#and i just noticed some of the images are blurred in the upper left corner. idk man i got a new scanner. i'll figure that out eventually

[blueskittlesart]

sof part 3 which is still bad sketchbook scans except it's inked now and there's more of it :)

[unbridgeabledistances]

hi 💜💜 i got a prompt about ian x body image a while ago (my inbox is a hot mess and i may have deleted the prompt lol, but i did paste it into my phone notes)- and i was feeling some feelings today & had some spare time amidst my travels & ended up writing this!!

prompt: can you write about ian and his relationship with his body image, esp post-canon when they move to the westside

(tw for body image/eating disorder/food mentions)

--

He didn’t really even think about it the first times that he did it— skipping a few meals that went unnoticed in the morning clamor of the Gallagher kitchen. He noticed his skin growing tauter and tighter around his abdomen with every passing day, a hollow absence sitting like a rock in the pit of his stomach.

He did it for a reason—he’d been getting more lingering looks under the flashing lights at the club, more unwelcome fingers pressed against the now-present ridges on his stomach, tracing his toned upper arms. The less there was of him, the more they wanted him.

The thing about Ian is that he was always disciplined; the middle child, the one who was overlooked and ignored and blended in until he decided that he had to make a name for himself. He and Lip and gotten into hair-tugging, jaw-smashing fights about this very reality; Ian was completely, totally, absolutely ordinary. Until he made himself extraordinary—until he burst through the storefront labeled “ARMY” at a strip mall with smudged windows and said with a tall chest: I want to enlist.

Everything had led up to this— every push-up on the creaking slanted floor of their childhood bedroom, every jog at the crack of dawn. He was going to make something of himself, he was going to be a hero.

He was going to get the fuck away from Mickey, and his wife, and whatever else kept pushing him down and holding him back.

When Ian came back from the army, when he was sleeping on exposed floorboards and working at the club all night—that was when it all actually started. When he decided that less of him meant more—when he decided that he should give people the best show he could, because everything else was fucked up anyways. This was all he was good for.

But then Mickey came through the door, pale skin flashing in the strobe lights, wearing that fucking dark button-up with sleeves folded to his forearms and smelling like nice cologne that he’d almost definitely stolen from one of his brothers’ bathroom shelves; and for a brief moment after the initial shock set in, Ian was proud— proud of how much negative space surrounded him, proud of how he could press his thighs into stretched golden spandex better than any of the other men thrumming to the beat beside him on the podium. Proud of how much other people wanted him, when Mickey didn't.

It was only later, after Mickey carried him home (easily, too easily) after he’d passed out in a snowbank, and Ian had woken and waited for Mickey to burst into his bedroom door at the Gallagher house while he leaned against the wall and scribbled on a notepad— later, when Mickey was about to curl on the floor and sleep using one of Liam’s balled-up t-shirts as a pillow— that Ian noticed Mickey’s eyes lingering on his uncovered torso, a second longer than the quick glances of admiration from the well-dressed men with greased-back hair and grubby fingers at the club. It hit Ian, then, when he saw Mickey’s gaze that was soft around the edges, the same fuzziness and confusion of Fiona’s stares when he would chatter on for too long in the mornings:

He’s worried about me.

But Mickey played along— Ian was back, and Mickey stayed beside him this time, and chuckled when he walked down the stairs to the sight of Ian cutting off the bottom half of his old ROTC pants, now multiple sizes too big and hanging baggy even at the hips. Mickey curled beside him on the twin bed, silently stroking hair back from his forehead and cradling his cheeks with a feather-light touch as Lip and Liam’s even, sleeping breaths swirled around them. And Ian kept doing pull-ups, and told Carl that he liked the way that Mickey smelled. Mickey came out for him. And for a while things were really, really fucking good, and Ian didn’t even think about the gnawing hollow feeling in his stomach at all any more.

Until a grey morning came, quick and silent, and kept him frozen under the sheets for days.

In the months afterwards, Ian trained harder, faster—he met up with Fiona as she pushed Liam in the stroller and jogged beside them, ran before and after shifts at the club, did push-ups on Mickey’s grimy floor while he was out handling Rub N’ Tug shit.

I’m not Monica. This wasn’t going to happen again. His body could do this. His body could fix his brain.

It couldn’t.

Most of what happened on the “road trip” with Yevgeny (that was the only phrasing that Ian could really mentally use to name the incident, the only semiotic filler for “kidnapping” that didn’t want to make him burrow even deeper under his tattered blankets) was a blur—Mickey feeding him fistfuls of pills and room-temperature Gatorade, luring Mickey to the dugouts where he tried to do a pull-up and felt a quivering in his limbs, a weakness rather than a familiar and fulfilling burn. Slamming Mickey in the face with a fist that was too flimsy, too weak—a fist that still left the blooming of a bruise on Mickey’s jawline, a splatter of blood caking into his eyebrow. But still weak, still not enough. Definitely not strong enough to fight off two MPs with loaded guns, tangling his hands behind his back and forcing him into the backseat of a car.

More blurry days— on the road with Monica. Breaking up with Mickey. Getting a job at Patsy’s. Withering away, purple bags sagging under his eyes. Becoming less, always less.

Then, a glimmer of light— he met Caleb. He studied to be an EMT. He got a call from Mandy, got to wrap her in his arms in less-than-ideal circumstances.

“I got tired of starving myself to fit in that golden thong.”

It was the first time he’d said it out loud.

He started to run again—and he started to not miss it, the hollow feeling gnawing at his insides, the twisting lack. He met Trevor, he went to brunches, he ordered mimosas and muffins and kept himself in shape, but didn’t push himself too far.

So it surprised him, really, when once again his body and mind weren’t in sync.

That was the biggest thing he’d think about, in the idle hours of he and Mickey’s prison cell, months later—that for once in his life, years after the nights at the club or the hazy early mornings at Patsy’s or in a baggy janitor uniform, he was actually doing really, really fucking good. He had a following. He was strong. Or at least he thought he was.

But something about being near Mickey pulled him out of his head and into his body, centered him— it always did. Mickey had always liked his body; Ian remembered how Mickey’s eyed at lingered that night at the dugouts, when they were two kids doing pull-ups and Mickey watched his muscles clench in the moonlight, two sets of shining eyes and bodies warm with beer leaning closer to each other in the muggy air. But Ian never felt a need to flaunt his body, or change his body, for Mickey— and in so many ways, those first days in prison were like his body was coming home. Sometimes it was hard, and fast, and filthy words whispered into each other’s skin—and sometimes it left them grasping for breath in an entirely different way, in fingertips lazily skimming over collarbones and fisted into roots of hair, of breathed “Fuck, you’re so fucking beautiful”s escaping Mickey’s parted mouth that Ian mentally stored but never brought up again, because he knew in the best case scenario Mickey would just roll his eyes and call him a “soft bitch,” and in the worst he would just flat-out deny it. But Ian felt balanced in a way he hadn't in months, with all the "Gay Jesus" bullshit pressing in. He took his meds, he did his nightly sit-ups, he counted down the days—until the hourglass was slipped out from under his fingertips and he was teleported back to the Gallagher house, back to the place where so much of this began and so much was about to end.

The hollowness, the hunger, didn’t really need to be there anymore once he was out— it was only a dull murmur. A ghost, a memory trapped in dreams of strobe lights and prying hands.

Mickey got out, and they got married—and in the moments before Ian called Mickey an “ugly motherfucker” as he let a smile crack onto his face—and he knew Mickey felt it, knew Mickey heard: I have never known anyone as beautiful as you.

And Ian’s fullness just kept blooming and compounding and radiating after the wedding; they fought, and then they didn’t, and it didn’t matter anyways because they were fucking married. Ian kept doing sit-ups before they went to bed, even though he felt like he didn’t really have to anymore. Something big had shifted; something had settled and given way, had filled in all the cracks.

So he’s surprised, when they move to the West Side, and that feeling starts to stir again; faint, fuzzy, like some sort of invasive and shapeless amoeba in the dark corners of his brain, whispering and hissing that there should be less of him. On their first morning in the new place he heads to the gym, wearing a camo t-shit that covered his torso and shoulders—and of course he ends up making a fool of himself next to some guy, some guy that he could have been, with sweaty toned abs and bronzed skin and rippling muscles. He doesn’t know why it gets to him, that small interaction—he’s so much happier now, so fucking happy he’s buzzing with it, but there’s also something churning in the faultlines of transition; that aching for hollow absence and stretched skin and interested eyes, that feeling that made him woozy and lightheaded as a kid but also sickeningly proud, like every moment of standing tall, of dancing, of staying alive was a statement, a challenge, a test of how much he could push his ability to be desired.

He immediately pushes the thought down. He doesn’t fucking need that anymore to keep his head above water; he’s stable, he’s loved, he’s fed. He’s growing organic tomatoes, and definitely developing a farmer’s tan from his days hunched over their way-too-tiny community garden plot tenderly watering and pruning the vines and brambles. He is desired. So it doesn’t make fucking sense that the hunger, the clawing in his stomach for the absence, doesn’t really stop.

**

“Okay Gallagher, spill.”

Ian felt his eyebrow raise instinctively at Mickey’s tone. “Huh?”

“You’ve been staring at this fancy fucking chicken thing you made for, like, twenty minutes. Stop staring at it and eat your goddamn dinner.”

He felt a twist in his gut. I don’t want to.

“M’actually not really that hungry.”

Mickey’s eyes narrowed. “The fuck’s up? You stressed about work shit?”

Ian huffed out a breath of relief. “Nah. It’s not that.” He fiddled with his fork on the plate, drawing lines into the sauce pooled under the tomato-basil chicken he’d made. It was healthy, it was good, he’d worked out today; he could stomach a couple bites of dinner if he fucking had to. He just had to work up to it. Even the smell was making his stomach twist— it had smelled good while he was cooking it, placing fresh-scented basil leaves into the simmering sauce, but now it just was too much.

Mickey’s boot nudged against his calf from under the kitchen island. “Ey. Is it a tired thing? Or a… sick thing?” His eyes darted to their kitchen cupboard, where Ian kept his meds on the bottom shelf by the water glasses. “Or, like, a food thing?”

Ian felt his fingers go slack around his fork. “A food thing?”

“Yeah, man, y’know. When you get all weird about food.”

A tightness in his chest. “What the fuck? I don’t get weird about food.”

Mickey’s eyes flickered to meet his—and Ian would have gotten more pissed off if he didn’t see the soft concern bleeding into Mickey’s gaze, how cautiously Mickey was trying to broach the topic. Ian blew out a breath. Of fucking course Mickey noticed this shit— he always did.

“Weird how?”

“I don’t know, man. You’re usually good, especially compared to when you were fucking starving yourself when we were kids. But, uh… I don’t know.” Now it was Mickey’s turn to play with his food, scraping his fork along the remnants of sauce on his plate that was nearly clean. “You got kind of weird about working out and shit in prison. And then at the house, with all the quarantine bullshit the first few weeks. Eating fuckin’ cereal all the time, then not eating at all. You’ve been normal since then, or whatever. Lookin’ healthy.” Ian felt Mickey’s gaze drag over him. “Just don’t want you getting stressed out and not eating again or whatever.”

Ian felt a muted warmth blooming in the hollow of his stomach, filling in the cracks of where the jagged feeling continued to claw. If it was anyone else laying out this fucking analysis of his habits Ian would’ve gotten defensive—or at the very least annoyed, that someone was pinning down yet another one of his behaviors, putting them under a fucking clinical microscope.

But of course, this was Mickey— and the difference with Mickey was that he cared, he cared so much that it made Ian’s body ache every time he realized it. Those words wouldn’t have come tumbling out of Mickey’s mouth if they hadn’t been building for a while, hadn’t been gnawing away at some corner of his mind over time.

Ian raised a hand over the table to clasp into Mickey’s warm palm—reaching over the empty plate, the plate of uneaten food.

“It’s, uh. A food thing.”

Mickey’s eyes met his—open, listening.

“You’re right about all the starving myself shit from forever ago. And the not eating. And the… quarantine stuff. I guess I just thought that now that things were good, it’d go away? And I feel so fucking good right now. But sometimes I just have weird days.”

Mickey huffed out a breath. “I fucking know you do, dumbass. M’just saying that I notice that shit. And we can figure it out.”

Ian felt the corner of his mouth tick upwards. “I really thought it was gonna go away. I’m a fucking adult.”

Mickey shrugged. “Sometimes shit doesn’t work like that, Gallagher.” He chugged a sip of water from his glass, apparently glad that this heavier part of the conversation was over now that he knew what was up. “It’s like what you tell me about my shit with Terry. Trauma doesn’t just magically fucking disappear.”

Trauma. He’d never really thought about it like that before—he had plenty of childhood shit to work through, between abandonment and raging mental illness; and he’d never really thought that his body image issues made the list.

But maybe they did— maybe this was another wound, one that he could learn to heal.

Mickey kicked his shin under the table. “There’s cereal and stuff in the cabinet, I got the Fruit Loops shit you like. Want me to wrap up the chicken and shove it in the fridge?”

All he could do was nod— and once again feel that warmth on his insides that Mickey was this good, that he knew how to make shit like this easier.

And he snuggled into the couch beside his husband, a bowl of soggy cereal in his hands.

[qingxintea]

➼ chongyun || hiraeth

tw: mention of knives (no violence), kidnapping, explosion _______

you angled your camera to catch your face and upper body correctly and adjusted your blinds for the correct lighting. you put thin pieces of yellow and pink paper over your lamp to give off a sunset lighting sort of aesthetic in your minimalist room. your tiny cacao tree sat in the corner of your room, setting some sort of simple beach vibe.

then, you began to stream.

you watched as majority of your followers came to view as you sat in your rolly gaming chair. the greetings came rushing in and you noticed two of your friends had came along too, xingqiu and chongyun.

"hey gang, it's kingexplosionmurder here with your weekly sunday stream," you smiled and watched as comments came in asking you to notice them. beginning to select randomly, you flicked a short strand of hair behind your ear. "you have been noticed, yourlocalsugardaddy," you blessed them. and you swore you chose randomly.

on the other side of the screen, chongyun's face slightly flushed before eating his popsicle again. yes, that was his username, selected by xingqiu after the guhua heir was somehow able to trick him into selecting so. the situation must've been that he accidentally consumed some jueyun chili's, that was also xingqiu's doing.

he watched you smile as you explained your schedule for this stream, when he noticed you suddenly began laughing. it sounded genuine, he wanted to believe it was genuine, but there was a trace of disappointment in it. he observed your face, noticing you were looking at the chat box. "i agree too, scarymoose."

scarymoose: this streamer's kinda dog shit ngl 😐

by instinct, his fingers grazed over the keyboard as he analyzed the tone. this kid wasn't joking around with himself, he was really out to bring you down. he exhaled, shaking his head, wondering how you would deal in the situation.

yourlocalsugardaddy: miss karen this isn't yelp 🙄

he wasn't content with that yet, things could've gone onto more serious matters, but he knew you liked to keep your chat clean and peaceful. you went to the farther extents to keep that from happening, agreeing with rude comments yourself as a said joke, but actually have it sometimes harming you.

so chongyun tried his best to keep you happy.

redrumreaper: yo moose chill 😳

he recognized his friend xingqiu also trying to calm the situation as you just laughed it off and attempted to continue, sooner enough just beginning to ignore all his comments. some other viewers came up to your defense but in all honesty, you wanted to move on.

"s-so, i found some silk flowers outside of wangshuu inn yesterday, aren't they pretty?" you took a tiny bouquet of the said silk flowers and presented it to your viewers, holding it next to your cheek. the pink tone of the flowers matched the color of your cheeks and made for a nice picture. chongyun would've screenshotted it, but he respected your privacy.

yourlocaldumba$$: yes they're so pretty we love you 😍

13lue13erry: yes ong ong 💕 thiccer than my granny

Straw13erry: don't bring madame ping into this 💀💀

colino: are you sure it's alright to take from someone's legally owned property ?? much less from their garden

Straw13erry: u mean ur neighbors don't harvest ur flowers every day? 🙄 privilege spoke 🤚

yourlocalsugardaddy: vv pretty 😳

redrumreaper: simp 💀

you slightly choked over on your side and xingqiu calling chongyun a simp, for you. quickly clearing your throat, you regained your composure. your viewers could see that your cheeks had been dusted with a darker shade now.

13lue13erry: 👀

Straw13erry: 👀

yourlocaldumba$$: 👀

redrumreaper: 👀

sireluck: 💀

bazinga: 👀

dandelionn: 👀

poetichoe: 👀

"okay- anyways," you pushed that aside, watching the chain of 👀's coming in. you weren't too sure at what they were referring to, but just assumed that they were interested in xingqiu exposing chongyun. but, there was no way chongyun really felt like that, right? it was just a friendly compliment from what you believed. "just a tiny flex but y'all guys, i am so cracked at apex, not gonna lie. for all the new followers out there," you randomly commented. 'and to change the subject.'

"actually, you know what? fuck the schedule, let's go to trolling little eight year old kids posting selfies on instagram. due to certain reasons i'm just not gonna be blurring their usernames out, but please don't spam these people, i don't wanna be cancelled 💗" you sweetly smiled as you pulled up instagram and started streaming on your phone.

of course your sus notifications ruined it 🤡🤡

because xingqiu took advantage of the situation, sending messages to your discord. nothing mentioning your romantic life because he knew better than that, but just trolling. 'HEY GANG. ITS ME, TONY, AND TODAY WE'RE GONNA SEE IF IM FASTER THAN THIS MOUSE TRAP.' 'TURNS OUT, I AM NOT FASTER THAN THIS MOUSE TRAP.' 'AN UPDATE, IT HURTS. ALRIGHT. BYE GUYS.' you tried hard to contain your laughter, but certain giggles came out in the end, giggles that made chongyun's heart flutter.

xingqiu just kept spamming without a stop, to the point that you accidentally clicked into the notification instead of someone's username on a selfie post. so now everyone could see your group chat with xingqiu, chongyun, and a few other viewers that were actually your other friends.

13lue13erry: oh no 🤡

Straw13erry: 🗿

yourlocaldumba$$: HAHAHAHA WE'RE EXPOSED 🤡👌

just water support boy 😔: image.png

oh my god he's sending chongyun catboy edits. you made this concerning noise, glad no one really seemed to know who chongyun really was on twitch. you went back to instagram, beginning to dm a random kid, ignoring the situation that had just happened.

chongyun choked, slight heat running to his cheeks. what the fuck was xingqiu doing- how did he even get those pictures? maybe it was that one time xingqiu forced him to go to a furry con, but how did he ever get the time to photograph these? he nervously fidgeted and played with his fingers.

13lue13erry: 🤡

Straw13erry: 🤡

yourlocaldumba$$: 🤡

redrumreaper: 🤡

<— oraoraoraor

kingexplosionmurder: chav check

oraoraoraor: what

kingexplosionmurder: chav: check 😹😹

oraoraoraor: bruh

oraoraoraor: who tf are you

kingexplosionmurder: hope you like baddies cause i'm bad at everything 💗

oraoraoraor: bruh ok i'm blocking

kingexplosionmurder: stop dming me

oraoraoraor: 😐

kingexplosionmurder: stop dming me

oraoraoraor: wtf

kingexplosionmurder: stop dming me

oraoraoraor: wait wait UR that one twitch streamer?

kingexplosionmurder: stop dming me

oraoraoraor: ig ur fans gonna be so disappointed in you

kingexplosionmurder: stop dming me

oraoraoraor: hahaha wtf i'm gonna post this and tag you

kingexplosionmurder: stop dming me

afterwards you sent a barrage of really cursed images and left the person on read when they tried to complain and get a reaction out of you. you chuckled, extremely satisfied with yourself. this is what your viewers followed you for. you went on hunting for another user, "GO Y/N GO" filling up your chat.

you were just about to dm this other kid until you heard a ring from your doorbell. "oh what the fuck, i didn't invite anyone. but you know what, i'll pull something up to entertain y'all guys while i'm afk." searching on youtube, you typed in 'banana fish ep. 1' and clicked on the longest video you saw. then you got up from your chair, making your way to the front door.

you didn't mute yourself before because you thought there was really no need to, and you underestimated your mic sensitivity. god did you wish that you could go back and time and do just that.

twisting the doorknob, you opened your door and was met with... a certain, someone.

someone that you recognized and has caused you so much pain, and it was all so fun and games before they had to come along. "bruh. aight what you here for fam?" you played it super chill, though you were really sick and tired of this person's shit.

