fashion sense?” He clocked the figure in the back with his baton and sent them flying off like a weird, lumpy baseball straight into the locker rooms, leaving a thin strand of purple-green goo stuck to the end that made contact.

They kicked out the double doors and exited looking even more scrambled than before, the slime over their body shifting and writhing.

“It’s not about fashion, street cat, it’s about the feeling!" They shot a ball of slime out of their extended palm and Chat jumped out of the way just a fraction of a second too late; it caught on his right hand and dragged him back fully before sticking (hand included) to the wall behind him with a gross squelch.

“You’d think a fashion designer would have better judgment” he muttered, using all the anger stirring within him to struggle against the sticky, glittery substance (why on earth was it warm? Actually, scratch that. He did not want to know). The villain approached him at a stalking pace, absolutely convinced they had Chat right where they wanted him.

“One down, one to—” A loud creak rang out from behind them and they stopped in their tracks. Chat Noir could not resist looking at the wall across the courtyard and saw Alya peeking out of the bathroom. As his friend’s eyes widened, the villain followed Chat Noir’s line of sight: they turned around just in time to catch the slightest glimpse of her head popping back in before shutting the door again. The akumatized pile of slime turned back to him and contorted its face in what could only be described as a smooshed smirk.

“Be right back, kitty cat”. They seemed to eye him up and down before taking off in the opposite direction, running toward the bathroom door with slime projectiles at the ready.

The bathroom where Marinette was hiding.

“You kids should subscribe to The Whisperer!”

… And Alya— where Marinette and Alya were hiding. Both of them.

He was barely using his brain when he finally yelled “Cataclysm!” —perhaps louder than he may have wanted to—, immediately dissolving the goo on his right hand into a foul-smelling pile of ash. He saw the Whisperer flinch halfway through the courtyard as the tips of a butterfly-shaped mask lit up at the front of their face —where eyes should have been— and peeked out at the sides of their head. That gave Chat the moment he needed to leap after them and trip them with his extended baton; using it once again like a golf club to swing the slimy form the other way and entirely out of the gates of Collège Françoise Dupont.

He gave the bathroom door a knowing smile and a nod, partly wishing Marinette knew - knew that her help and her kindness and her friendship did not go uncompensated. That he planned on making her feel as safe as he did with her. Him and Ladybug would make sure she was protected.

He stopped in his tracks at the school door, watching as the Whisperer still struggled to get a hold of their slimy form. Where was Ladybug, anyway? As used as he had gotten to villains being dealt with in minutes, with new heroes popping up seemingly out of thin air before he could even get to the team, he had been fighting alone for several minutes now, with no signs of backup to be seen.

Had she found out somehow?

This was no moment to get in his own head, but after the humanoid slime being reformed, every attack got harder and harder to dodge or counter. What if she had? It was ridiculous. It was not as if she could just know (about his horrible, awful, selfish choice to keep quiet) and have decided to leave him to fend for himself. How would she? And even if she somehow had, how would she know it had anything to do with Chat Noir? His mind offered terrible excuses, each one worse than the last, for why the worst-case scenarios were not so far-fetched— Maybe she has known it was me all along, maybe she just hates me that much . The longer she was not there, the more difficult it got for him to keep the Whisperer in check. He had no idea how much time went by, but when he noticed, he had just barely dragged the villain out on the rooftops and was dodging slime projectiles by the skin of his teeth. He had been feeling better, he had started to actually let himself go through this, reassured himself it was only temporary, that he was doing his best with the situation. Where had it gone all of a sudden?

Before he even had time to begin formulating a hurtful answer to his own questions, he felt himself be lightly lifted and whisked up into the air.

He had not let himself realize how much he was looking forward to seeing her until she was zipping him masterfully away from the fight.

Ladybug put him down on solid ground- what looked like the back of a store with enough going on to hide out for a moment. He must have been staring, because her expression went from concentration to worry in a second.

“Are you okay?” She grabbed his right hand and looked at his ring as the second paw pad blinked off (had he missed the first one?).

He quickly tried to fall back on their established dynamic. It was easy, it was familiar, it was what worked . “All good. Thanks for that, my Lady, that one was a whisker away from getting me” except that the pun was as dry as sandpaper in his mouth and sounded all wrong; his least practiced smile felt off and did not reach his eyes, as much as he tried (he had never had to try before. Not for her).

She looked him up and down with concern and clocked a bruised cheek and a still-slime-stained arm. “I am so sorry Chat, I got held up transforming and then I had to track you down, and—”

“Bugaboo” he interrupted, planting both hands on her shoulders (like Marinette had done to him when he had started spiraling). She was there and she was worried, and she was apologizing for some wild, unfathomable reason. “I’m okay. Really”.

It was true that it had been a while since he had to fight one of those things alone. The same little voice in his head that kept pushing for him to actually think instead of just playing video games all day demanded that he take the apology; just this once. He had recently begun teaching himself to listen to it.