"(y/n). we need to talk," her stern voice made you flinch as you just stared straight into her eyes. you simply nodded your head and crossed your arms, shifting your weight onto your right leg. "we're thinking of taking you back home."

your froze, your breath hitching as you just stood there, waiting for her to go on. clenching your fists and looking down, you stayed silent for a little moment and questioned, "...why?"

"well, you have a stable income source, right?" she asked, putting her hands on her hips. "you can finally be of use to us," she clasped her hands together, a bright smile on her face. your finger twitched, awaiting an explanation. "you're a streamer, yeah? so you can be a useful asset to our family name."

"...you only want me to come back so i can make you all seem... good?"

and here you thought, just for a second, that you would be accepted back into the place where you really belonged. your shoulders slumped, as small tears began to well up in your eyes. "and for our profitable gain of course, it would be a shame to not acquire that from you."

you composed yourself and looked up. "im afraid my profit can only cover for one person, and it would be myself that i focus to make a suitable and independent living out of. you've kicked me out ever since i've graduated from college and had me fend for myself, now inviting me back once i have a stable job?" you breathed, fiddling with the sleeves of your black hoodie.

"oh, not inviting, dear. taking."

confused by her words, you let your guard down as she suddenly pushed a warm cloth over your mouth as you let out a constrained scream. you tried to break free of her grasp, reaching for the switchblade in your pocket, but the drowsing chemicals from the cloth took control of you and you felt disoriented. "you... bitch..."

your head hit the floor.

》●✿ time ● skip ✿●

silence.

thats all you heard when you awoke.

pure, unfiltered silence that overwhelmed you as you were completely lost. what was happening?

you tried turning to the other side of your childhood bed, the moon casting light shadows into your 'room'. there was a rope around your wrists you noticed, so you brought them up to your lips and starting gnawing on them until it broke apart. (guys we feral its not a furry instinct ok?/ ??  ?)

the material had irritated your skin, but you put that aside for now. escape- thats what you really needed to do. it was fairly dark, but you didn't have a good estimate of time. the analog clock was broken and set to a different time that displayed 11AM. you sat up, your fingers running along the frame of the window next to you.

for a moment, you stopped, thoughts rushing into your head. what if you could start a whole other life here where things could finally be peaceful, what if you didn't have to feel so isolated anymore, what if you could- ...

no. (y/n), get yourself together. what has happened will anyways stay there, and there is no healing scars. ...still, you couldn't shake off the feeling of missing this home so much when you had an amazing childhood, though full of fake actors who had manipulated you.

opening all the cabinets silently, you grabbed things that you assumed would come to your aid. a tiny backpack, which you then stuffed with other things around it. a first aid kit, a spare knife just in case, along with a clean oversized sweater and a couple dollar bills. all that, along with a compass.

you turned towards your window, stepping on your bed.

pushing open the sides of your window, your stepped on, the brown coldness of the frame coming in contact with your feet. you shivered just a little bit before stopping to think. what would you do once you were out of here? you barely knew your way here. and not to mention, your devices were still left at your other house, so there was no way of contact.

...

did your stream ever end? even if it did, had you muted yourself before leaving? no, you didn't, and you could remember in precise detail. someone out there, anyone, would be willing to help, right? you couldn't possibly be here forever, not when you're basically blown up all over your socials?

your friends, yes, your friends! xingqiu and chongyun were watching the stream and had made obvious interaction in doing so, and they'd be willing to protect you. if they just had a lead...

but... what lead was there? all they heard was the woman's voice and, that was probably it, wasn't it? only a voice with no other clear features that could identify her. it looked like you were doing this on your own.

you came in contact with the blades of grass tickling your feet and conveniently found a pair of sneakers outside. it definitely wasn't yours, and it smelled like the scent of your old room. most likely, it belonged to someone from inside your house, lavender and mint, but who inside there was in the age range to wear modern day sneakers..?

brushing that question aside, you unhesitatingly laced them on and they were just a bit too big, but you could manage.

you breathed, inhaling the freedom intertwined air, a much needed factor of bringing you back to your lost sense of happiness. then, the fear struck you once again, because you needed to improvise now. you needed to run, but which direction? you barely knew this place at all.

you dug around your pocket for the compass you had and it was pointing east. you remember that stepping out of your house was facing west, so you were going the right way... but who knows how messy the path was? it couldn't have been an exact pathway, but going directly ahead was your simplest option.

you heard a pair of footsteps coming from inside the house, probably a few seconds away to opening the door. you sucked in your breath and ran, ran as far as your legs could take you. your intimidating speed and played into your advantage, and taking one last look, you saw the lights on, before continuing.

a few minutes into it, you felt some elemental energy. it was a sense you learned to develop since you were young, giving you the upper hand in a variety of situations. you followed the trail of glowing lines, the air starting to get colder and colder. you shuddered, the crisp coldness nipping at your skin.

you sat below a tree, taking your backpack off your shoulder and took out the oversized sweater. you put it on over your black tee and light blue skinny jeans, its nostalgic aroma filling your sense of smell.

it was... warm.

it shouldn't be warm.

the warmth proved as a sign that someone had worn it before, but this size was from what you knew, too small to fit the woman you came across again, and you absolutely did not recall any other beings within the house. it was a small household.

suddenly, you remembered what she said.

we're thinking of taking you back home. you can finally be of use to us.

plural. you should've noticed it before and you shook your head, slightly disappointed in yourself. you didn't remember any other birth siblings. could it be the fact that during the time, they had, in a way, replaced you?

you sat up, then suddenly went drowsy. your eyelids were getting heavy as your back hit the same tree. ah, that clever bitch. you chuckled to yourself, but still unsatisfied how this was gonna end. reaching inside your pocket, you grabbed a bomb that a little kid gave you, and threw it as far as you could. it wasn't as far as you hoped, but it was exceptionally far considered your sleepy state.

in a few couple seconds or so, it was going to explode. you did that to divert the attention of her and slowly ran as far as you could. a few seconds in, you gave in, hoping that your efforts were enough. 》●✿ perspective ● shift ✿●

chongyun heard an explosion.

he raised his head in the direction smoke was coming from, and made a run for it, then stopping to think. no, you're smarter than this. he gathered his shit together and remembered that one day klee gave you a bomb. he deducted that you had used it as a diversion, and began to search around the area.

and finally, he came across your sleeping body. to ensure your living state, he crouched down and let two fingers travel across your neck, searching for a pulse, and was relieved when he found one, pulsing at a normal rate.

he then carried you on his back, picking up the pace since he deducted someone was out for you, would you need a distraction. he remembered some details of the woman, she had ended your stream with your sleeping form in her hands, a dirty smirk coming across her lips. she had dark hair with some natural highlights, but that was all he saw because the rest was concealed by a cloak.

a few minutes, maybe half an hour later, you began to stir. chongyun decided that he ventured far enough to liyue and slowed down for your comfort. he wanted you to get some well deserved rest. but slowly, you woke up, but only the tiniest movement was made. your eyes were still droopy and you wanted to return to sleep.

but the sight of pastel blue hair kept you from doing so.

you felt the familiar silk coming in contact with your arms as he kept on trudging forward at a more consistent and smooth pace. "..chongyun?" you muttered out weakly, earning a small smile from the male. he hummed in response, continuing forward.

your mind was cloudy, unable to interpret the language of the world. but softly, words effortlessly escaped your lips, "... did i do the right... thing?" blinking multiple times, you awaited his answer.

"yes, yes you did," his soft voice reached your ears, making you smile a bit. you nuzzled deeper into his shoulder, clinging onto him tighter, unwilling to let go.

"thank you," you whispered.

he chuckled a bit before responding, "anything for you."

_____

bro ending is a little off because i'm wrote this at 2:53AM and so my brain has went ⬇️⬇️ also i'm just hungry

copy and pasted from my wattpad,, @ppeachtea_

[belliesandburps]

Tutorial:  Belly Bloating for XPS

I’ve always believed that it’s better for the kink community when we all have access to the same resources and can give more content to our thirsty pals.  :P

A question I’ve been asked multiple times is how I get a characters belly to look so bloated.  Soooo, I figured, what the hell?  Here’s a quickie tutorial!  :)

Taking us along for this journey is the subject of today’s bloat, Ryuji!

So first, we import the model into XPS, and we get this guy:

The very first thing I do is scale up the “lower spine” bone.  If the rig is designed to cover the entirety of their lower torso, then I go from there.  But in most cases, it’s usually most of the lower stomach, but not all of it.  And the end result makes them look like Popeye:

In that case, I do some work around.  I still scale up the lower spine, as you can see, but I also scale up the “root hips” bone as well.  This is the primary bone of any model; the one that controls their body.  Once I scale that up, I scale down the “left thigh” and “right thigh.”  This shrinks the legs and causes the pelvis and lower stomach to look bigger than the legs, which initially has a cartoonish look to it.  But then, you start making work of the spine bones.

Next, I scale down the “spine upper” bone so the upper body above the stomach shrinks.  Which initially gives them a really weird egg-shaped look that’s not at all appealing.  So you gotta use the rotate option to rotate the "lower spine” forward to make the stomach stick out more:

From there, you rotate the “upper spine” bone forward and make this poor motherfucker look like he was in a horrific car accident:

Still looks weird, right?  Well, you scale down the “upper spine” a little more so the stomach looks more proportionate.  Then, you switch from ‘scaling’ to ‘move’, and then you move the “upper spine” bone down enough so that the body looks more reasonably proportions:

And then, to make the back look less horrific, you use the move option to push the “upper spine” bone forward a tad until it looks more even:

You kind of have to play with scale and coordinates to make sure everything looks right to you.  There’s no real set numbers you go with, just dick around until you find something that looks right.

And from there, you have a pretty decent belly bloat, but as you’ll notice, some corners still look janky.  Ryuji’s got a pretty high poly count, but his model isn’t remotely as high poly as most next-gen models.  Which is why his spine looks so mangled and why there’s a slight bit of sharpness to his belly.  Now, you can just cheat that, trying to mask it by rendering the image from certain camera angles:

But it will still be noticeable unless you zoom way in. 

This is where things get a little more technical, and why I charge extra for more heavily edited panels, because it can get a lil time consuming. 

If a model is low-poly or if their attire is too detailed to scale without looking too outta whack, I have to actually just rig a “belly bone” and do the scaling in different software entirely.  And that tends to cost a lot more per bone, and more if it’s a more high fidelity model with complex attires that require specific scaling per vertex.

But for the models I tend to use, IF the model isn’t janky, as in, way too low-poly to even get the scaling looking right:

(Sorry Leon), but if the model has more leeway the way Ryuji or most MHA models do, then you can cheat the rest in your graphics software.  In my case, I use Clip Studio Paint.

Now, as you can see here, Ryuji’s spine is ALL fucked up:

So what I do instead is I fill in the jagged empty space like I would a regular drawing:

This gets a lil time consuming because you have to match the color and shade of the model, and that’s constantly influx unless you’re dealing with a model that has absolutely no shade attached, which you CAN apply in lighting for XNALara XPS, but that looks too flat to even be appealing.

Same up front, Ryuji’s belly isn’t nearly as pointy or boxy as Leon’s because he’s a next-gen character model and Leon’s poly count is more PS2.5 than anything else:

So, I do two things, and this is a big part of why I use CSP, because in addition to filling the back, I can fix the pointiness using a feature called “mesh editor.”  Basically, I get to highlight a part of an image which I can manipulate.  And I manipulate it subtly and in multiple directions until I get something that looks smoother:

As you can see, I was able to expand Ryuji’s belly, making it look even bigger and also get rid of the pointy parts of his stomach as best I could.  You’ll also notice his fingers are SLIGHTLY longer, but because it was a minimal increase, that’s fine.  But you do have to be mindful of that because it isn’t like editing in XPS or other software, the whole area around that image gets impacted, and you have to be careful. 

And as you can see, the spine is filled, but looks sloppy compared to the rest of the model.  This is something you can resolve with blurring and finger tipping options to smooth out the janky colors I filled out in the spine to give the illusion that it actually gels with the full model:

It ain’t perfect, but that’s as good as you can get.

And that’s about it!

As you can see, there are limitations.  Obviously, you can’t make a belly become a medicine ball unless there are VERY specific bones to a model.  But this is how I do it since, more realistic bloats are my thing anyway, and the software is most equipped to handle that kinda bloat.

(This is also a pretty time consuming process.  So if you’ve ever wondered why I charge more for comics that require additional editing, this is why.  Time is money, kids.  XD)

ANYWHO, that about wraps things up!  Hope you found this the least bit educational, and hope you enjoyed seeing the process of everyone’s favorite “bonehead” getting his fill.  :P

[artb0t]

[ALT text for basic image I.D.s, full I.D.s for each page under the read more.]

Pure White, He’s Not Alright

Heh, so here’s the (prologue) comic for that au @dottilyn and I have been working on. the file name is “au meant to hurt you” and i hope it achieves that goal <3

Some minor ramblings under the image ids below the cut if you wanna know more!

[Page 1 - Split into 8 panels, three in the top and bottom rows with two in the center. The first three panels show a dark purple side table in the bottom left corner and a pale foot in the bottom right all in front of a dark grey wall. A phone with a pale pink case sits on top of the table. In the first panel the phone glows and text reads “buzz buzz” in orange. in panel 2 the phone is dark, as is the rest of the room. Panel three has the phone lit up again with the “Buzz Buzz” text. Panel four is an overhead of the phone so it can be read. It is at 3% battery, with a time of 3:46 AM. There are three visible notifications on the phone, one marked as new. The new one reads “Discord, today, 3:6 AM. G.H.R.T.V. : Bro? Are you okay? Normally I’d hear back b-” before getting cut off. The two older messages read “Discord, yesterday, 3:14 PM. G.H.R.T.V. :Shouldn’t be an issue though, right?” and “Discord, yesterday, 10:21 AM. G.H.R.T.V. : Speaking of -(cut off) -ip next week...” Panel five shows the same as panel four, but a pale hand is trying to activate the screen, blocking most of the text. Panels six to eight also show the same as panels one to three, but slightly more zoomed out with Benrey standing in frame, trying to use the phone. He is a pale man in a dark navy shirt, white shorts, and shoulder-length bed head, looking extremely sleepy, like the phone has woken him up. In panel six he’s saying “broooo..... stopppp buzzing.” In Panel seven, Benrey says “It’s too early” while yawning. There are little yawn bubbles around him, and his finger is overlaid through the phone, at a lighter opacity. In panel eight, Benrey has noticed his finger going through the phone with comically open eyes. The yawn bubbles have popped and he is saying “huh?”

Page 2 - This page has 3 small, vertical panels in the upper left corner, overlapping each other slightly while the other 3/4s of the page are one larger scene. In the first small panel, Benrey’s full body is shown and we can see he’s not wearing socks or shoes either as if he just crawled out of bed. He is grabbing the side table for support, and phasing his foot through the side of his Black Mesa Security helmet, which is sitting on the floor. The next is zoomed in slightly to cut off at his knees. This time, Benrey’s hand is going through the side table again, and he looks shocked. The text reads “....whu?” above his head. In the third panel, Benrey is turning away from the left towards the right with an extremely confused expression. The Final panel shows Benrey from the knees up, facing to the right past the viewer. The side table is beside him with the phone (buzzing again) on it as well as his work ID. Benrey’s vest is on a second, shorter side table. On a bed across from the side tables is a pale body. Only the lower legs are visibly, but it is the same skin colour and frame as Benrey himself. He’s looking distraught towards where the head of the body would be, out of frame.

Page 3 - This page has seven panels, split into three rows vertically. In panel one, Benrey is leaning down, looking over what is his body, lying on the bed and slightly blurred to look out of focus. He is shown from the shoulders up, extremely confused, and is saying “Bro, I’m supposed to be IN that.” In the second panel, Benrey has stoop up slightly and can now be seen from the waist up. He’s sticking one of his arms through the body towards the camera, even more concerned. “Why am I not IN that?” He’s asking. In panel three and four, the camera is placed behind the phone on the side table, viewing Benrey from behind. He’s still got his hand in the body, looking away, as the phone buzzes again. In Panel four, he’s turning to look over his shoulder at the phone. In panel five, we see over Benrey’s shoulder as he goes back to the phone. His face is not visible but he is sayin “Oh come on.” Panel six is a close up on the phone. We can see the time is now 3:48 AM, the battery is down to 2% and the new message reads “Discord, Today 3:48 AM. G.H.R.T.V. : Okay well -(cut off)- get back to me soon.” Panel seven, the final one, has a view looking up at Benrey who’s face is lit up from the glow of the phone. He looks quite distressed and is saying “please let this work.”

Page 4 - This page has four panels with images and an additional two with only text. The page has one Main panel, the last one, and everything else is set overtop of it. The first two panels are small, rectangular and floating near the top of the page, flanked by text in “Benrey Speech Blue” saying “no” repeatedly and getting larger each time. The first panel shows his hand almost touching the top of the phone from a dramatic side angle, as the phone gives a “Low Power” warning. The second is more zoomed in, and shows the phone screen shutting itself off. The third panel is wide horizontal on the next row down and we can see the top of the side table where the now off phone sits, Benrey from the waist up, and his body lying on the bed. Standing Benrey has a hand in his hair and his face all screwed up in distress. From this point to the bottom of the page, all the lines fade to white from black, and all of the colours fade to black. There is a smaller horizontal panel with only Benrey blue-text which vertically fades to white that says “NO” and a smaller box underneath that which says “... please”. The final panel shows Benrey leaning against the wall between the side tables and the bed with his body on it. He’s got his head against his knees with his arms wrapped around his legs.

END I.D.]

SO ! this is not a “benrey is a xen creature/experiment/glitch/game construct” au, there is no Res Cas, but there Is an experiment that brings our normal main cast together. We don’t have a full plot outlines, but we do have most of our setup figured out! 

Full time security guard, part time glitch-hunter, Mr. Benrey Benrey Benrey has been online friends with his favourite twitch speedrunner, GHRTV for a while now. They were planning on meeting up! Too bad Benrey can’t remember what happened in the last 48 hours, including what ... killed him. When he wakes up again, he’s back in his apartment, but things look different, and things keep getting more different as it turns out he’s been gone for a while. His apartment has been resold as “move in ready” to a recent PHD graduate moving across the country with his toddler son. And well, wouldn’t you know it’s (ex, now) speedrunner Gordon Freeman, finally getting a chance to use his scientific skills. 

Well... Benrey is dead, right? And he’s not sure why he’s still around (and he really doesn’t want to leave) but there’s nothing against having a little fun with his old best friend, right? And you know what, Gordon Freeman is a busy man and he could use some help having fun again. Either someone to help out with having a toddler, even if they can’t really touch him, or someone to just make him laugh again.

don’t worry, it’ll all work out :)

We’ve got ideas and scenes and goofs of all sorts but we have really been having fun coming up with ways to make this as found family as possible. Let everyone rely on and love each other! They deserve it! But also lots of Angst haha. Its basically us using a lot of ideas which would be really fun but are small on their own, and pushing them all together for the gay rights <3

[harcourtholmesii]

An Officer’s Loyalty (Part 4)

Pairings: Medic X Reader

Words: 2098

Warnings:

- Swearing

- Blood and Gore

- Violence

- Plotting To Murder and Attempted Murder

- Drugging

Enjoy!

It was a slow awakening.

 Your eyelids felt heavy as they opened; your brain slowly coming to comprehend that your surroundings did not match where you had been before passing out. You were treated to viewing a great expanse of grey cement and a single light that dangled in place of where the medigun should have been.

 You sat up, your movements languid and as if weighed down by iron, and peered about your new locale.

 It seemed not unlike the private quarters you had at BLU base; a small bed upon which you laid, a wooden cabinet and desk, and a singular, thin window just below the roof line. There was no sunshine from outside, but you could see the evening sky. A splash of pinks, peach and gold that cracked across the desert horizon, dotted with the faintest starlight.

 You pulled yourself up and sat on the side of the bed, allowing yourself a moment to breathe. It felt as if your lungs were compressed by something; as if your chest was filled with a large stone. You sucked in air, and felt a pain rip across your chest, as if you were close to bursting.

 You looked down at your clothes, noting that though they hung from your shoulders, they were split open down the middle, revealing a heavy blanket of bandages from navel to your pectorals. A singular, large Y was stained into the white wrappings as blood seeped through it all. You didn’t understand at first, but you felt the colour drain from your face.

 You lurched up and away from the bed; on your feet you felt a great swirl of motion through your skull. You couldn’t see. You whirled and whipped your head about, hoping to regain your composure and unable to see past the blur of colours. You couldn’t see the bedroom anymore, but you could see your nearest way out. With difficulty, you stepped forth and found your whole body tilting.

 You ran to keep up with it and felt your head and shoulders barrel into the wood of a door, splinters flying as you just caved it in. You didn’t even notice the damage, just trying to calculate your next step. Where to go? Where to run?

 It seemed your ruckus had caught the attention of another.

 You heard fast feet, and through the haze, you could see a figure in RED colours rounding the corner at the far end of what you presumed was a corridor. You held your hands up, clenching them into fists as you prepared for a one-sided fight. You had no doubt in your condition you would hardly be a challenge.

 They approached just as quickly, and in your rush of adrenaline, you struck out. You hit nothing but air as the figure leapt back and out of reach. You struck out again, and felt a wrapped hand grab your fist. You didn’t let it stop you.

 Your blind eyes searched through the haze, attempting to recognise who it was that had found you. How low did you have to punch?

 ‘Yo, cool it!’ Then there was a shriek, high-pitched and then a low, pained whine. You had guessed right. The grip on your fist weakened and you could see how the figure hunched over where they stood. You ripped your hand away from theirs and lashed out again, tackling the other to the floor. Through the haze, you had started making out details again.

 You could see the young face, the grey eyes that had started tearing up and the quivering lip as the RED Scout held back another whine. His voice was strained as he spoke.

 ‘Really, man? Right in the goodies?’

 You didn’t care. You had been through enough you were sure.

 Your head was still fuzzy, but there was no way you were in the company of good people. You snarled down at the Scout, raising your hands to his throat and beginning to press down. He started coughing, hacking, both hands grasping for your own.

 ‘H-Hey! S-Sto-… -Op!’ You didn’t. Like Hell were you going to let him go and get his team. You might have stood a chance against the Scout but if anyone else found you, the thought made your blood run cold.

 ‘D-Doc’s comin’! J-Just… L-Let me go, ma-… man!’ Images flashed behind your eye lids of that manic grin and the bloodied hands. Suddenly, you could recall the horrid sight of his hands delicately scooping out your heart, still beating and wet. You started coughing, and felt your already empty stomach attempting to empty itself further. Your hands loosened and you let your thumbs slip free of the boy’s Adam’s apple. He scrambled out from under you, coughing and sputtering as he attempted to regain his breath.

 Beneath you, you could feel saliva leave your lips but nothing else came as your body dry heaved. Your chest was ablaze with a pain, and you could still feel the traces of a saw cutting through your flesh. It’s filed teeth ripping apart sinew to get at your precious organs.

 You felt a hand on your shoulder as you started to wind down. You vision was blurring again when you next heard Scout speak.

 ‘Dude, you’re bleedin’.’ It was true. You could feel a warm damp behind the bandages and above your skin, and you could see fine traces of crimson slipping between the cracks and falling to the floor below you. ‘I’ll be right back, I’m gonna get Doc.’ You almost reached out for him to stop him. Instead, you felt your stomach heave again.

 You don’t know for how long you had been there, but you had heard both the sounds of a retreating pair of light feet, and then heavier boots accompanying them on their way back. It couldn’t have been long, and as you heard the steps of two people, you started attempting to crawl on your hands and knees. You needed to get away.

 ‘Jus’ here.’

 Crap!

 You felt a larger figure then Scout’s lean beside you, and felt an ungloved hand turn your head around. You were looking back into those gleaming blue eyes, the expression in that face a certain kind of serious you were only used to seeing in your own Medic. You felt your blood boil now.

 Despite the drain of your strength, you reached out and took a hold of his tie. The man was pulled off his feet and down to the floor with you, until the two of you were nearly nose-to-nose. You thought about tightening the cloth of his red tie until he couldn’t breathe, or just plain attempting to beat him to death with his own boots. But you felt your arm shaking.

 Your attack on Scout had left you exhausted and your body trembling from exertion. You held him there, growling in an attempt to hold back your own, pained noises. You had expected the surprise when you had grabbed him, and perhaps a hint of either fear or anger when you were plotting to kill him.

 You were not expecting a smile.

 ‘Wunderbar!’ You felt your snarl fall, and your hand loosen around his tie. You glanced up at Scout, who had grabbed out his bat but was now just looking between the two of you in a similar confusion to what you felt. He was staring at Medic like the man had grown a third head.

 ‘W-What?’

 ‘Vonderful! Jou are doing far better zhan I zhought jou vould!’ He stood beside you, smoothing down the rumpled wool of his vest and then he stooped to help you to your feet. You didn’t know what was going on, but what you did know was that he wasn’t attacking you.

 You took his hand nervously, and allowed him to help you stand. Scout came to your other side until both of your arms had been hooked behind their necks and across their shoulders. Between the three of you, it was a strange appearance at how lop-sided you were supported.

 Medic led the way back into the bedroom, and the two of them helped you to sit down until you were comfortably laying back on the bed. Your breath was laboured, and the pain had refused to cease. You clutched at the wrappings across your chest, choking back another pained cry.

 ‘Bitte, jou are doing very vell.’ Medic sat on the bed beside you, looking you over and testing points across your sides and upper body. You felt like your lungs could collapse at any moment.

 ‘Doc, what the Hell is wrong with ‘em? Your medigun broke, or somethin’?’

 ‘Nein.’ The Medic seemed almost offended by such a statement, resting a hand over your chest just to feel how you breathed. You didn’t understand how that was supposed to work without a stethoscope, but you decided against questioning the madman.

 ‘Then, why they bleedin’ out? You sealed the rest of us up fine.’ Satisfied with your breathing and how your chest rose and fell, Medic pulled out a syringe from his pocket. It was filled with some kind of clear liquid, of which he squirted some out first before he started to rest the fine tip against the crook of your elbow. When you attempted to pull away from it, he just rested a hand on your arm and carefully entered the needle through your skin. You hissed.

 ‘Das is because jou all had cavities just large enough for zhe heart replacement. Our new Offizier needs time to adjust, so I added stitches. Body just needs to stretch a little.’ You were pretty sure that wasn’t how shit worked. Perhaps whatever had replaced your heart was making it hard to breathe.

 ‘W-What did… did you put in m-me?’

 ‘Oh, vell, nozhing too big.’ He didn’t look at you. You turned your pained glare up at Scout who just turned away. He started whistling, shifting from foot to foot to distract himself from your questioning. He caved, and turned his head back only after a few seconds.

 ‘Mega baboon heart.’

 Oh.

 Of course.

 That made perfect sense. Who wouldn’t replace their own heart with one from a dangerous monkey from halfway across the world? It must have cost a fortune but it made for a perfectly sensible procedure.

 NOT.

 ‘Pardon?’

 Scout stepped away from you, whilst Medic’s smile continued to grow.

 ‘It is all standard procedure. Remember, jou did agree to zhis.’

 ‘I agreed to a heart transplant under the assumption I would be getting a human heart!’ Medic reeled back a little, seemingly confused by your outburst. You sneered at him, attempting to turn over in bed, but you could feel your internal organs rock within you as you moved, and your eyelids grow heavy once more. You glared down at the now empty needle in your arm, ripping it out and throwing it across the room at the doctor.

 ‘What did you just give me?’

 ‘A small sedative.’ There was a nudge from Scout, almost a shove against the doctor’s side. Medic turned an annoyed glare down at him, but Scout just rolled his head back towards you. ‘Okay. Fine. It is a tranquilizer. All zhe same, somezhing to put jou to sleep for a little vhile. At least, until jour body has recovered.’

 What the Hell was wrong with this team?

 You blinked, your loud and angered thoughts beginning to fade to a muted throb at the back of your mind. You slumped against the bed as Medic came over to roll you onto your back once more. You peered up at him, drowsily reaching up with one hand to grab him by his tie again and pull him down to your level. With your strength drained, you almost didn’t realize he lowered himself down to you instead of you exerting your strength and pulling him down.

 His smile had returned.

 ‘Jou’re going to be brilliant for RED team.’

 ‘Don’t insult me.’ Perhaps it was the way you said it or just because of how demeaning it might have sounded, but you were surprised to hear the sound of laughter. It wasn’t cruel and it wasn’t manic. You observed how his smile created the slightest dimples in his cheeks, how his eyes creased at the outer corners and how his laugh was something genuine and warm.

 You felt your chest tighten around the baboon heart, and felt a flush through your body as your skin heated in your cheeks. Blood swelled at the incision lines, as you drifted off once more. You couldn’t tell if the heat in your face was from embarrassment or anger.

 Or something far worse.

 …

 Shit.

[star-sky-earth]

dropstitch (1489 words)

bellamy/clarke, rated PG

warnings: ambiguous ending

Inspired by everyone’s favourite bellarke modern au picture, and this post.

The painting is beautiful. Large, stretching from floor to ceiling in a riotous mass of colour, taking up the entirety of Clarke’s vision as if she were standing on the precipice of an entirely new world. As if she could step forward, lift her foot over the boundary wire and walk right into it, her body melting into the paint. This close, the image blurs, the paint lying thick on the canvas, and she has to fight the urge to reach out and touch it, to feel the textured surface under her fingertips, trace the path of each individual brushstroke.

She is staring, absorbed, when she senses movement at her side, the quiet shuffle of someone coming to stand next to her. The painting is 13 metres long - it takes up the whole wall, plenty of room for everyone - and she feels a prickle of annoyance at the intrusion, the shattering of the illusion of privacy. As if she had been walked in on while undressing, or singing loudly in the shower, some small private part of her exposed that she would rather have remained hidden. It is always like this, she thinks, with men.  

She turns to face the intruder, mouth already opening on a snide comment, and there he is.

It is not her fault, she will tell herself later. He is close, too close really, for such a large open space, and how could she have known? That he would be there, right there, and that their eyes would meet, instantly, and hold, and all the breath leave her lungs, the connection hitting like a perfectly landed blow.

The bright overhead gallery lights are unforgiving, sparing no detail, and despite that he is beautiful. Because of that, even. His eyes are a warm brown behind a pair of thick-rimmed black glasses, the skin around them etched with feather-soft lines, and there is a small scar bisecting the curved line of his upper lip, standing out stark white against his tan skin. His hair is unbrushed, dark messy curls, and he is dressed casually, in a wrinkled beige button-down, the sleeves pushed up and rolled around his elbows. One of the buttons is coming loose, and it trails a thin line of dangling white thread.

She imagines painting him. She can’t help it - she is an artist, after all, and then there is where they are, and context is important in these things. She imagines what it might be like, the process of having him sit for her, deconstructing each feature into its most basic parts, his own personal geometry - the arch of his brow, the angle of his jaw, the exact position of each individual freckle on his skin, like mapping constellations - until she could draw him with her eyes closed, his body captured, written into hers like muscle memory. And then, because she really cannot help herself, because she may be an artist, but she is also a woman, and lonely - she imagines waking next to him in bed, watching in the early dawn light as he sleeps, tracing each relaxed line not with the eye of a painter, but a lover. Memorising not just the sight of him, but the smell, the taste, the weight of his body on hers. Absorbing him entirely, until the boundary between their individual bodies fails, collapses into a question of mere semantics, a philosophical problem.

It is both a very long time, and just a few seconds later, that she collects herself.

“I - ” she stutters, and hates herself. “Um, the painting,” she says, gesturing behind her as though he might not have noticed it, somehow.

“Yes,” he says, his voice surprisingly deep. The corner of his mouth twitches, as if he is holding back a smile.

She turns back to the painting, and now they are side by side. He smells good, his cologne rich but not over-powering, and she realises that she is wet, and shifts uncomfortably, squeezing her thighs together underneath her long skirt.

“Beautiful,” he says, after a pause, but the side of her face burns under his gaze, and he is not looking at the painting as he says it.

They stand together, looking at the painting. No, not together, but, also. Together.

The gallery was noisy before, the large space echoing with footsteps and the low hum of whispered conversation, but now it seems to quieten, so all Clarke can hear is her own breath, the thundering of her heartbeat. Her phone vibrates in her shoulder bag, but she ignores it. Her mom, probably, sick of playing with Madi in the Children’s Zone, wondering where she is. She was never that kind of mother. Or grandmother, it seems.

Clarke ignores it.

She risks a glance at his face, but his expression is relaxed, giving nothing away. She’s got her right hand on her shoulder bag, holding it close to her, but her left hand hangs loosely at her side, only a few inches from his. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the distance between their hands seems to lessen, and out of the corner of her eye she notices his hand twitch, his little finger flex, as if he might close the distance. She holds her breath.

“Bellamy!”

The shout rings out across the hall, and she jumps at the sound. Their fingers touch, for an instant.

She looks up at him. He looks as startled as she feels, but there is something else in his expression too. Guilt, and the sight of it wrenches her insides, like someone has wrapped their hands around her intestines and twisted their fists in opposite directions.

“I have to…” he says, his voice trailing off. He takes a deep breath, and then nods in the direction of the shout.

“Of course,” she replied. “Nice meeting you.”

“Yes.” He nods, and then opens his mouth as though he is going to say something else. Closes it, as if he has thought better of it, whatever it was. And then he is moving.

Leaving.

Gone.

Something painful catches in her, a sharp pain just under her ribs and suddenly she’s crying. Like when you stub your toe in exactly the right(wrong) spot and tears spring to your eyes before the pain even registers, someone rushing over to ask if you’re okay. Except she is alone, and when she looks over to the doorway she sees a woman waiting for him, tall and graceful. Brunette. Beautiful, and nothing like Clarke.

The woman looks up, and their eyes meet across the room for a split-second before she is looking away again, he gaze skipping disinterestedly over Clarke.

“Momma!” she hears then, and turns just in time for Madi to run headlong into her, wrapping her skinny arms around her thighs. Clarke bends down and scoops her up, hiding her wet eyes in her daughter’s hair.

“Who is that?” her mother asks, reaching them a moment later. “Do you know him?”

Clarke turns back towards the doorway, still holding Madi. He - Bellamy, she knows his name now - is watching her, his expression unreadable. His eyes flick to the child in her arms, and then back to her, and then the woman next to him tugs on his hand, and he turns away.

Was it her imagination, she will think later that evening, lying in bed with Madi snuggled tight and sleeping against her, or did he hesitate, just for a moment, before he walked away? Did something in his eyes flicker, a muscle in his sharp jaw twitch, before he turned, slow and reluctant? Did he pause, his feet suddenly heavy, almost too heavy to lift, a struggle to make himself walk away?

It would be unreasonable to expect the universe to work perfectly all the time. It is a large machine, after all, with so many small and moving parts, and well out of warranty, held together with little more than tape and super glue, and a good dash of hope. Everyone crossing their fingers and holding their breath, hoping that it won’t sputter and fail and grind to a halt, like driving an old car down a country road, ready at any moment to have to get out and push. If there is anyone in charge - and that, Clarke thinks, is doubtful in itself - they have proved themselves to be an entirely incompetent creator. It is only natural to expect a few hanging threads, a few loose screws, rifling frantically through the instruction manual as the whole thing wobbles dangerously in front of you, threatening to collapse at any moment.

A few dropped stitches.

Clarke smiles brightly at Madi, hoping that her eyes don’t shine too brightly under the gallery lights when she turns back and replies to her mother.

“No.”

[5hokage]

“come on, give it a try. it’ll be funny.” ribbing kind of joke, with the way kankuro grins too wide.

the kind that has yuugiri frown, warnings going off in her head. “don’t you mean ‘fun’?”

“nope. funny.” pause. “come on.” his hand around her upper arm, encouraging her to keep up with him.

and she wasn’t one to find her feet to argue here. clicks her tongue, and yuugiri wasn’t able to resist the way he smiles in the sun now. full force, as if he knew. resounding thought of well, shit that hits her full force once again, and they take to crossing buildings, feet carrying them the rest of the way. tomorrow, she’d turn him down.

“this better not be like last time…”

“that was funny. and you know it was!”

“kankuro,” she drawls out his name, hitting every note. “you scared me half to death. it wasn’t funny.”

“yeah, yeah. you’ll grow a sense of humour soon, i know.” waves her off, like he always does. smile switching gears, brows drawing in. ah, she knew that look. “i promise i won’t do it again.”

her like hell goes unsaid, as yuugiri could just roll her eyes. follows him the rest of the way, ducking under his arm when he finally draws to a stop, holding the curtain back. one of the workshops scattered around. from the way he’d talked, yuugiri had half expected him to set up his own someone closer to home, but he hadn’t decided on a place. just moved between all the ones available.

following him closely, though. they weren’t alone in this one, and yuugiri could only peer into the rooms, seeing varying skill levels before her. ones that didn’t appreciate being watched, even if kankuro was leading her onwards and upwards. another beat of a thought: good thing she wasn’t a spy. good thing she’d left that life behind.

good thing, she thinks once they find a private room that had all the hallmarks of kankuro’s work, that she was trying to turn over a new leaf.

whatever she was mulling over, he didn’t notice. starting a conversation halfway through. “yeah, i know you have some thread control—”

kind of conversation that she was able to cut into, easy. like they’d been doing this for years. “excellent control, fuck you.”

“—but this is different. it’s more…” fingers spread, painting an image only he can see. she didn’t want to hear the waxing of poetry, and moved on. spying in the corner something that had been newly carved, yet not fitted out completely. perfect.

shake of hand, threads snapping to connect to parts of the puppet, as he says the word, “artistic.” all of which gets her a scandalised gasp. “that’s not how you do it!”

“why not?”

“just because you can pick up and throw weapons around doesn’t mean you can just make a puppet walk like—”

“like this?”

gangly, but moving. her fingers not quite as practiced. it was all kinds of infuriating whilst also giving him reason to just watch as she moved thumb, little finger, middle. trying to work out all the technicalities. she hadn’t quite placed the threads to where it would be most effective, or thought out. both hands moving, as she pulls her right had across her body, face reflecting a rather surprised expression as the puppet collapsed.

kankuro was equal parts amused, but his hands were on hers. encouraging. all smarmy and full of shit, but there was no denying that, well. “if you wanted to just get your arms around me, all you had to do was ask.” tilts her head back, against his shoulder. muscle in his cheek jumps, as he smothers a grin.