Ladybug breathed in and sighed in an attempt to relax into Chat’s reassuring gesture, but their regrouping session was cut short by loud, approaching splats .

“Let’s just do this, okay?” She spoke looking in his direction but did not once look into his eyes. “You and me, like it’s always been.” She smiled and it was one of the saddest he had ever seen on her. He wanted to ask, but knew there was no time.

He held his baton like one would a sword and they settled into a hurried fighting stance. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

The fight was unusually quiet —On the heroes’ side, at least. The Whisperer would not shut up and their voice felt like it was just short of sanding their eardrums down to dust—. They communicated only in short phrases, looks and the occasional hand gesture. You could have cut the tension with a knife, and the living slime’s irritating remarks (“you just need to relax and listen to my voice”, “feeling the tingles yet?”, “maybe some slime will help you calm down!”) did nothing but add insult to injury. Chat was trying so hard to be in sync with Ladybug, to fall into the usual lull of battle, and he could see she was trying, too, but it just did not come. Everything about the fight was off— every move was mechanical; every tactic, strained. When she called her Lucky Charm, he had to keep himself from physically flinching.

They were done with the akuma faster than expected, but it took everything out of them— The fight was over, and nothing was fine.

The victim (some poor failed YouTuber named Ethan) insisted he could get home by himself and left the heroes alone to part ways. After a fist bump that felt as routine and hollow as everything else in the past few minutes, Chat extended his baton and began to turn around to leave before feeling a hand wrap around his wrist.

“Wait. Can we talk for a bit?” Ladybug looked up at him, and he was reminded why he could never say no to those wide, honest blue eyes. Even if she looked worried and he did not think going there was a good idea.

She pulled both of them into an empty backstreet between two nearby buildings, secluded enough that it guaranteed privacy. And she asked the question he had been fearing that entire time.

“What’s wrong?”

He could not even bring himself to say it was nothing. He just looked at the ground and fiddled with the tail end of his belt. He knew he had to say something, anything, to explain himself and his pathetic performance, but his throat stayed locked shut as he did his best to fight back the incipient prickling at the back of his eyes.

“That bad?” Her voice was not mocking or admonishing as he had expected. It was soft. There was something there that knew, on some level, what he was going through. She took a step closer to him and he tried to look up at her, but got no further than her shoulders; the tips of her pigtails messily falling over them.

“We could recharge and talk about it, if you want.” He watched as she raised a hand and placed it, gently, over his shoulder. He wanted to step back, to keep her at a distance, but he could not react fast enough, and it was too late.

He melted right then and there.

“I’m sorry, Ladybug, I am so sorry!” All his defenses broke and tears flowed down his face all at once, like they had been accumulating behind a dam.

“Chat, you don’t—”

“I failed you, I basically lied to you! I can’t even— I—” He could not have stopped himself from letting everything out for her to see if he had wanted to (he did not, and perhaps that was the worst part of it all).

The tears stung at his eyes and nose, and he felt her hands on his shoulders, grabbing at him desperately. “What do you mean? Chat? Are you okay? Chat, your miraculous, it’s—!”

He could not pay attention to a word she was saying as his legs gave out under him and he fell on the rough cement ground, barely registering the fuzz of magic washing over his body, leaving him exposed to her sight. He squeezed his eyes shut and wiped them furiously with his hands, maybe even trying, on some level, to conceal his face. He looked at the ground, the tears giving way to a wave of dry, exhausted anger.

“I could have ended this days ago. I— I should have done it,” he sobbed, “and I didn’t.”

Ladybug made no sound as she continued to tower over him, feet frozen as if nailed to the floor.

Adrien rubbed at his eyes again and made sure they could stay open. They did not sting anymore; instead, they just felt heavy. He used all the strength he had left in him to look up at her, to look directly into her eyes.

“I know who he is, Ladybug. I found out Shadow Moth’s identity.”

In her expression, he could see nothing but deep pain. He could not hold her gaze.

He did not know why she remained quiet. She did not yell at him, she did not leave. She stayed as he laid kneeling on the ground, looking at the gray cement under his knees, and spoke. He told her his story. He fidgeted with the ring on his right hand as he talked about the study, and the glint of the peacock miraculous and the book and how it had made his chest hurt. He began crying when he recounted how big of an idiot he had been the first time his father became the Collector. He had been so close, they had been so close, and if he had just used his brain instead of letting his affection-starved little dumbass heart fool him into thinking that maybe his father actually loved him, maybe, just maybe… he could have… he…

His throat locked up again and he wanted to tear his hair out, to compress himself into a minuscule marble and be launched onto the surface of the sun. He wanted to melt into the ground and rip the streets of Paris apart and swing his father into the Eiffel tower like a baseball and scream until the farthest reaches of the universe could feel his pain. All he managed was for the tears to burn their way down his cheeks again.