“no—well i mean, later—but come on, i wanna see you do this.” thread from a finger here, there, specifications that don’t quite mean anything to her. but they mean something to him, and the lines had been blurred for months. yuugiri couldn’t deny that.

so, she tries. despite her best efforts, she really does try. manages to at least get the puppet upright, moving. sailing through the air with some choice movements in fingers that earn her a laugh. kankuro’s hands do eventually leave hers, only to find themselves comfortably at her waist. hips.

“kankuro…” sing-song warning in her voice, one that he almost whistles nonchalantly to. not a care in the world. “we’re not alone here.” hand over his. not enough support on the puppet, as it falls, clattering to the floor.

low noise in the back of his throat, grip on her tightening. all at odds with the way he says, “don’t just drop the puppet like that.”

“oh, so now you’re more concerned about the puppet?” shrugging him off, yuugiri drops the rest of the threads. “honestly—”

“aw, don’t get mad,” spinning her around in his hands, kankuro walks her back. boxes her in, against a worktable. “maybe you’ll get the hang of it… one day.”

hands up in his face, pushing him back, yuugiri snorts. “uh huh. i’m sure.” moving to his cheeks, resting along the back of his neck, she winds her fingers into his hair. “y’know, i’m getting some conflicting feelings here.”

“what about?” mix of curiosity and concern in his voice. something that had her smile.

“i don’t really like an audience.”

“since when?”

“since they have eyes you can move.” finger pointed over his shoulder, to the array of puppets against the wall. “a little too much, even for me.”

“i scare you one time, and you just won’t let it go, huh.” but his lips are against her cheek, even as he chuckles. “so what do you wanna do then?”

yuugiri sighs against his lips. “come on, you dragged me all the way here so i could learn how to do this.”

“then let go.” breathy suggestion, knowing damn well she wouldn’t.

“mmm, in a minute.” happy sort of sigh, little laugh, arms wrapping around him now. ah, whatever. worry about it later.

[the-woundupbird]

moonrene a/b/o drabble

Byulyi nearly went cross-eyed trying to balance a pencil on the edge of her nose, leaning back to ensure that no wobbles would lead to the object clattering to the floor.

“Byulyi, would you stop being a dumbass and let me copy your notes?” whined Junghwan from his seat next to her.

“You should have finished it last night instead of playing video games.  I asked you to go to the library after cram school but you said no.”

“I didn’t want to have to get caught up in an enforcer patrol.  They always walk around our school because it’s integrated.”

Byulyi harrumphed as her pencil finally tipped off her nose and she caught it in mid-air.

“The enforcers aren’t that scary.”

“They’re the only branch of the police force that can freely carry guns in Korea.  How is that not terrifying?”

“They only are supposed to use them on alphas that go berserk.  You saw the news the other day right?”

She tipped her head back and met Junghwan’s sullen gaze.  Of course he had.  The whole country had watched breathlessly as the blurry images circulated all across South Korea.  Even though the schools had just started being integrated two years ago in an effort to lessen the bias amongst alphas, betas, and omegas, last week’s news made it a very hard sell.  Byulyi remembered seeing how even the grainy pixels of a handheld video had to be blurred as the alpha, clearly not on his scent blocker medication, had torn out the throat of an omega high school girl in broad daylight.  It’d gone viral in hours and trended globally by the end of the day.

So much for South Korea being the leader in cutting edge scent-blocking pharmaceutical research.

“I heard that alphas might have to start filing their teeth down now,” Junghwan murmured as he pillowed his head on his arms.

“Don’t they already?  I heard naturally they’re even sharper than betas’ teeth.”  Byulyi gave Junghwan a one-handed finger gun and he automatically curled his upper lip to show off the undeniable pointed edge.  But that was just his canines.

“Are they really all sharp? Like actual wolves?”

“Apparently,” Byulyi muttered as she wiggled her pencil in her hand, watching as the rest of her classmates filtered in for the first period of school.  She wiggled her eyebrows at her friend Heeyeon with a smile as the other girl took her seat near the front of the classroom.

“Heeyeon-ah, will you check math answers with me?” she half-shouted across the room.

“After! We’re getting a transfer student and I have to help Ms. Park settle her in.”

“Wait, really?”  Byulyi tilted her head curiously, startling a little when their teacher walked in.  She adjusted something at her desk before the class stood to bow and greet her for the morning.  Byulyi zoned out as she half listened to her teacher do a few cursory announcements.  Outside the classroom she caught sight of dark black hair in the periphery of the window.  If she wasn’t on scent-blockers she probably could smell her but it was mandatory for everyone to be on the medication to suppress as much of their differences as possible.

But, Byulyi could catch the faintest hint of something musky, like pine in the woods on a cold winter night.  It made her heart race a little in her ears.  The scent was untamed in a way that was clearly forbidden as the reintegration tapes had stated.  Wild and free—not for me!

“-Bae Joohyun.”

Byulyi blinked owlishly, tuning back in just in time for the prettiest girl she’d ever seen to slide the classroom door open and enter quietly.  She knew that every one of her classmates was straining a little forward, curious to try to tell what exactly was she.  Was she an omega? A beta? An alpha?

But of course the scent-blockers kept that a secret.  A gift for reintegration.

“Why don’t you introduce yourself, Joohyun-ah,” Ms. Park said with a smile, a hand gesturing to the eager students.

“… My name is Bae Joohyun.  I’m a transfer student from Daegu.  I’m… please take care of me.”  She bowed quickly and the rest of the class began a frenzy of curious questions despite the clear shyness tightening her face.

“What high school did you come from in Daegu? Angel High?”

“Are you an omega?  You’re so cute!”

“What’s your favorite food?”

Byulyi rolled her eyes a little and by chance her and the transfer student made eye contact.  She blinked slowly, nose twitching as she tried to put a finger on the faint scent.  It was almost like Joohyun knew she was trying to smell her because she flushed and silently sat in the empty seat behind Heeyeon, silencing the questions.

Ms. Park seemed a little flustered as she stared at Joohyun for a long moment before awkwardly shifting on her feet.

“W-well everyone, please be nice to Joohyun, okay? It’s hard transferring in the middle of the second year of high school so answer all her questions.”

Byulyi almost snorted because it’d be the other way around.  Joohyun would be lucky if she got through today with her identity not immediately revealed.

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

Byulyi usually left her classroom during break to bother Yongsun but she stuck around to watch everyone flock around the new girl.  She almost felt a little bad at the way they swarmed her, bombarding her with questions like they couldn’t tell she was getting extremely uncomfortable under the weight of them all.  Even Heeyeon looked a little terse despite her usual big smile.

She sighed as she stood and ambled over to the fray.

“-my cousin says that’s the best chicken place in Daegu!  That’s so cool your parents own that restaurant chain.”

Joohyun weakly smiled at the comment, ducking her head a little and letting her dark hair fall more in front of her face.  It was a curtain, Byulyi thought with a sad smile.

“Hey, everyone, class representative Moon Byulyi needs to talk to the transfer student.  So I’m going to steal her for a second.”

“Aw come on, Byul, can’t we have a little fun?”

“After I help her out.  Hey, Vice President Ahn, you probably need to go to the bathroom before class starts right? I’ll take care of the transfer kid.”

“Oh could you, Byul-ah? Thanks I’ll be right back!”

Joohyun raised her head, exchanging a smile with Heeyeon as the taller girl practically leaped from her seat and sprinted for the bathroom.

“Want to get out of here?” Byulyi stepped in front of the crowd of curious students.  She blocked them from Joohyun’s line of sight with her back, bracing her hands on the corner of the girl’s desk and chair.  Byulyi almost flushed at how close they were with Joohyun’s thigh almost brushing her knee.

“Where?”

Byulyi just smirked and grabbed Joohyun’s wrist, running off with a barking laugh to the dismay of her classmates.  She didn’t realize the transfer student was laughing too until they’d climbed a few flights of stairs to the empty music classroom.  Byulyi dropped Joohyun’s wrist as she stumbled into a chair, flipping her long bangs out of her eyes.

“Thanks.”

Byulyi looked up at Joohyun who was still uncertainly standing near the door, one hand clenching onto her wrist.  She looked uneasy as she glanced around the empty classroom.  It was like she was worried a chair was going to jump up and bite her or something.

“They’re all really nice.  We all basically went to the same middle school together so getting a transfer student is really fun for us.  But I can get how all those strangers up close might be scary.”

Joohyun tucked some of her hair behind her ear with a nod.  Noticing how stiff the other girl’s shoulders were made Byulyi feel a little guilty.  She seemed just as nervous as when they were down stairs.  With a determined glance around the classroom she ambled toward the only piano in the corner and gestured for Joohyun to join her.

“Can you play?”

“A little.”

“How about this one?”

Byulyi tinkered around a little, pulling a playful rendition of chopsticks from the old keys.  Joohyun bit back a smile as she tapped along, the two of them making a sloppy stream of music.

When they stopped, Joohyun turned to look at her and Byulyi swore her eyes were almost golden in the lighting.  But it must have just been her imagination.  After all, it was a lot having such a pretty girl staring at her like that.

“What perfume do you use?” she asked quickly, making a show of randomly pressing a series of lazy chords against the keys.

“Perfume?”

“Yeah.  Everyone wears it since the scent blockers sort of make you smell… sterile.  Like a hospital room.”

“I don’t wear perfume,” Joohyun mumbled as her eyes fell back to the keyboard, her profile solemn as she produced a sad string of notes from the piano.

“Oh sorry, you just smell-” Byulyi’s eyes widened at the way Joohyun’s jaw clenched so hard she could see the muscle twitch “-nice.”

“Nice?”

“Yeah.  Like have you ever gone hiking when there’s snow on the ground? It makes the trees smell so clean and fresh.  Especially the hour or two before it gets dark.  I think… I think you smell like that.”

Joohyun looked at Byulyi oddly before staring back down at her hands on the piano, small fingers almost engulfed by the sleeve of her uniform blazer.  Even though Byulyi was an omega, there was something about the other girl that made her want to protect the gentleness that seemed to ooze out of the careful way she touched everything.  If she touched me, would she act like I was made of glass, too? Byulyi wondered.

“You shouldn’t be able to smell me with the scent-blockers,” Joohyun muttered tersely, fingers tracing the piano keys but no longer playing.  “Are you an alpha? Your sense of smell is really strong.”

“No.  I’m not actually.  I was born with a good nose.”  Byulyi gave Joohyun a half-smile which the girl almost returned.

“You smell nice, too.”

“You can smell me?”

“Well, you’re standing right here,” Joohyun flushed, her cheeks undeniably pinkish at the way Byulyi leaned forward curiously.

“What do I smell like?”

Joohyun stopped trying to pull away, letting Byulyi be nearly a breath away as she let her gaze slide from her bangs to the slope of her jaw.

“Sweet.  Like candy.”

“Well don’t eat me.  I’ve read Little Red Riding Hood and I know how that story goes.”

“Do I look like the Big Bad Wolf?”

Byulyi lifted her head to laugh at the absurd question Joohyun was posing. This tiny person that looked more like a doll than a girl was asking if she was some monster from a story?

But then when Joohyun just stared back at Byulyi with not a hint of bluster, she found she couldn’t quite say no.  

[kittinoir]

AU

You can read this fic on Ao3

Chat Noir waited in the upper beams of the Eiffel Tower, observing the city. This high up, the wind tore at his blonde hair, whipped at his face, but he barely felt it. He was focused, determined, waiting. Waiting for her. He knew she’d show up. She always did.

He didn’t have to wait long.

It was mere moments before he saw that familiar red blur swinging across the rooftops of Paris. He couldn’t see her face yet, but he could imagine the furious scowl, the condemnation in those beautiful eyes. Absolutely devastating.

He watched, idly twirling his baton between his fingers, as she slid to a stop in the plaza below, mere feet away from his father’s latest creation. She kept her weapon at hand, currently in use as a shield, and though her enemy was impossible to miss, she kept searching the area. He’d be lying if he said his heart didn’t give a little stutter at the sight. He’d also be lying if he said he wasn’t flattered.

But he stuck to the shadows of the beams, watching and trying to convince himself what he felt was a rush of adrenaline and nothing more. It wasn’t admiration, and it certainly wasn’t anything like affection - even if ‘affection’ was putting it much too lightly, if he was being honest with himself. Which he hadn’t been doing much of lately.

He watched as Ladybug ran out of time and the akuma-victim struck, lashing out. She dodged it easily, no surprise there. Good technique, but a little over-zealous. Did the trick, he supposed. She dodged another swipe, springing across the plaza. God, she even made fighting look beautiful.

He slid down a beam, a little closer to the fight. She hadn’t brought a friend this time, and some small part of him quietly warmed at that. Just the two of them; that was how he preferred it.

Shut up. Those kinds of thoughts could only lead down one path, and he wasn’t sure he could take any more heartbreak just then.

He slipped closer again, now maybe just twenty feet above them. His tail (god, it was still weird to think of it like that) lashed behind him as he watched. He hated waiting.

“Lucky Charm!”

Chat Noir couldn’t help the feline grin that lit his face as she finally activated her power. And not, he told himself, because it meant he could finally, finally spar with her, talk with her again. No. It was definitely because his plan was falling into place.

Ladybug attacked the villain with renewed energy. He saw her glance around, could practically see how she was planning on using the little spotted toy that had dropped into her hand. He was close enough now that he could see the cute little crease between her brow that always appeared when she was trying to figure out her lucky charm. And if he couldn’t pretend his heart didn’t skip a beat as he marked her victory smile when she did figure it out, he could at least ignore it.

Chat Noir slid down the leg of the Eiffel tower the rest of the way to the ground as the sounds of the battle washed over him. There was a brief moment of silence seconds before his feet touched down, then a quick shout followed by the sound of something breaking.

“Time to de-evilize!” Oh, god, that was adorable. He heard the yo-yo whiz out, heard it snap shut. Show time.

Chat Noir saw her clearly as he sprinted around the side of the tower towards her. Her back was to him, as he’d planned, and her yo-yo was halfway back to her, the stunned akuma-victim dazed on the stones before them.

He threw his baton with lightning swiftness. It sailed across the plaza, striking the yoyo. The weapon whipped around Ladybug nearly too fast to see, pinning her arms to her sides, the force of it knocking her to her knees.

And then he was behind her, hauling her up by the string as she cried out.

“You,” she spat as he secured the string.

“Me,” he said, pulling her along as he retrieved his baton.

“This is cowardly, even for you,” she hissed, struggling to keep her balance.

“Cowardly?” he said with feigned injury. “And here I thought you’d compliment my cleverness. I didn’t break a sweat this time. I even succeeded.”

“It’s not over yet,” she snarled. And then she gave an almighty heave. The string didn’t snap, but it did…slip through his fingers at the sudden weight. Or did he simply let it go? Either way, the surprising lack of resistance meant she found herself over-balanced and face-down on the concrete.

“Looks like you’re finally falling for me,” he said, crouching beside her. The heart-stopping glare she shot over her shoulder was scorching.

“Don’t hold your breath,” she said as he hauled her back up. “Actually, go ahead. I’ll wait.”

“You wound me m’lady,” he said. And before she could distract him with her wit and charm, he swept her up bridal-style and leapt back towards the beams of the tower.

She didn’t even scream. Not the way Chloe or anyone else would have. In fact, he would’ve sworn she actually snarled in protest as they sailed up through the tower, a detail he nearly missed, overwhelmed as he was by her proximity. He’d never been this close before. She smelled like vanilla. His body tingled wherever she touched him, and he didn’t think he was imagining the warmth of her in his arms. In fact, he was rather surprised by the rightness of it.

“Release me,” she demanded as they finally came to a stop.

“Gladly,” he said. He set her down gently, another beam at her back, and him between her and escape without enough room to manoeuvre. And then he reached for her earrings.

He’d never taken off his miraculous while he was transformed, but he was unprepared the burst of pink that erupted from her skin as it began to dissolve, one earring in his hand. He also wasn’t prepared for her reaction. He’d expected more fight, or at least some foul curse thrown his way.

Instead she had curled in on herself, pressed herself right up against the beam, as far away from him as she could get. She’d drawn her knees up to her chest and squeezed her eyes closed, as if she could prevent the inevitable by simply refusing to see it. The wrongness of it, of seeing her small and terrified, struck him so deeply that he hesitated.

Fearlessness. Determination. Kindness. Cleverness. Those were the qualities Chat Noir admired most in her, even when he’d told himself he shouldn’t. Those were the things that left him breathless and wanting more. They were the reason he’d fallen for her, despite his better judgement.

And he knew, even then, with victory literally at his fingertips, her transformation dissolving before his eyes, that he would not be the reason he took those things away from her.

By the time Ladybug realized the sound she heard was her yoyo string slipping back into place and opened her eyes, Chat Noir had disappeared. Her earring had been abandoned on the beam in front of her. When she looked, he was no where to be found.

*                           *                               *                             *                             *

Marinette fiddled with her pencil, desperately trying to calm her nerves. The Jardins du Trocadero were full of people, but she couldn’t stop staring at the Eiffel Tower across the Seine. Couldn’t stop the images of that morning’s fight flashing across her mind. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel his arms around her, still hear his heartbeat in her ear as he carried her up those steel beams, her head against his chest. She shivered.

“Hey Marinette.”

She nearly fell off her step as Adrien’s voice sliced through the memory.

“Adrien!” she climbed to her feet, mercifully without tripping down the stone stairs. “I’m so glad you could come.”

“My father had to let me, since it’s for school,” he admitted with an adorable grin. “But I only have about 45 minutes.” He glanced around, his gaze lingering on the Eiffel Tower. “What made you pick the Trocadero?”

“Oh, I’ve been coming here forever,” Marinette admitted. “I always find inspiration here. I’m hoping it’ll help out with our design project.”

“Well your designs always have been amazing,” Adrien said as they sat down again. “Have you come up with anything yet?”

“Not yet,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck. “It’s a little hard to come up with something under pressure.”

“I get that,” Adrien said with a small laugh. “Hmmmm.” He looked around again, taking in the sights. “What about something Ladybug themed?”

The tip of Marinette’s pencil snapped against her sketchbook. “L-ladybug themed? Why Ladybug themed?”

“Why not?” he asked. He was looking at the tower again. “I heard there was a fight there this morning. Did you see the footage? She was…incredible.”

Marinette stilled, putting down the sharpener she’d pulled out. “Incredible, huh?”

“I’ve never seen anyone fight like her,” Adrien said. “She’s certainly not making Hawkmoth’s job any easier.”

“Ladybug’s a bit obvious, don’t you think?” There was an edge to her voice she hadn’t known she had, but there it was, sharp as a knife and twice as dangerous. But then, her eyes lit up. “Chat Noir on the other hand?”

Adrien glanced down at Marinette out of the corner of his eye. “Chat Noir? Isn’t he one of Hawkmoth’s cronies? Isn’t he…just as bad as him?”

But Marinette was already sketching, broad, violent strokes across the page. “I don’t think so,” she said absently. If Adrien stopped breathing beside her, she didn’t notice. “I think maybe he’s confused. I think maybe he feels like he has no other choice, or that maybe this is what he has to do.”

“Has to do?” Adrien echoed. “For what?”

Marinette shrugged. She’d shifted beside him, resting her elbow on one side of the book as she twirled an earring with her free hand. “I just think there’s more to him,” she said. “They always say he’s with Hawkmoth, but he’s saved Ladybug about a dozen times. He could have beaten her by now, if he really wanted to.” Marinette’s hand stilled on the page, a rough sketch of a three pieces suit beneath her hand. Adrien could see at a glance that it was indeed inspired by Chat Noir, mimicking the lines of his suit in a way he doubted many people could have done with any great accuracy. There was even a small bell in the centre of the bowtie. And rather than villainous, the figure looked…dashing.

Adrien wordlessly reached over, tilting the sketchbook a little bit more towards him. “Is that really how you see him?”

Marinette swallowed, nodding slowly. “I think…I think Chat Noir could be the hero Paris needs, the partner Ladybug needs, if he could just let himself be that. I think - I know there’s good in him.”

“What makes you so sure about that, Marinette?” Adrien asked, his green eyes flashing. “The way he attacks the city over and over? The way he takes advantage of the people in this city? Or the way he tries to sabotage Ladybug, the best thing that ever happened to these people? To him?”

“I see it,” Marinette said simply. Maybe it was the small smile, or the sureness with which she said it, but in that moment, he almost believed… “But if you’re really against it, we can try something else. It’s a group project after all; I want you to be happy with whatever we decide.”

He was quiet for so long that she really thought he’d ask her to change the design, even though a feeling in her chest was ringing at the rightness of the sketch. The right thing at the right time with the right person. It would be a good project, she could feel it.

But in the end, he just nodded, losing the intensity. “I’d be happy to use this idea for our project,” Adrien said, risking a smile of his own. “Fabric shopping after school tomorrow?”

“Sounds good,” Marinette said. She flipped the sketchbook closed, but Adrien placed a hand across hers, stopping her from putting it away. She felt her face turn red. His hand was so warm.

“I just…it’s stupid, but…after the project, do you think I could have the sketch?” he asked, turning to face her head on. “If you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” Marinette said over her pounding heart. “Yeah, as soon as we get it back, it’s all yours. I’d be flattered.”

“Thanks, Marinette.” He gave her hand a quick squeeze before letting her go. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow,” she said, waving after him.

The next time one of Hawkmoth’s creations showed up, Chat Noir was no where to be found.

[kahlsflannel]

The Death of Steve Rogers

Hi guys. This one is SAD. The title sums it up. It takes place after endgame when Steve has gone back in time to be with Peggy. That’s really all the background you need!! Also I made a header image FINALLY (using an online photo editor don’t judge the quality but!!!)

Paring: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH!! Please don’t read if this will upset you too bad! I don’t want to cause anyone any emotional ouchies. 

He knew it was coming.

Plain and simple, Bucky knew that sooner than later, it would be Steve's time to join all of those that they had lost. His time to be with Peggy for all of eternity. To move on from this life to the next. He knew this. But it sure didn't make the phone call any easier. Tuesday night, at 3 AM. Hospital staff in sorrowful voices, informing Bucky that Steve Rogers had stopped fighting and let go, content with all he had accomplished in his life. They assured Bucky that he wasn't alone; he was joined by his children and went with a smile on his face. He was ready.

Sadly, no one else was.

Bucky had been a pallbearer more times than he can recall. For Tony, for Natasha, for a countless number of veterans who requested it as a last wish. Even with all the experience he had, he'd never felt a casket that was so heavy. Even though Steve's body had become small and frail with age, the weight of the loss set harshly into Bucky's shoulders. He had a military funeral, attended by only a small list of close friends and the family he had built over time. A son who held his father's face, but his mother's dark hair. A daughter of the same frame that adorned Steve before he became the soldier he died as. Several grandchildren, all who held his same blue eyes. All Steve ever wanted, he had finally got.

The service was grim, silent, all staring at the face of the one and only Captain America.

Hero. Husband. Father. Friend.

Bucky hadn't cried in front of anyone for as long as he can remember. He never let his emotions show through. But today, Bucky found his cheeks wet, and his nose runny, only noticing when the sweet woman who accompanied him placed her hand on his knee, wiped the tears off his face and placed a gentle kiss on his temple. Providing what little solace she could at the time. Bucky had never held someone's hand so tight.

He spoke. In front of everyone, with a shaky voice. Recounted tales from the 40s, smiled to himself as he talked about their countless battles together, the memories they shared. Looked back at the open coffin, sighing as he concluded.

"Told you I would be with you 'till the end of the line, pal. Here I am."

Silence took over the group once more, Bucky stumbling solemnly to his seat, laying his head on her shoulder as she rubbed soft circles on his back, whispering I love yous and promises of a full life together.

Bucky helped them lower Steve into the grave, shoveled most of the dirt in himself. Sat back in the metal folding chair until everyone had left but him and her. He clambered to the ground, a fistful of dirt as he grabbed at the spot where he would rest forever. Sobbed so loud he lost his voice. Begged him to come back, to somehow blip back in time to be with him and help him get even better. He promised he'd make his sacrifice worth it. Prayed for just five more minutes of time with his best friend, with the only thing he had left of 1934, of his mom, of his sisters, of the life he had.

But Steve never came back.

Bucky went home, laid on her lap in the car, his large body folding into an impossible shape as she ran her fingers through his hair, wiping stray tears with her thumb as the driver took them to their apartment.

His tie was discarded, thrown on the ground. Suit jacket tossed on the chair, shoes kicked off at the door, belt placed on the couch. She managed to get him into a shower, standing with him under the warm water, holding him close as he cried more. Sinking to his knees, wrapping his arms around her waist and letting his tears mix in with the water that cascaded around them. He held onto her like she was going to leave, hoping that if he just squeezed a little harder that she'd stay with him forever. That she wouldn't go until he did. She squeezed his upper arm in a silent promise.

•·················•·················•

The next few weeks went by in a blur. Steve's daughter had brought over a box of old pictures and letters, as well as the coveted sketch book that he told Bucky never to look in, not until the day he died. Bucky swallowed the lump in his throat as he began thumbing through the pages. Messy sketches of him, of Sarah Rogers, of his dear Peggy. The last image in the book looked new, a sunset shaded by different hues of grey.

The end of a day,

The end of a life.

The end of Steve Rogers' time with Bucky Barnes.

Bucky closed the book, thanking the small woman in front of him. Steve's eyes shone back at him on her foreign face, offering a strange comfort. He hugged her, rubbing her back as she thanked Bucky for being so important to her father, for saving his ass more times than anyone can count. For letting him go back to her mother. Bucky smiled, holding the sixty year old woman tight.

When she left, he sat on his balcony, two beers open on the table. One for himself, one for the spirit of his best friend who he hoped was sitting beside him, even in death. He watched the sun fall behind the horizon, one bottle emptying while the other remained full.

Time was never going to slow down. It was going to keep trudging along, rather he was okay with it or not. As he picked up the bottles, pouring Steve's onto the street below, he paused to take the city in.

The city he had known before all the bright lights and traffic-filled streets. The city he had raised his sisters in. The city he had beat so many men for laying even a finger on his Stevie. It was just a little different now, knowing that he was no longer out there. Bucky was all that was left of the life he had known so long ago.

He didn't know how long he stood there, staring out into the night, thinking about all that he wanted to accomplish before he joined Steve, wherever that may be. She was beside him suddenly, hand on top of his own, head on his shoulder as they watched cars buzz by, He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her in so her back pressed against his chest.

"You know I love you more than anything in the world, right?" he mumbled into her hair, eyes closed as her sweet perfume tickled his nose. The smell of home. The smell of the official beginning of his life.

"Of course I do, my sweet. And I love you just as much, if not more. I'll get you the moon, if it would make you happy." Bucky smiled, placing a soft kiss onto the back of her neck, right at the start of her spine.

Bucky lost who he thought was the only person on his side. However, standing there, with her, he realized that he would always have someone in his corner as long as he kept her near. Steve left him simply because he knew Bucky was going to be taken care of. He had found his Peggy, had found his reason to fight just a little harder, laugh just a little louder, and come home each day a little more grateful for what he had.

"Let's go inside. I have some pictures I want to show you," he said, taking her hand to lead her into the warmly lit living room. They spent all night looking at the countless photos, recalling all that each encompassed. They fell asleep on the couch in the early hours of the morning, sad but oh so content that they had the privilege of even knowing Steve.

Bucky knew things would be different. But Bucky knew he was ready. He knew he could continue to get even better, to become the man he always wanted.

He knew that Steve would be watching him.

He would see him when he had more stories to tell.

He would see him when he had lived just as grand of a life as his best friend.

That would be a long time, but that was just fine.

Bucky had a lot to accomplish before they met up again.

•·················•·················•

A/N: AHHHHH OKAY I CRIED WRITING THIS BUT I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE IT!!! LEMME KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS!!!

[feminarrie]

in a week

a/n: this little blurb was inspired by this audio post and my love for hozier + this song. 

the sun kisses her skin with warmth and dots niall’s with freckles that will soon fade. the same cool breeze that shifts the clouds further to the west helps to keep the couple from overheating as they lay across a blanket. it’s a tattered yellow blanket that his father has kept in the boot of his car for longer than he can remember. niall’s never once seen it in the wash, but it’s always remained stain-free and smelling of lilacs. it’s soft beneath the two of them, but does little to stop the blades of grass the poke through widening gaps in the fabric. she periodically scratches absently where it prods at the back of her thighs; skin exposed by the dress that has risen to sit mid-thigh. 

niall raises his right hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun as he turns to face her. he studies the profile of her face as she stares up at the clouds, her own arm angled to shade her eyes. he indulges himself in the way her nose slopes and the slight upward curve of the left corner of her mouth. lets his mind wander back to this morning and the way her cupid’s bow had felt beneath the planes of his lips when he kissed her to soften the blow of an early morning wake-up. 

“you’re staring, you know.” she speaks quietly, as if she’s afraid the noise will somehow taint the atmosphere around them. niall’s convinced there’s no sound more worthy of being heard above the babbling of the small stream near their feet nor the chirps of eager hatchlings in their nests. sweet, melodic, and he’s sure the surrounding daffodils would bloom if she asked them nicely. 

niall only hums his response as he removes the arm beneath his head to reposition it at his side. calloused fingertips trace veins and then individuals knuckles as a prompt for her to offer her palm to him. she does so willingly, though her nose wrinkles when the feather-light touch of his middle finger along her lifeline tickles the palm of her hand. she fits her fingers in the empty spaces between his and squeezes softly. a wordless i love you that echoes between them as they sit in silence.

it’s the first time in months that niall has had her all to himself; truly just the two of them. there is no impending time limit that will put feet or miles between them. they don’t have to slot themselves between staff and friends when everyone seems to come together all at once. she and his parents are the only ones made privy to his sudden arrival in ireland. the secrecy won’t last long, they know, so they have stolen what moments they can before all the happy madness begins.

the find the most privacy in this field, a long and scenic drive that carries them far away from their flat in mullingar. a flattened patch of grass amongst the yellow daffodils that have only just begun to bloom in clusters. smooth stones of every size sit beneath the water of the slow moving stream just feet away from them. the second time they had come to this exact spot, she had told niall she wasn’t positive they weren’t trespassing. in the countless times they had been here since, nobody had come to kick them off their property.

he hasn’t given much thought to it since he’d kissed her breathless on top of the very same blanket. she had tasted of sangria and summer when she parted her lips for him. his hand cupped the curve of her jaw as he seared promises of lifetimes together onto her lips. she felt each wordless promise scorch her from the inside out that night. the delicious burn of it all had yet to subside even four years on.

“that cloud over there looks like a heart.” she says, momentarily moving her arm to point in the general direction of the cloud. her eyes squint against the light as she waits for niall’s blue eyes to follow the path of her arm. he spots the cloud easily, although it’s already begun to morph into something less picturesque as the wind carries it.

they lay like that for awhile. the silence is only broken with descriptions of clouds above their heads and requests to retrieve food from the picnic basket at the upper corner closest to niall. it’s nothing more than produce and snacks hastily picked from the market just down the street from their flat. a large breakfast of her favorites had greeted her once she and niall managed to waddle their way out of the bedroom. he’d kept himself wrapped around her middle and pressed kisses to her shoulders as she fought to get toward the coffee maker.

she had thought the gesture was nothing more than a way to express how much niall had missed her. it’s not the first time he’s done something so sweet and grand to catapult them back into a life of domesticity.

the day in its entirety hadn’t set off any alarm bells.

she’s still clueless to niall’s intentions as the sun begins to set somewhere in the distance. she pays no mind to the way niall digs in his pocket when he rolls into his side, niall balancing his weight on his forearm. her eyes are trained the way the sun washes him shades of yellow and gold. in the four years since they had begun dating, she cannot recall a time that niall has not left her breathless by his beauty.

it takes niall clearing his throat to pull her from her thoughts. even then, she doesn’t notice the open box that contains a carefully selected ring he’d found nearly three months ago. six months of searching in every city he’d landed in, in every country he had visited and nothing had ever felt right. nothing that was simply an extension of her—of them and their love.

it takes another few moments before her eyes land on the fiorella diamond ring that glitters in the setting sun. the image blurs in a matter of seconds and niall’s face isn’t much better despite being mere inches away from hers. she doesn’t fight the tears, just lets the fall freely and dampen the blanket. niall sets down the black velvet box to wipe at her cheeks with a broad stroke of his thumb. ocean blue eyes are clouded with his own tears as his lips lift with a watery, elated smile that matches hers.

“you’re not supposed to cry until i’ve asked you.” niall says through a quiet laugh. he removes his hand from her cheek to retrieve the ring from the box. he struggles some to pull it from its confines and it pulls a breathless laugh from  her.

niall slips the white gold ring onto her left ring finger without an endless string of words that do little to accurately convey how irrevocably in love with her that he is. no combination of vowels and consonants could appropriately describe the small lifetimes she’s managed to live within a span of four years. niall never used to be a believer in reincarnation, but she changed all that years ago. he thinks there is no other logical way to explain the familiarity, the sense of home that he feels as soon as her eyes locked with his. 

it’s the only way he explain the pain in his chest when he thinks of a reality in which he doesn’t get to wake up next to her every morning. her lips parted as she sleeps, soft snores that niall thinks are quite possibly the cutest things in the world. thinks of that same version of himself that wouldn’t get to experience the absolutely overwhelming amount of love pours out of her as she kisses his face, accepting his proposal. no promises of settling down and growing old together. 

niall’s thankful that he’ll never have to see a lifetime without her. feels it in his bones that they’re fated until the end of time. 

[doubledeaky]

Man in the Mirror

Joe Mazzello x Reader Smut

A/N: Hi, everyone! Thought I’d treat you all to a lil Joe fic while I’m working on the third part to “See What a Fool I’ve Been.” Had the idea for this a few weeks ago and finally finished it today! This is my first smut so please be nice and feel free to leave constructive feedback! Hope you all enjoy! As always, feedback is very much appreciated! Much love! -m:)

Summary: Joe has been struggling with some body issues after the enormous success of Bohemian Rhapsody, due in part to the media’s constant prying and criticism. On a particularly hard day, you remind him just how beautiful he is.

Word Count: 3,883 words

Warnings: mentions of a negative body image and insecurities, brief mention of a panic attack, sexual content (18+ only please!), cursing, general angst and fluff

Note: I can’t stop you but, please do not read if you are under the age of eighteen, thank you! Also, keep in mind all scenarios mentioned here are fiction! Thanks!

Joe had always been confident. That’s just how he was, it was a part of his identity. However, this confidence had begun to wane as the success and popularity of the newest movie he was starring in steadily increased. Don’t get him wrong, Joe had absolutely loved the “Bohemian Rhapsody” experience. Traveling the world, meeting new people, making new friends and of course, gaining new fans; it was all great. However, the movie had been Joe’s first big commercial success in a while and he’d forgotten what it was like to be thrust into the public eye. Constant media attention, whether negative or positive, was something he didn’t think he’d ever get used to. He enjoyed the praise of his professional equals and the dedicated support of fans but there were drawbacks.

Joe wouldn’t consider himself conventionally attractive, he knew that, but the media constantly reminding him that he isn’t as attractive as his “Bohemian Rhapsody” co-stars or that he doesn’t fit the bill of a Hollywood star was beginning to eat away at him. The dull ache in his chest had been growing steadily more noticeable over the last few weeks. Even after the release of the movie, months of press conferences, and awards season; the press really hadn’t cut him any slack. They criticized nearly every aspect of his being; his looks, his personality, his acting ability—everything. For the most part, he could handle it, but it was becoming an overwhelming presence in his life. He couldn’t escape it and Joe often found himself questioning his worth on a regular basis. Joe welcomed constructive criticism, but the words plastered on tabloid covers were just low and cruel. Seeing the occasional negative article or comment about his acting never really bothered him, but, for some reason, the ones involving his physical appearance struck a nerve in him. Today was especially difficult, he was upset to the point of being inconsolable. He had been sprawled out on his bed with tears blurring his vision occasionally, in and out of his view every few minutes. He made no noise but the tear-soaked sheets behind his head spoke volumes. 

He groaned quietly as he sat up, glancing at the mirror across the room and suddenly felt dread settle in his gut. He’d been avoiding his reflection as of late, but that was pretty difficult considering his career revolved around being constantly gawked at by the judging eyes of others on a fifty-foot screen. Appearance was everything in his line of work and it really was taking a toll on his spirit. Nevertheless, he turned towards the mirror and narrowed his eyes which were still blurry with tears. He pushed himself from the bed and positioned himself at the front of the mirror, right in the middle, in all his glory. He grimaced, feeling beyond vulnerable under his own critical gaze. He ran his right hand over his bare chest, which the magazines thought wasn’t muscular enough and now, he did too. He felt his racing heartbeat under his palm and his hand fell limply to his side. His left hand came up to pinch the small amount of fat around his middle. “Disgusting,” the word printed in a soot black on those magazine covers taunted him mercilessly. He sighed deeply, his chest rattling under the threat of growing sobs. He pressed hard against his lower abdomen with two fingers, feeling for muscle underneath the very thin layer of fat enveloping his lower stomach. They were there, and they felt strong and lean, but it wasn’t good enough for the judging eyes of the press; nothing he did ever was. His hands came up to his face as his eyes carefully scanned over his features. Joe had never disliked his face until his fame began to grow. People were always quick to poke fun at his aquiline nose and fire-red hair, his freckles and, he’d be the first one to admit, large forehead. Those were once things he liked; they made him feel different among a sea of similar faces. Now he felt like an outsider; these things he once appreciated were now holding him back and he felt angry, he felt cheated. His arm fell to his side and he toyed with the waistband of the sweats he wore. With each passing moment, he was reminded of every way in which he was inadequate. He wasn’t tall enough, wasn’t attractive enough, wasn’t muscular enough; he wasn’t good enough. The thoughts were overwhelming, and his head ached; a sharp sting in his temples reminding him of an impending migraine. His breathing picked up and the pressure in his chest was suffocating him. There it is, a panic attack. 

His breaths were swallow and he walked backwards slowly until the backs of his knees hit the end of his bed. He fell back and gripped his head in both hands, suddenly feeling faint. He could no longer hold back. A violent sob ripped from his throat, almost coming out as a scream. He clenched his jaw, his teeth clamping harshly against one another. His entire body shook, ribs sore from heaving so aggressively. His mind begged his lungs to breath and somehow, they listened, taking in a big gulp of air then releasing it slowing. His breathing eventually evened out and the crushing pressure in his chest was reduced to a slight tautness. He unclenched his jaw and fists, letting them fall from their previous position in his hair. His scalp felt sore from the force at which he was pulling his locks. He straightened out his posture and resumed his gaze in the mirror. He just had a panic attack and by the looks of it, he was hunting for another by repeating the very action that had triggered said episode.