He did not see so much as feel Ladybug throwing herself on the ground in front of him, and through the stinging salt in his eyes he managed to see her.

She was crying, too. Shaking her head and grabbing at his shoulders again.

“Stop it. Adrien, stop that right now. This isn’t— you’re not—”

She cupped his face in her hands and wiped his tears away, even though they kept flowing and flowing out of his eyes. “Just… stop it, okay?” He did not understand why she was crying, why she insisted. He shook his head and tried to remove her hands, but they were so soft, and the tears hurt so much, he ended up holding them instead. He looked at her, concerned, empathetic, painfully kind, and let himself fantasize about a world where he was not so selfish; where he deserved her. She just kept him close. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

And she hugged him. It seemed like something impossible and wrong and like everything that was right with this messed up world they were living in when Ladybug hugged Adrien Agreste and held him tight like he was the most precious thing she had ever laid hands on. He closed his eyes and let himself melt into her arms— and he did not need to feel the electric fuzz of magic or see the soft pink glow of her detransformation behind closed eyelids to recognize her and kick himself for not figuring it out sooner. He held onto her because she still felt like a towering shield around him and like no harm would ever come to him as long as he had her, and she was just as precious to him in that moment as he felt he was for her. He loved her as much as he ever had— maybe even more.

This was it. The safest place on earth. Right here, in Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s arms.

After they separated, silence settled between them. Adrien and Marinette were sitting on the ground of the alleyway cast in half-shadows from the tall buildings on either side; thin beams of sunlight striped the windowless walls that hid them from the rest of the world for the time being. They fed their kwamis, who shared an uncertain glance, and remained looking wordlessly at each other for what felt like hours, but was probably only a minute.

“I’m sorry.” It was Marinette who broke the silence first, at last averting her eyes to the ground.

This startled him more than anything else she could have said.

“About what?” His voice felt coarse after crying for so long. She seemed to think for a moment, as if going through a rolodex of instances to be sorry for in her head.

“I don’t know. About everything. About your dad, about not being able to help you, about not just… telling you?” She gestured to her earrings and to Tikki, who was digging into her second macaron and pretending to not hear them. “Maybe if I had just dealt with it as soon as you told me…”

“You were there for me, Marinette. I am so thankful for that.” Her name was sweet in his mouth, almost drowning out the bitter taste left behind by the past week. “It was all I asked for, and you went above and beyond, like you always do.”

“But you’re still not okay. We don’t know if…” He thought he saw something painful flash in her eyes, but she shook her head and it was gone. “I just wanted to make things okay for you.”

“I don’t think there’s anything you could do to make things okay.” It hurt, but it was true. “This is beyond even the best superhero Paris has ever seen.” He gave her a small smile. Seeing her look back up to meet his gaze, he could still barely believe his eyes. One of his closest friends, the one he had always been able to trust and confide in, who gave the best advice and had the most amazing ideas, was the person he loved and admired most in the world. The mix of feelings was a bit overwhelming— His chest and throat still ached from everything; from knowing too much, from not being able to do what was right for the greater good, to fulfill his duty. However, at the same time, he was sure his heart would burst out of the sheer love he felt for Marinette in that moment.

She smiled back at him. “Yeah, but you’ve kinda got a lot going on right now anyway.”

He rolled his eyes playfully at her. “I thought my job was being the clown of the team?”

She chuckled lightly at that. “Well, I always knew you were a versatile guy.” They both laughed and Marinette relaxed visibly, letting go of the strap of her purse she had been fidgeting with. Adrien noticed how much he had also needed this shared moment of levity.

He scooched forward and turned so that he was sitting next to her and leaned his head on hers, feeling her let her cheek rest on his shoulder. He reached out his hand for her to take, and after hesitating for a moment, she did. After a while of tracing over each other’s fingers with their own, it was Adrien who spoke up.

“Your hugs are firm,” he said, “it’s nice.” It was all he could do not to spurt out everything he felt when she was next to him; how safe, calm and at home she made him feel.

She let the sentence hang between them for a moment, as if she was examining it, and squeezed his hand lightly.

“Your hugs are gentle,” she squeezed his hand lightly, “I never want to let go.”

He squeezed her hand right back, brought it up to his lips and kissed it. He felt her cheek heat up through his t-shirt and a smile escaped onto his face.

“So, what now?” Marinette asked. Her voice was uncertain, but there was an unmistakable determination to it.

Adrien pulled back to look at her, but did not let go of her hand. He would never get tired of seeing her like this, fully and vehemently herself.

“I think we’ll have to figure it out together,” he said. “That’s what teams are for, isn’t it?”

She offered him her other hand and it made his heart grow at least thrice its own size.

“It’s you and me against the world, after all,”she said, a small smile painting her face a lovely shade of hope.

He took her hand and held it tight in a half-silent promise. “Just like it always has been, my Lady”.