Joe stared blankly at his reflection. An array of emotions still bounced between the walls of his mind. Anger, disgust, sadness, numbness; he couldn’t exactly pinpoint the particular sentiment he was experiencing. What was completely clear in the mess of thoughts swirling in his subconscious was that he hated the form staring back at him with red-rimmed, cold eyes, endlessly taunting him. Nausea welled up in his throat and he had to swallow hard to prevent the gag present at the back of his throat. Hot tears wet his cheeks again and he finally was able to identify a strong sense of anger billowing in his chest. Why was he like this? Why couldn’t he be as successful or attractive as his co-stars? Why?

Joe felt his fist ball up tightly, nails pressing painfully into the skin of his palm. He resisted the urge to destroy any object within his reach and tried to relax on the edge of his bed in an attempt to find peace. He huffed in frustration, bringing his arms around himself and clawing at the skin of his upper arms. Anger dissipated but was replaced with disgust. He hated the way he looked. His body, his face, everything; he was unhappy with the man before him but was doomed to spend his life trapped within the confines of the vessel he hated so much. He felt afraid, he felt helpless. The hands gripping his arms came down to rest upon his thighs, still clenched tightly, then fell to his sides. Hot tears sprung from his amber eyes as he gripped the sheets surrounding him. Disgust disappeared, and sadness took its place. Joe’s entire being was racked with sobs. He felt the hollow feeling of despair. He was alone in this world with only his self-deprecating thoughts as company. He brought his knees to his chest and rested his head on the left one, exhausted from this evening’s “activities.” Tears continued to fall from his tired eyes, soaking the material of his sweats. Sadness evaded him after a few moments and numbness made a home in his chest, reminding him of how fleeting raw emotions can be. He remained this way for about an hour, rocking back and forth softly until the jingle of keys brought him out of the dissociative state he occupied. He began to panic again.

“Shit.” He whispered, wiping his tears and getting up quickly from his position on the bed. He heard your sweet voice call out to him and his heart broke. He rushed to the bathroom and sighed at his current state. His hair was mussed beyond repair, his eyes were clouded in a blood red hue, and his tears gleamed brightly under the vanity light. His panic grew; he knew that the moment you saw him you’d know that things weren’t alright. He turned on the faucet quickly as he heard your chipper footsteps nearing the bedroom, splashing a handful of ice-cold water over his face. He shivered and flinched slightly as he heard the door open.

“Joe, baby? I’m back.” You said, and he could see you scanning the room out of the corner of his eye, your head peering into the closet briefly. He cleared his throat in attempt to dispose any evidence of crying.

“In here, babe.” He said hoarsely, he cursed himself and mumbled self-deprecating statements under his breath. His head shot up as you entered the bathroom and he plastered a saccharine sweet grin on his face, mostly genuine but slightly forced. You returned his seemingly cheery gaze and pulled him into a hug, appreciating the sight of him shirtless with only a pair of sweats hung low on his hips. You softly raked your nails across the expanse of his toned upper back and he sighed contentedly. Despite the ecstasy he was feeling under your soothing touch, he pulled back involuntarily, suddenly feeling insecure. You furrowed your brows and pouted.

“What’s wrong, bub? Did that tickle?” You asked with a honeyed giggle and he grinned but expertly avoided your eyes.

“No, just having an off day.” He said, looking down at his feet. He wasn’t completely lying, it certainly was an off day. You tried to find his gaze, but he maneuvered his eyes discreetly to avoid yours. You felt concern bubble in your chest and you took his hand gingerly, he tensed. You closed your eyes and took in a deep, rather shaky breath.

“Wanna talk about it?” You asked, trying to sound sincere and not condescending. You always wanted to know if he was doing alright, always. No matter how much he assured you he was fine, you always asked, and he always seemed pleased to let you know. Now he seemed shy, which was out of character for Joe and his larger than life personality.

“Um, no, I’m fine.” He said through gritted teeth, attempting to seem nonchalant. Now he was lying, right through those pearly whites.

“You’re a great actor, Mazzello. But a shit liar.” You joked, but your statement meant business. You took a step closer to him and he didn’t back away, relief flooded your nerves. You felt bold and laced your arms around his middle, this time he did back away. Your face fell, and a worried frown dressed your features. Joe felt guilt beyond measure; he didn’t care that he felt shit, it was your feelings he was trying to save. Joe sighed, awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“Joey, what’s wrong? Please.” You whispered, your voice desperate and choked with tears. Joe felt his insides stir uncomfortably and his heart lurched. He cleared his throat, but nothing could stop the flow of tears building in his eyes.

��I-I just...” Joe couldn’t finish his sentence, he felt foolish. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. Joe was a confident and outgoing individual, always had been. Now he felt lost and could no longer identify with the man everyone said he was. Things had changed, he had changed. Tears streamed feverously down his face and as your gaze met his, you followed suit. He collapsed into your embrace, crumbling under the weight of societal pressures. You clutched him tightly, afraid you’d lose him if you didn’t. You brought him slowly to the bed and sat him down, soothing him with a gentle hand across his lower back. His head was buried in the dip of your shoulder as he sobbed violently into the material of your shirt. Joe chastised himself as he cried pathetically into your neck. He hated himself for putting you through this, for allowing you to fall in love with him. You quieted your own soft sniffles into his naked shoulder, giving it an occasionally peck as his sobs were reduced to soft cries, then shaky but consistent breaths. Your hands continued to work circles across his back and you felt your eyes begin to flutter shut, feeling relaxed in his strong arms despite the situation. You both remained quiet; when he was ready to talk, you would listen. You weren’t going to pressure him to speak when he couldn’t find the words.

You felt the weight of his head leave your shoulder and you lifted your eyes to meet his, which had an unfamiliar dullness, but they looked calmer. You reached up and rested a hand on his cheek, brushing your thumb over the bone under his honey-colored eye. He sighed, leaning into the warmth of your palm and closed his weary eyes. You grinned fondly, feeling a warmth develop in your chest. Joe suddenly frowned, and his eyes opened, partially hidden under his furrowed brow. You felt worried, but anticipated his words nonetheless.

“What exactly do you see in me?” He asked, sounding almost ashamed that the words had left his mouth. He hung his head, embarrassed, while you were gob smacked, completely blindsided by his query.

“What? Joe I- “You stuttered still in a bit of a daze, but he interrupted you.

“Don’t lie to save my feelings, please.” He hissed, bitterness soaking his words. You were shocked by his sudden change in demeanor and shifted uncomfortably, your hands now resting in your lap.

“Is that what this is all about?” You asked, gesturing to the space around you. He diligently avoided your questioning stare and you sighed, feeling a bit deflated. You took his hand in yours, gripping tightly.

“You know how wonderful I think you are. Why would you let some sleazy columnist allow you to forget that?” You laughed but your words were sincere, and Joe knew you were right.

“No, I mean...what do you like about me...physically?” He whispered the last half of his sentence, his words feeling silly once they left his tongue. You bit your lip and brought your hand up to force his gaze level with yours. You brought your plush lips down on his, the kiss searing hot and full of passion. It was enough of an answer for Joe, but you weren’t finished with your reply.

“Seems you’ve also forgotten how beautiful I think you are.” You whispered, thumb tracing his lower lip as you scooted closer to him. He sucked in a sharp breath, already feeling heat pool in the pit of his stomach at your words. You smirked, enjoying the affect you had on him; it suited him well.

“Need I remind you?” You asked, resting your forehead against his as your hands ran up the length of his torso and linked behind his neck.

“Please.” He whimpered, eyes closed in bliss, only accentuating his plea for your touch. You smiled wide, taking a seat on his lap.

“Your wish is my command, my sweet boy.” You said, sultry and sticky sweet. He groaned at the pet name you’d assigned him, enjoying the way it fell from your parted lips. You promptly sat back, hands coming down to rest atop his thighs. You leant in and kissed him slowly, tenderly; trying to communicate the love you held for him in a single, fleeting action. He felt it, and he hoped the way his lips chased yours desperately when you pulled away acknowledged that. Your delicate fingers toyed at the waistband of his sweats and he whined, desperately craving the sensation of your lips around him.

“What do you want, honey? Tell me what you want, Joey.” You said, desire dripping from your words as your fingers began to dip just below the elastic. He groaned, hips bucking slightly at your touch, but you caught him and stilled his movements with your free hand. You quirked a smug brow, awaiting his response.

“Fuck, I want your pretty mouth. Please.” He whined, shamelessly desperate and his request had a wave of heat flooding the space between your legs. A soft moan escaped your lips and you gingerly pushed him onto his back, your nails raking across his chest.

“So beautiful.” You whispered, and Joe’s face burned red. He attempted to hide his fierce blush but was unsuccessful. You laughed softly at his flustered state and nodded your head “yes” up and down.

“It’s true, my love. You’re certainly a sight for sore eyes.” You state as you roll your hips softly against his lap. The broken, needy moan that escapes him is enchanting and your shimmying down the length of his body until your eyes are level with his groin in matter of milliseconds. He sits up slightly, groaning at the sight before him. Your eyes are hooded, pupils blown wide with lust, your hair is falling delicately around your features, and your lips are plush and swollen from feverish kisses. He can’t believe his luck, and he sends up a silent prayer to whoever brought you into his life. Your still focused on the waistband of his pants, teasing him cruelly by placing kisses above and around where he needed you most. Your hands are splayed across his lower stomach and your eyes admire his figure, pure adoration is all that can be read from your gaze. He smiles but it’s cut off by a sharp inhale when you pull down his pants, which he promptly kicks off, with the utmost grace, the rest of the way. You laugh and feel gratitude blossom in your chest, “my boy,” you think to yourself. He looks so eager for your gentle touches, but his eyes read nothing but sin; he wants you, you know it and your taking full advantage of that. Your legs are still planted firmly on either side of his legs and you bring a finger to trace the prominent outline of his cock through his boxers. You feel your mouth water and your ears perk at the sound of Joe’s whimpers. He’s fidgeting now; his body begging for release, for anything, as long as it’s you making him feel this good.

“Please, Y/N” He begs softly, and your body is set aflame with a burning desire for him. You lower your face to his, he can feel your breath fan over his neck and it has his eyes fluttering shut. You press feather-light kisses against the column of his throat as your fingers finally dip below the waistband of his boxers, grasping his cock delicately in your hand. He gasps, the sensation of your lips working hickies into his pale skin and your hand working his shaft agonizingly slow is overwhelming to say the least. He moans softly and it’s such a beautiful sound it has your steady movements faltering. You release the skin of his jaw with a loud pop and kiss your way down his sternum and then his stomach, the hand working his cock pulling down his underwear fully as you go lower. You slowly bring a finger to your mouth, pointing at it, and Joe’s watching you intently, awaiting your next move.

“Is this what you want?” You say, gesturing to your lips. He nods frantically, the locks of hair not slicked down by sweat bouncing with the movements of his head.

“God, yes.” He says, nearly breathless.

You smirk and grab the base of his cock, licking a long stripe up its entirety. Joe almost doubles over in pleasure, finally feeling the relief he so craved. His hand immediately laces through your hair, anchoring you to him. Your lips finally surround his cock, focusing much of your efforts on the tip as you bob your head in a steady rhythm that has Joe gasping for air. You glance at him through your lashes and it’s a scene carved in precious marble. Joe is awash in a layer of sweat and his form is glowing under the ambient light of the orange sunset seeping through the window. A god among men, truly. You pull your mouth off of him briefly, your hand replacing the velvet of your tongue.

“Look how beautiful you are, Joe. So beautiful, and all mine.” You say, your voice needy and silky smooth. You close your lips around his cock again, shutting your eyes softly, savoring the feeling of him pulsing in your mouth. He’s moaning, an arm thrown over his eyes and chest heaving. Your name leaving his parted lips like a prayer.

“Fuck.” He gasps, his hips bucking up into your mouth and you push down a gag, hot tears pricking the corners of your eyes. You know he’s close and you want to relish in every moment leading up to his release. You pull your mouth from him again, your hand working him at a pace that has him seeing stars.

“You gonna cum, baby? Cum for me, sweets.” You coo, applying even more pressure to his shaft and his hips buck violently into your hand. You await his climax, mouth agape, ready. He cums with a sweet, low moan and your mouth is there to catch his seed. Feeling dizzy and unbelievably hot as you taste him. Your hand ceases its movements and you place his now soft member back into his boxers. You smile down at him as you sit up and cross your legs. He’s breathing steadily now, eyes closed in bliss, mouth stretched in a fucked-out grin, and skin gleaming with a post-orgasm haze. “Absolutely divine,” you think as you place a soft kiss to his lips. He kisses back and pulls you down atop of him, giggling. There he is.

“My beautiful boy.” You say quietly, as you rest your head atop his chest which rises and falls evenly with the pattern of his breathing.

“Thank you.” He whispers, fingers brushing delicately over your arm; his other arm wrapped around you in a tight embrace. You look up at his face; his eyes are fighting to stay open and you allow him to enjoy the welcome fatigue. He really needs some rest. Your fingers trace abstract patterns on his chest absentmindedly, your lips pressing chaste kisses to the base of his neck. The room is filled with an ethereal orange light, the both of you bathed in its glow. This is it, this is heaven.

“So beautiful.” You whisper, as you feel your own body give in to sleep. And so, you do. The both of you perched atop a mound of white cotton sheets, beautiful under the welcoming embrace of the setting sun. Love is still fresh in the atmosphere of the room and it’s perfect, because it’s him. It’s familiar, calm, and warm. It’s home and it’s so, so beautiful here.

Thank you all for reading! Feedback is very much appreciated! -m:)

Also, thank you @goodoldfashionrogerboy for proofreading! You’re the best! :)

[mythiica]

Shingen Takeda x Nobunaga Oda - Taming the Devil King

Title: Taming the Devil King

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Character: Shingen Takeda, Nobunaga Oda

Genre: kink, comedic relief

Warnings: intershipping of warlords, sex (if you dont like, dont read) 

Kinks: masturbation, handjob, blowjob, (anal) sex, aftercare

Word Count: 2885 words

Other comments: this happens on an alternate route where mai never goes back to the past and shingen ends up saving nobunaga. as a result, the oda forces and the uesugi-takeda forces unite n shit idk go with it

Extra Notes: This was originally a smut for my ocs, but I combed through it and changed the names + other details to make it fit better for the characters! 

Nobunaga was thankful for the extra tent – it meant that he could sleep alone and away from Shingen. Despite this, dirty thoughts ran rampant in his mind. Whenever he would try to suppress his urges, they fought back, but with added ferocity. 

          He imagined Shingen’s sly smirk paired with that irresistible wink. Nobunaga remembered every time that Shingen said something borderline suggestive, and that coupled with his own imagination – it was a dangerous combination.

         But then again, how dare he feel this way? Shingen, on one hand, was a man, and on the other hand, was a complete brute and flirted with anything that moved. It was rather repulsive, but the alliance was necessary in order to save Japan. Nobunaga decided that he would use Shingen and then end the alliance and absorb them. 

         A pit formed in the bottom of Nobunaga’s stomach. 

         Could he really do that to Shingen?

         Underneath the flirtatious facade and the careless air, Shingen really cared about his people and those around him. And he didn’t have to save Nobunaga at the fire in the tenshu, either. He could have left Nobunaga to die, allowing him to become shogun and take over. 

         Nobunaga inhaled sharply and turned over, his hand brushing over his member. 

         Shingen also always considered everyone’s opinions and how each party would benefit from a situation. When he proposed the alliance, he did so with confidence and determination in his eyes, even though they could have been convicted of starting the fire in the first place. Despite this, he held his ground and did not waver. 

         Nobunaga’s fingers rested on the waistband of his pants, and pondered what to do. 

         The more he thought about it, the more dark thoughts consumed his mind. He suddenly wondered how Shingen was in bed – would he reveal more of his gentle side, or would he be completely dominant? Perhaps he would be more commanding like he is when he has to fight. 

         Suddenly, Nobunaga stopped himself. 

         If he were going to give into his desires, he would not let himself think of Shingen. Nobunaga tried to conjure images of women he had been with in the past. His fingers were wrapped around the base of his cock, and he grinded desperately against the seam in his pants. The pressure felt so good, and soon, lust overcame him. 

         Precum wept from the tip of his cock, so he pressed his index finger to the small slit, applying gradual force to it until he could not hold his moans back anymore. As he continued to pump his shaft, he let the moans drip from his tongue. 

         “T-Take-!” he called out suddenly. He clamped his hand over his mouth before the word could leave his lips. But he could not stop there. He had to keep going. The nerves in his cock tensed, and Nobunaga flexed his hand, rubbing the palm of his other hand against his scrotum, coaxing more pleasure to envelop him. 

         Then, he spit into his hand, and sent it directly to his cock – it wasn’t long before he was completely tied up in his own fantasy. He was too desperate to care that Shingen was at the forefront of his mind. He just hoped that this would never happen again.

         A cramp formed in his upper thigh, but Nobunaga did not care for it. He only wished to find his release – and quickly. He remembered that the camp was rather small, and if he was too loud, then someone might hear him. 

         As Nobunaga was about to fall over the edge, the tent flap flew open, exposing him to the world. He looked up, his hand still wrapped around his blushing cock, and met Shingen’s dark eyes. They glinted in the moonlight, and if it wasn’t bad enough already, Nobunaga could see Shingen’s dangerous smile. 

         “I thought I heard someone” he purrs, leaning down as the flap closes behind him. His movements were fluid, like he had experience catching people masturbating to him. Within a few moments, Shingen was crouching directly in front of Nobunaga, his face so very close.

         Nobunaga didn’t know how to reply – his voice was locked in the back of his throat and he struggled to communicate his feelings. How could he explain that he had just been getting off to Shingen? 

         Shingen reached for Nobunaga’s cock, and his fingers brushed against the side. Surprised by his actions, Nobunaga released a pained moan, but then jolted back into reality. He sat up and closed his legs, trying to cover himself the best he could. “No! Get out! You should not even be awake!” 

         To this, Shingen raised an eyebrow. “No?” He ran his hand over Nobunaga’s thighs, but never broke eye contact with him. “But you’ve been moaning for the past fifteen minutes. Surely that must mean something.” 

         “No,” Nobunaga said again, more firmly. He tried to muster all of his conviction, but still, he faltered.

         Shingen leaned forward, his thumb hooking under Nobunaga’s chin. He forced Nobunaga to meet his gaze once more before kissing him deeply. Sparks went off – Shingen tasted so good. His tongue invaded Nobunaga’s mouth, bringing the scent of pine and burnt wood into Nobunaga’s nose. Nobunaga kissed back desperately, trying to get more of him, but Shingen stood back. He licked his lips, breaking the string of saliva that lingered between the two of them. 

         He wore a victorious smirk, like he had won Nobunaga at a festival. 

         Nobunaga hated that expression, but he found it strangely attractive at the same time. 

         “Did that feel wrong?” 

         Why do you have to be such a damn flirt, Tiger of Kai? Nobunaga asked himself, shutting his eyes tightly. He knew that if he looked into Shingen’s eyes, everything would be over and he would confess everything within moments. 

         Shingen slid his hand up Nobunaga’s thigh, the rough pads of his fingertips sending Nobunaga’s thoughts into the gutter. 

         “Tell me~” Shingen growled. 

         I refuse.

         Shingen nipped at Nobunaga’s ear, making him blush. 

         No. 

        Nobunaga opened his eyes and mewled. “I-I-”

        “You…?” 

        A moment of silence pressed between the two of them – the only sound that lingered was the thundering beats of Nobunaga’s heart in his chest. Even the cicadas outside had paused their song, waiting for Nobunaga’s response. 

        “For fuck’s sake, just fuck me already–”

        Shingen smirked happily, gripping Nobunaga’s ankle before yanking his leg forward. “Gladly,” he replied, slapping Nobunaga’s hands away to reveal the stiff erection. As Nobunaga shifted to sit up, Shingen leaned down. 

        “W-Wait, what are you doing-?” 

        Shingen gripped the base of Nobunaga’s member and ran his thumb against his scrotum. Extending his fingers, Shingen managed to press his pinkie firmly against Nobunaga’s tip. “Oh, I’m just getting started, my lord.” Nobunaga grunted in protest, but quickly silenced himself to watch. Shingen ran his tongue against Nobunaga’s cock, allowing his saliva to coat the skin and act as a lubricant. 

        Nobunaga squirmed around, not used to the feeling of someone else touching his member like this, but Shingen pressed his free hand down on his abdomen, keeping him in place. Too bashful to say anything, Nobunaga swallowed his pride and watched. 

        His tongue was a blur – wrapping around Nobunaga’s length, sucking and nibbling all within minutes of having heard Nobunaga’s consent. Shingen teethed slightly on the tip of Nobunaga’s cock, causing him to throw his head back and whine. He looked up slightly, his hair curling over his eyes, making him look dangerously seductive. 

        Shingen lifted his head and smirked. He didn’t even need to speak to tease Nobunaga – the carnal glint in his eyes was more than enough.

        Nobunaga could only blush in response, and he hated it. He trembled under Shingen’s grip, and shook his head back and forth. 

        “Angel, you are so cute~” Shingen commented, lapping at Nobunaga’s excessive precum. 

        “I’m not an ang-ahh!” Shingen’s hot breath further stimulated Nobunaga, making him grunt suddenly and release. His semen jumped from the tip of his cock and onto Shingen’s face. He had opened his mouth just in time to catch some of the milky fluid on his tongue. 

        Nobunaga was at a loss for words – a string of incoherent words babbled from his lips as Shingen’s tongue shot out and licked at the semen hanging from the corner of his lips. His canines glinted in the dim light as he smiled, happy with his actions. 

        Shingen sat up to disrobe himself without saying anything. He let the haori slip from his shoulders and onto the floor of the tent; soon after that, he had removed his white tank and pants as well. With every layer that came off, Nobunaga was found himself admiring Shingen’s toned abdomen. 

        “Like what you see?” Shingen inquired, peeling off the last scrap of fabric that made him decent. “I’ve caught you stealing glances at me while we were riding on the horses. Wandering eyes, Lord Nobunaga?”

        Nobunaga froze and choked on his words. He had not realized that he had been so obvious about it, and now he was paying the price for it. 

       Shingen pressed a surprisingly gentle kiss to Nobunaga’s jaw, bringing him back into the moment. “Don’t worry too much about it.” 

       The Devil King nodded slowly, but didn’t notice that Shingen’s hand was inching up his thigh. Despite being a large man, Shingen managed to flip Nobunaga over onto his stomach. He leaned over Nobunaga and tucked his arm around him. Nobunaga braced himself on the mat and waited for what was to come. Instead, Shingen kissed the shell of his ear and soothed him. 

       “Steady your breathing. It will hurt, but not for long. If you don’t like it, tell me.”

       Nobunaga swallowed. If anything, he would likely hate the fact that he enjoyed it. But he doesn’t voice this, and simply nodded. He could feel Shingen’s cock rubbing against him, and honestly, it was exhilarating. Shingen was so warm, unlike any woman Nobunaga had been with. 

       A few moments later, Shingen pressed the tip of his cock into Nobunaga, who hissed out in pain. Fuck, it did hurt, Nobunaga screamed at himself internally. 

       Shingen moans, and the sound makes the hairs on the back of Nobunaga’s neck stand up. It was a beautiful round moan that only Shingen could make. He dragged his hand down Nobunaga’s back before kissing his spine. “I’m going to start moving. Is that alright?” 

       “Just do it, Tiger,” Nobunaga hissed back. 

       And so he did. Shingen moved his hips back and forth, pushing his cock deeper into Nobuaga. The Devil King could only grip the futon and hold on for dear life. Pleasure racked his limbs and they felt weak every time Shingen’s tip hit a deep spot. Despite having cum earlier, Nobunaga felt like he was going to release again – and without being touched. 

       In the moment, Nobunaga only thought about how embarrassing it will be for Shingen Takeda to parade around, pompously bragging about he took Nobunaga Oda, unifier of Japan, and made him cum without even touching his cock. 

       As Shingen began to pick up his pace, he bent over Nobunaga and wrapped his hand around Nobunaga’s cock once more. The doggy style allowed Shingen a full range of motion, while keeping Nobunaga pinned beneath him. Shingen dominated the situation, pressing sloppy kisses along Nobunaga’s spine before he reached his exposed neck. There, he sucked happily on the unmarked skin. 

       His teeth sunk into Nobunaga’s flesh, and he rubbed his tongue against the spot when Nobunaga cried out. 

       “What are you doing, Tiger?!”

       Shingen chuckled before kissing the spot. “I got carried away. Apologies.”

       Nobunaga very well knew that Shingen had left a hickey there, but part of him was alright with it. He felt a sense of calmness wash over him for a split second before he drowned in white hot pleasure. Shingen groaned as Nobunaga arched his back and cupped his hand over Shingen’s hair. The slight change in position allowed Shingen to drag his tongue across Nobunaga’s neck. Nobunaga opened his mouth to say something, but the words are lost in the moment. 

       Just as he promised, Shingen had a lot of stamina, leading him to shift his posture nearly every other minute. It was driving Nobunaga insane – at one point, Shingen held Nobunaga’s let up in the air and pumped his cock rapidly, the next moment, Shingen had sat up straight and pushed Nobunaga down from the small of his back (putting him in a downward dog position), and after that, Shingen’s fingers coiled around Nobunaga’s neck, coaxing him to sit up as well. Nobunaga could not help but moan enthusiastically and craned his neck around to kiss Shingen deeply. 

       Shingen rubbed one of his hands over Nobunaga’s nipples, tugging and twisting at them until the kiss ended. Nobunaga let out a sudden whine. His eyes flashed open, but Shingen only laughed again. “I told you not to worry… I am happy that you listened to me,” he whispered in that deep voice of his. 

       They both craved release, so desperation got the better of them. Shingen’s thrusts quickly became more sloppy, as did his flirtatious talk and kisses. 

       Nobunaga was exhausted and lost all of his shame, and when he pushed his leg outwards to relieve the cramp in his leg, the added stress on Shingen’s cock sent off the edge. He squeezed Nobunaga’s ass, leading them to ejaculate at the same time; Nobunaga’s seed landed on the blanket below him, but Shingen filled Nobunaga up completely. 

       They remained like that for a moment, panting heavily and wondering if that had really happened, or if it was a dream. Shingen pulled out slowly, causing his semen to dribble down Nobunaga’s thighs. He shivered at the sensation and quickly sat down to keep Shingen from seeing it. 

       The warlord closed his eyes tightly and lay down, to embarrassed to say anything. However, when Shingen took a spot next to Nobunaga, he snapped. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, warming up to me now like I am some common whore of yours?!”

       “Surely, if I leave, someone will notice. Do you care to explain to them what has just transpired?” Shingen asked, tipping his head to the side. Of course Shingen knew how to sell it to Nobunaga. 

       “You leave when the guards change at dawn. Not a moment later, understand me?” 

       Shingen smirked and settled against the pillow, broad arms extending outwards. Nobunaga realized that he wished to hold him, and he was not having this. Instead, Nobunaga scooted over to the far side of the tent, trying to put as much space between them as possible. 

       An awkward silence passed between them before Shingen cleared his throat. “How do you feel?” 

       “Dirty.” 

       Shingen laughed a little too loudly. “You did cum on yourself earlier.” 

       Nobunaga burned a bright red. “Shut up, Tiger of Kai, or else I might be inclined to cut off your tongue. Better yet, I do it now so you don’t go telling anyone about this.”

       “Why would I share?”

       Nobunaga turned over to glance at Shingen. “To ruin me. A warlord sleeping with another man? And moreover, you? No one will take me seriously ever again.”

       Shingen shook his head. “I never had, nor do I have, plans to tell anyone. Sex is an intimate act.” 

       “...Really? And yet, you’re notorious because the number of people you’ve fornicated with is greater than the number of people you’ve killed.”

       “Is that what you think of me?!” Shingen laughed heartily. “You have much to learn about, Lord Nobunaga.” 

       “There won’t be anything else to learn after this,” Nobunaga snapped back in response. 

       Shingen shrugged. “If you insist.” He turned over and went to sleep without saying anything else, and, for a split second, Nobunaga felt hurt. Nobunaga was not sure if he actually meant it, but he suddenly worried that he had spoken too harshly – after all, if Shingen was telling the truth, he really did value intimate moments. 

       Sighing to himself, Nobunaga knew he would regret this at a later date, but he forced himself closer to Shingen. He stopped while there was still about a foot of space between the two of them. Despite the distance, Nobunaga could clearly see all the scars and old war injuries Shingen had suffered from in the past. 

       Without thinking, Nobunaga reached out ever so slowly and brushed his fingers over a large scar. This caused Shingen to turn and look over his shoulder. “Spear.” 

       “Hm?”

       “Someone came at me with a spear.”

       “Oh,” Nobunaga whispered. He put his hand back under his pillow and closed his eyes, deciding it was time to go to sleep. Just as he began to drift off, Nobunaga felt a weight on him. He panicked slightly, but then realized that Shingen had thrown his arm over him. 

         Again, Nobunaga melted into the Tiger’s warmth and let sleep take him. 

         Shingen on the other hand, watched Nobunaga with a strangely endearing glint in his eyes. Whatever the future would hold for their relationship, Shingen was too tired to think, so he nuzzled slightly into Nobunaga’s damp hair, pressing the softest of kisses to his head before falling asleep as well. 

[jungcupid-archive]

miraculous, the luckiest! (but not up to the test, like at all)

pairing: jungkook x jimin

summary: in which they’re both superheroes (ladybug and cat noir, to be exact)

a/n: in the show, ladybug has the power to call on a lucky charm to conjure an object and cat noir has cataclysm which enables him to destroy anything he touches with one hand. they’re both powers used towards the end of a fight. the fight is against civilians who have been “akumatized” (their negative emotions have drawn butterflies called akumas towards them and they turn into supervillains). ladybug also has this yo-yo that helps her swing from place to place like spiderman. cat noir has a metal baton that extends. to defeat the villain, the pair must destroy the akumatized object and purify the akuma. 

+

   God, it was embarrassing enough having to wear a bright red spandex leotard with black spots while trying to save Seoul from complete and utter destruction, but now that Jimin has a fucking hard-on it seems that it’s not going to take long until his face blends into his outfit.

    Who even makes a super-suit out of spandex? Jimin doesn’t know, but he wants to find them and be his own hero for once by wrapping his fingers around their neck.

     A huge crowd of people have gathered below his feet, and although he has more pressing matters he should probably request divinely assistance for, he prays that they don’t notice his boner first. Oh, and that they don’t find a way to film it. You can never be too safe with advanced zoom-in technology, Jimin had discovered after someone had snapped a picture of his leotard bunched between his ass-cheeks. He’d been swinging through the city and someone had still managed to capture that in high definition.

    Voyeurism knew no bounds, or distances, Jimin had concluded. It’s safe to say that he’s never forgotten to wear underwear (before transforming) again.

    He’s a couple stories up, and the wind is strong, but he can still hear the muffled laughter from beside him. He turns to his partner (but not too much – his boner is still very prominent, thanks god!) and narrows his eyes behind his mask.

    “Do we have a problem?”

    His partner’s eyes emit a greenish glow, and Jimin can clearly tell that they’re crinkled up behind the mask. He clasps a hand over his mouth, trying to stop his giggles, and the bell around his neck tinkles in the process.

    “Cat got your tongue?” Jimin spits out, keeping from body-slamming into his partner because he is a prestigious superhero who is a role model to many young children, a lot of which are watching him from way down below as of this very moment.

    Violence is not the answer, Jimin inhales deeply and then refines his thought, at least not in public.

    The villain they’re facing today – some sort of weird pigeon-man, don’t ask, he’s got a big enough headache as it is – is slowly regaining consciousness. Unfortunately, Jimin’s co-hero (more of a sidekick, really) doesn’t want to let this issue go.

    “Who? Me? Never! Although, it’s pretty hard being in the presence of such a monster,” Cat Noir says cheekily from beside him. Jimin is about to reassure him because his heart is just that kind when Cat Noir continues, “Oh, and the pigeon dude is pretty bad too.”

    His cat-eyes flick down to Jimin’s No-No Spot and then back up, he grins. Jimin is about to demonstrate what all those kids he’s a role model to should not do when tempted by a bully when he hears the villain groan. He rolls his shoulders and shakes everything off, getting ready to fight. He’s got to stay focused on the mission at hand. It’s fine, he’s fine. It’s completely natural. He shouldn’t be ashamed.

    “Although, it’s kind of small, this monster. Almost cute.”

    He shouldn’t be ashamed. He should be enraged. Jimin runs a hand through his blond hair and takes in a deep breath, exhaling slowly. He turns to his partner and shoots him a sickly sweet smile.

    “Careful, kitty. This monster can cause a lot more damage than you can handle. Not that you’ll ever find out,” and with that, Jimin leaves an indignant Cat Noir behind, using his yo-yo to swing over to the villain. Of course, Cat Noir is right beside him within a minute. They’re partners, after all.

    “Okay, Mr. Choi, it’s time to stop now. Give me that whistle and resist Hawkmoth, you know it’s for the best.” Jimin taps Cat Noir’s hand and he slowly starts inching sideways while Jimin holds out his palm. It seems that their villain is still recovering, as he blinks his eyes continuously and doesn’t notice Cat Noir.

    “No! Your miraculous! I can��t disappoint him. Hand your earrings over, Ladybug. You know it’s for the best.” Pigeon-dude is fairly well-spoken for someone who just got knocked unconscious from being dropped from 20 feet above the building. Jimin really wishes he hadn’t used his own words against him. Or called him Ladybug when he’d specifically asked everyone to call him Misterbug. Stupid Hawkmoth and his stupid commands.

    “I hate this part, but it gives me some sort of sadistic pleasure,” Jimin withdraws his hand and grabs his yo-yo instead, “Cat Noir! Now!”

    As soon as the words leave Jimin’s mouth, Cat Noir is in action. He’s a blur of black leather and since he’s been inching towards Mr. Choi, it doesn’t take long to get behind the man. Cat Noir takes the whistle from around Mr. Choi’s neck and, bless his soul, puts it on the end of his metal baton before extending it over to Jimin. The gesture is almost enough to make Jimin forget about the comments he made earlier about his dick (which is slowly retreating back towards Jimin’s body, thank god). Almost.

    “And here I was thinking you’d just throw it to me. I guess you do have some brain cells rolling around in the kitty litter in your head,” Jimin smirks and throws the whistle to the ground, stepping on it to crack the plastic.

    “In this wind? Please, I’m more than just a pretty kitty.” Jimin laughs despite himself and drags his finger down his yo-yo, opening it to capture the Akuma that escapes from the broken whistle. He quickly seals it inside and opens it back up, finding the once dark purple butterfly now transformed into white.

    Jimin watches the butterfly fly away and grabs the Lucky Charm he’d called on earlier, a bag of bird seed – again, don’t ask, it’s getting late and Jimin really doesn’t have the patience to explain anything anymore – and throws it into the air. Immediately, red wisps of sparkling images of ladybugs fill the sky. They zoom through all the destruction their fight had left behind and restore everything back to its original state. Mr. Choi loses his costume and looks dazed. Jimin doesn’t have the energy to bring the victim back to his home, so he turns to Cat Noir (proudly, now, because he’s boner-free).

    “Think you can take care of this for me, Cat?” Cat Noir nods and grins at Jimin, his cat ears being blown along with his hair back and forth because of the wind.

     “Until next time, bugaboo,” Jimin makes a face at this and recoils, very much hating what just came out of his partner’s mouth. Cat Noir, unfazed, doesn’t let the grin drop from his face as he helps Mr. Choi up.

    “Alright,” Jimin manages, already feeling the fatigue taking a toll on him, “Bug out.” Jimin steps onto the ledge of the building and throws his yo-yo into the city, feeling it cling onto something before he lets himself fall over the edge. Once he’s got enough momentum, he releases the yo-yo and lets it catch onto another building. His arms protest, searing with pain, but he doesn’t have a choice. Walking would be impractical and way too chaotic (and he’s a broke college student, remember?). Not only are his arms killing him, but Jimin feels like he’s been socked in the stomach. With every strained use of his upper torso, Jimin has to take 10 deep breaths. Jimin hears the cheers from below as he swings through the city but the smile on his face barely stretches to his eyes.

    Jimin is tired and, apparently, horny, so you can understand why defeating the latest villain in what was a line of 5 akumatized victims in 3 days has him completely drained. God, either he needs to get laid or eat more vitamin gummies. Maybe get laid while eating vitamin gummies. Does Jimin have a food kink? No. Probably not. Unless…?

    Letting his thoughts wander, Jimin swings through Seoul until he finds a hidden corner to transform back into himself. As soon as he utters the words ‘spots off’, his supersuit (because leotard is just such a horrible word) develops holes in it before it disappears entirely. Where to? Jimin doesn’t know.

    Now you might be wondering, why is Jimin so fucking clueless? Listen, he’s not in it for the knowledge. He just wants to kick ass, get validation from complete strangers and maybe find a way to channel his anger in a healthy manner along the way. And if he had to say it, yes, he’s in it for the free anonymous friend as well. Cat Noir may be a major pain in the ass, but he’s a good partner and friend. For instance, him taking the victim back because Jimin was too exhausted to do it himself.

    More than that, Cat Noir knows how to read Jimin effortlessly. They’d talked about the whole gig when they’d first gotten their powers. Jimin had found a pair of earrings sitting neatly on top of his desk and Cat had found a ring. Once they’d put the items on (because from the little Jimin knows about his friend, he is also a broke college student and wouldn’t dare pass up the opportunity to obtain free things), they’d both felt this sense that a part of them had been opened up to someone else.

    Along with a ton of other information that entered their brains so fast and hard that Jimin had gotten a migraine that lasted for a week and Cat Noir hadn’t been able to stop throwing up every hour for 3 days, of course. Because life is pain, but superhero life is, like, Pain pain.

    It didn’t take long before the world’s first supervillain had unleashed his minion on Seoul and the world’s first superheroes had to step up to the batting cage. Jimin had been scared shitless, rightfully so, and although Cat Noir boasts about never having any hesitation, Jimin knows he’d been pretty lost as well. As soon as they’d started fighting, though, it was like nothing else mattered. They clicked instantly, knowing exactly what the other wanted to do and why they wanted to do it without either having to exchange words.

    Not mind reading, but something else. Something that allowed for a constant stream of rightness between them and intuition so strong that often, when Jimin moved to do something, Cat Noir would already be waiting with assistance. It was nice, except for when Cat decided to make bad jokes and flirt with Jimin in a way that made him want to cry and laugh at the same time. His partner is a dumbass with a good heart, and it’s absolutely infuriating (okay, fine, it’s endearing). In another world, Jimin can see how he would even fall for those antics.

    Jimin walks into his apartment building and takes the elevator up. Sometimes, he feels bad about leaving Cat Noir hanging so many times. They’re good friends, but Jimin knows that’s all they’ll ever be. Because his heart belongs to someone else, whether that someone knows it or not. The elevator comes to a stop and Jimin steps out, reaching for his keys. Cat Noir seems too genuine about his feelings towards Jimin sometimes, and yes, he uses his own name because he knows that Cat Noir would love him with or without the mask. It was Jimin who had decided not to reveal each other’s secret identities, while Cat Noir had begged him to reconsider.

    It’s unfair to Cat, but Jimin’s not leading him on, and he can’t blame himself for letting someone else capture his heart. Jimin sticks the key in the lock and turns it, wondering if his roommate will be inside. A large thump and something that sounds like a bell tinkling confirms that he’s home as Jimin opens the door. Before he can step into their living room, he hears a voice.

    “Jimin! Don’t come in! I’m, uh, naked! Give me a minute to get dressed, yeah?” Jungkook calls out from the living room. Jimin, despite himself, blushes and calls, “Sure. Um, take your mime! Shit, I meant time! Haha... okay.”

     Ladies and gentlemen, the Miraculous Ladybug (unfortunately, Misterbug just isn’t catching on) in all his bumbling glory.

    Jeon Jungkook, the only man alive that can make Jimin, a literal superhero, shy and would probably make Cat Noir, the pettiest person alive, extremely jealous.

    Jimin is technically supposed to be morally superior as a superhero, but you’d have to be inhuman to not want to sneak a peek at Jeon Jungkook putting on clothes. He was built to be stared at for hours on end, if Jimin were to be honest, and who was he to deny god’s intention? Just as he is about to stick his head around the corner, he hears Jungkook’s voice telling him that it’s “all clear”.

    Great.

    Jimin steps into the living room and is greeted with an (unfortunately) fully clothed Jeon Jungkook. He grins at Jimin while walking to the kitchen and Jimin honest to god nearly pees himself from how fucking attractive he is. Weak-kneed and the vague thought of buying adult diapers on his mind, Jimin slips into his room and sheds his clothes, taking a look at himself in the mirror. There are bruises running up his ribs (probably from when his graceful partner had extended his baton without realizing it was pointed right at Jimin`s midsection) and more scattered across his legs. His suit was pretty good at deflecting anything that could potentially give him cuts and scrapes but this time around, he`s got a couple of scratches on his arms.

    Jimin, surprisingly, is a pacifist. He really is. Violence should never be the primary solution, but as a superhero, more times than not, he`s had to abandon this philosophy. Sometimes, he wonders why – because seriously, he’s still not cut out for this shit – but he knows that if he’s had to abandon his philosophy, he might as well stick to his morality. That is, to save people from harm (seeing people naked not inclusive). It’s days like these when he’s burned out and aching from a particularly difficult fight that he wonders what it would be like to give it all up.

    Jimin opens a drawer and takes a handful of pain relief patches, sticking them carefully onto his body one by one. It’s not like he gets any bonuses. If anything, it just makes life harder. Classes take three times the effort to attend, relationships take half of his week’s worth of energy to maintain and crushes are basically out of the question. To get into a relationship meant to endanger a loved one or, possibly, leave them grieving if worst came to worst. So why didn’t he take off his camouflaged earrings and leave them on someone else’s pillowcase or dressing table or pant pocket?

     Jimin will tell you why. Because being a moron runs through his bloodstream. Because his brain cell bank balance is in the negatives. Because at the end of the day, if he were to give up this life, Jimin knows that he’d regret it.

    Being a superhero is tough, Jimin’s not going to sugar coat it, but not being a superhero after having been one would tear him apart. He has a need to help people in bigger ways than his 8-year program in clinical psychology (yeah, his brain cell bank balance isn’t the only one in the negatives right now) will.

    A knock at his door alerts Jimin, and he quickly pats down the patches all over his body and pulls on his clothes. He opens his door and tries not to drop dead from how cute his roommate looks. Jungkook is standing there with a sheepish smile, a tube of muscle-pain relief cream in his hands.

    “How bad?” Jimin squeaks out (shut up, he knows he’s pathetic), letting Jungkook into his room. Jungkook winces as he sits on Jimin’s bed, already tugging off his shirt. Maybe it’s some sort of syndrome that he should get checked out but suddenly, Jimin’s mouth is a lot more dry.

     “A little worse than usual, you know how it is,” Jimin feels concern washing over him as soon as Jungkook’s shirt is off completely, all traces of his hypothetical medical condition have left. Jungkook’s back is littered with purple and blue bruises. The streetlights from outside his window cast a yellowish hue on Jungkook’s skin and it makes the mark look that much more sickly.

    “Jungkook,” Jimin breathes, “is your coach insane?”

    About two months ago, right when Jimin had received his earrings and became Ladybug, Jungkook had joined a boxing club. Jimin hadn’t even heard of this kind of torture disguised as an extracurricular activity before, but he got to know it soon enough. Jungkook started coming home looking really beat up, and when Jimin said this, he meant really beat up. Sometimes, he’d have bruises and cuts to the degree that Jimin would – and Jimin was a goddamn superhero. One night, Jungkook had come to him and asked if he’d rub some of the muscle-pain relief cream on his back and when Jimin had learned just how much it helped with the tension, he started doing it every night. It was routine at this point.

    “Maybe,” Jungkook lets out a laugh that quickly turns into a hiss when Jimin’s finger makes contact with one of the darker bruises, “he’s just really passionate about turning us into full-fledged fighters.”

    “Still, you need to tell him to chill or something. You’re too perfect – I mean too pretty – shit, okay, no, what I’m trying to say is that you don’t deserve this. Every night, it’s like you’ve come out of a fight with an akumatized person or something.” Jimin feels Jungkook tense under his fingers and he panics, taking back his words at once. “I mean, of course, I know you love that club. You’re free to do whatever you want! I mean, obviously. Plus, you’re good at everything so… yeah… ha…”

    A mental face-palm isn’t enough anymore, Jimin physically smacks his face with his hand. Of course, right after that he starts screaming because he had the fucking cream on his hands and it’s in his eyes and fuck it burns it burns it BURNS.

    Jungkook has to help him wash it all out of his face. Jimin doesn’t think he’s ever been so ready to die.

    God, he pleads silently as he’s trudging back to his room with a squeaky-clean face, if you have any mercy, please wipe the events of today from Jeon Jungkook’s mind. If you turn out to be merciless, please note that I will be going to hell and becoming best friends with Satan himself so that together, we can make your life in heaven a non-living hell. Amen.

    One day, the big guy upstairs is going to get tired of Jimin’s bullshit. How does Jimin know this?

    Because he’s been tired of his own bullshit for the past 19 years.

-

    Jungkook watches as Ladybug throws his lucky charm into the air and tells the voice in his head to shut up when it starts telling him that he would be useless without his partner.

    It’s true, but it doesn’t mean Jungkook has to take it.

    “Think you can take care of this for me, Cat?” Jungkook perks up at this, nodding with a grin on his face.

     “Until next time, bugaboo,” He calls in a saccharine voice, making Ladybug’s face go sour. Jungkook knows he doesn’t mean it, though, he could never hate his beloved Cat Noir. Well, that’s what he tells himself. Jungkook helps Mr. Choi up and adjusts his footing so that he’s able to carry all of the other man’s weight.

    “Alright,” Ladybug says with a tired smile , “Bug out.”

    He’s fallen over the ledge before Jungkook can respond, and he has to stop himself from calling out his name. It’s not like Jungkook is in love with Ladybug or anything (DEFINITELY NOT) but he cherishes his time with the other, wanting to milk every moment for what it’s worth. Ladybug is purr-fect (Jungkook is clever, he knows) in every way possible and Jungkook just wants to bask in his glory like a cat in sunlight.

    Alas, Ladybug doesn’t seem to reciprocate his feelings. Jungkook throws a mental hand to his forehead in distraught and acts out a quick 7-second drama in his head before addressing Mr. Choi.

    “Let’s get you back home.” In an instant, they’re soaring across the sky on the baton while Jungkook most definitely is not ranting about his feelings to this literal stranger they just fought. Nope, definitely not.

 -

    The window is wide open and Jungkook berates himself for leaving it open this morning. Not that he’d have much trouble taking down any intruders, he’s rather claw-lified that way (Qualified? Claw-lified? Get it?). Still, he doesn’t live there alone. If Jimin were to come home and be put into danger because of an intruder, Jungkook wouldn’t be able to forgive himself.

    He slips into the window stealthily and then, of course, fall flat on his face when he hears the front-door unlocking.

    Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit-

    “Jimin! Don’t come in! I’m, uh, naked! Give me a minute to get dressed, yeah?” Jungkook cries in desperation. He hears the footsteps cease and Jimin’s words ring out clear in the apartment.

    “Sure. Um, take your mime! Shit, I meant time! Haha.. okay.”

    Jungkook smiles and thanks the gods above for giving him such a kind roommate.

    “Claws in,” Jungkook mutters under his breath, letting his suit slowly tear and stretch before it disappears completely. His ring loses its black colour and the neon green pawprint. Jungkook, out of habit (although he knows he’s never going to find anything), pats his hair and makes sure his cat ears didn’t accidentally stay on his head or something. Hey, freak accidents were a thing and you could never be too careful.

    Especially if you were a superhero.

    “All clear,” Jungkook says, heading to the kitchen. Unfortunately, his suit is not equipped to carry a water bottle. Jungkook blames the lack of hydration for the acne that has started popping up on his jaw but honestly, he’s probably just really stressed out. An enormous mental toll came with this whole superhero gig. unfortunately.

    Jungkook was disappointed, but not surprised.

    After a quick drink of water, Jungkook heads to his room to evaluate the damage but can’t even manage to turn his torso to take a look at his back. His sides are so sore that Jungkook wonders how he’s going to sleep tonight. His back was out of the options entirely, so were his sides, and his stomach wasn’t looking too good either.

    Jungkook winces as he bends over to grab his tube of muscle-pain relief cream from the bottom drawer of his nightstand, but it’s not just from the pain. If his stomach was hurting this bad, he wonders how bad Ladybug is feeling. He’d been stupid and had managed to extend his baton right into his partner’s ribcage.

    Which was just great, you know? Really did a lot for his non-existent love life.

    Jungkook walks to Jimin’s room and pauses at the door. He hopes that Ladybug is alright, he doesn’t know how he’s going to make it up to him, but he has to. He just has to. Without really thinking about it, Jungkook raises a fist and knocks on Jimin’s door. He hears a bit of rustling inside and in a matter of seconds the door is open and Jimin is facing him.

    “How bad?” Jimin asks in a high voice. Jungkook can’t help but feel relief and gratitude flood through him as he sits on Jimin’s bed (that, on the other hand, only floods him with pain). Park Jimin has only known Jungkook for 2 months or so, but he’s been so accommodating and is probably one of the only friends he has. When Jungkook had left his hometown, he’d most feared the possibility of not making friend, but Jimin dispersed his worries almost right away. The boy is too kind for his own good and fills Jungkook with pride to be able to call him his friend.

    “A little worse than usual, you know how it is.”

     Jungkook pulls his shirt off in a swift motion and clenches his teeth when his pain shoots through his shoulders. It’s never been this bad and he knows that Jimin is concerned when he says, “Jungkook, is your coach insane?”

     He tries to laugh it off but can’t help but suck in a breath through his teeth when Jimin’s finger makes contact with his back. “Maybe, he’s just really passionate about turning us into full-fledged fighters.”

    Jungkook doesn’t believe himself, and he’s the one making up the stupid lie. But Jimin has been buying it for 2 months, so he can’t be as bad of a liar as he thinks he is. A lot of the times, Jungkook contemplated telling Jimin. His roommate is too sweet to be duped like this, plus he’d really like having someone to talk to about superhero stuff (okay, yes, and his crush on Ladybug, are we happy now?).

    But Jungkook would never risk his friend’s like that. Never.

    “Still, you need to tell him to chill or something. You’re too perfect – I mean too pretty – shit, okay, no, what I’m trying to say is that you don’t deserve this. Every night, it’s like you’ve come out of a fight with an akumatized person or something.”

    It’s times like these when Jungkook finds it especially hard to keep his identity a secret. He involuntarily tenses, Jimin’s breath making goosebumps rise on the back of his neck. In the mirror, Jungkook catches sight of Jimin’s face and observes how it goes from concern to flustered to panicked and he has to stop from laughing. In a different reality, and Jungkook will freely admit this, he could see himself with Jimin. Jungkook could picture himself falling in love with this literal angel, but in this reality, they’re just really good friends – and Jungkook is really happy about that (especially since he already has Ladybug).

    “I mean, of course, I know you love that club. You’re free to do whatever you want! I mean, obviously. Plus, you’re good at everything so… yeah… ha…”

    Jungkook is about to assure Jimin that he didn’t say anything wrong when he sees the boy cover his face with his hand in the mirror. Jungkook turns around immediately, wide-eyed, and grimaces when Jimin starts screaming and using an extensive vocabulary Jungkook wasn’t aware he had.

     Jungkook ends up helping Jimin wash it all out. He offers running out and buying an icepack but Jimin refuses, profusely red in the face and mumbling something about god as he stalks off to his room.

    Later on, as he’s moving his body over and over again to find a comfortable position to sleep, Jungkook pictures a certain superhero in red and becomes pliant, coming to a stop on his bed. A smile spreads across his face.

    “It’s all worth it if it’s for you,” Jungkook whispers through his smile. He falls asleep that way, moonlight streaming in to coat his skin and make his smile shine brilliantly.

 -

    “Cat, I don’t think we’re qualified to be superheroes.”

    “Unsurprisingly, I completely agree my, purr-ince.”

    “I can’t believe she managed to actually trap us.”

    Ladybug and Cat Noir are sitting back to back, their hands joined at the wrists by a rope made of indestructible fibers. Ladybug had tried calling on his lucky charm earlier but it had skittered far away from him, leaving him unable to reach it while he was still tied to Cat Noir (whose Cataclysm had also failed him, they decided that indestructible really did mean indestructible).

    “Well, I don’t see how we’re getting out of this one. Unless, you’ve got a plan, bugaboo?” Ladybug laughs and doesn’t bother hiding it.

    “Nope, but we’re going to have to put our heads together and really think. I’ve got someone I want to be able to get back to.” Cat Noir pushes his head back against Ladybug’s and smiles, ignoring the hundreds of questions his partner’s words incite.

    “Yeah,” he says fondly, “Me too.”

 +

did everyone enjoy that? yes? no? want more?

[breathings-of-the-heart]

Levi x Reader Part 1

Love me Black and Blue

A/N: It’s been a hot minute but voila! Part one!! Good news is, I’m currently on winter break and quite motivated to write. Other good news: Part three is nearly complete and four is already finished :) Going to work on the next part right after posting this. (I write very much out of order if I have scenes pre-planned-- I tend to be more inspired to type out certain things that aren’t necesarrily chronoligical haha.) Anyways, Merry Christmas to those of you who celebrate!! Hope you enjoy!! The next part will defs have more romance.

P.S. This gif gives me life. Happy birthday, Heichou!! <3

(Part 2)

“Her. Who’s that?” Lance Corporal Levi questioned, nodding over to a small, (h/c) haired young woman. She was midway through her exam, slashing at titan replicas with speed that nearly surpassed his own. Her touch of finesse when riding her gear caught everyone’s attention, and all present members in camp turned to watch as she tore through the thick napes like it was childsplay. One popped up behind her, and as if she could sense it, she slit through the cardboard cutout, slashing it from top to bottom in the blink of an eye.

Erwin turned to his shorter comrade, who was observing the girl thoughtfully.

“Ah, yes. That one’s a good pick, for sure.” The blonde male noted. “(Y/N) (L/N). Just turned twenty, finished top of her class, and quite compatible with others. Considering having an addition to give you an even numbered squad is so last-minute, that factor will work in your favor.”

“Kill count?” Levi continued, watching as the girl of conversation landed on her feet, blowing a strand of hair from her face. Many individuals came up to her, chattering excitedly at the adept abilities she had just displayed. (Y/N) in turn gave a blinding, closed-eye smile, blushing at the attention.

When on the ground, she looked as unthreatening as they come, and Levi half-wondered if he was looking at the same person. Erwin smirked at his question.

“Thirteen solo, and eighteen in total.”

“Tch. She’s been out of training for three years. Most soldiers in the regiment die before killing that many,” he remarked incredulously. “And she looks more like the head-in-the-clouds type.”

The commander shrugged.

“She started out in the Military Police and was an active soldier on duty during The Fall of Wall Maria. Surprisingly transferred to the Survey Corps immediately after she heard about its occurence.”

The raven said nothing.

“Not sure if that changes your opinion, but it’s your choice, at the end of the day, Levi,” Erwin added, crossing his arms.

Said girl felt eyes burning into her, and shifted her gaze towards the two men. Her electric, seemingly all-knowing eyes met Levi’s, and she tilted her head in question. (Y/N)’s entire being gave an image of gentleness he’d never seen before, which increased the captain’s skepticism further. It didn’t seem as if this girl was hardened by reality like most soldiers. Quite the paradox.

Levi merely grunted in response.

“How curious. Call her over,” he instructed, one hand placed firmly on his hip as he broke their shared eye-contact.

“(L/N)!”

(Y/N) bid goodbye to her group of admirers, jogging over to where her two superiors stood as if expecting to be summoned. She pounded her fist over her heart, another behind her back, expression morphing into one of sobriety.

“Sir!” she exclaimed, voice containing more conviction than Levi expected. It was stern, yet fitting. But she was young. Barely an adult.

“At ease. (Y/N), this is Lance Corporal Levi Ackerman,” Erwin introduced. She peeked at the man in regard once again and went slightly pink, dropping her arms to her sides.

“Yes, sir. I’m well aware.” (Y/N) turned to acknowledge Levi directly. “I’m sure there isn’t a soul out there that doesn’t know what you’ve done for humanity.” Her voice was light yet she didn’t make her awe towards Levi expressive as most people he encountered did. It was obvious enough to anyone with an eye for reading emotion that she was, indeed, exactly that. It was a stimulating first impression.

She was unable to meet his eyes as the compliment spewed out of her mouth, though. Levi tilted his head curiously.

“He would like a word,” Erwin explained, quenching some of (Y/N)’s clear spirit of inquiry. “I’ll be in my office. Come find me when you’re finished.”

“Not a moment after, Commander.”

He nodded in approval and turned heel, striding dutifully back towards the castle where the base of the Scouting Regiment was temporarily settled. Everyone who turned to watch the interaction went along with their business, leaving the camp bustling with activity. Levi’s stare darted back towards the tiny female. He analyzed her for a minute, watching as she grew more flushed and uncomfortable under his piercing gaze.

“I’m recruiting you to my squad,” he told (Y/N), out of the blue. Her eyes widened in surprise and her head snapped up to look back at the stoic soldier. She paused a moment as if waiting for him to correct the statement, or reconsider.

Good. So she wasn’t cocky, either.

“R-really? Me?” she spluttered, body stiff.

“Tch. Are you stupid?” The cold comment caught (Y/N) off guard. His cold reputation preceded itself, yet the words were like a smack in the face. She stared at the ground in embarrassment, suddenly finding interest in the mixed sediment and patches of grass beneath her.

“I just meant--”

“--you’ll meet the others tomorrow. Don’t make me regret choosing you. I don’t like wasting my time on titan fodder.” He cut her off, as if uninterested in what she had to say.

“O-okay. Thank you for the opportunity,” she began.

But by the time the sentence left Levi’s lips, he was gone. (Y/N) facepalmed, willing her racing heart to calm itself. 

She was so self-absorbed with her baffled state that she failed to notice Levi stop, scanning her once more before letting himself disappear out of sight with a slight shake of his head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your green cloak fluttered in the wind as air rushed around you, the earth seeming to barely match your pace as you rode the omni-directional mobility gear strapped to your legs. Natural instinct took over, hands and mind working as one. You backflipped and twisted elegantly through the buildings, relishing in a state of weightlessness as your eyes locked onto a target. Shooting out the grappling hooks, you lurched forward and spun around to face the sky, arms reaching towards it. Your eyelids fluttered shut. Quickly launching yourself upwards in the heat of the moment, slashing titans as you passed. The color of the roofs blurred, melting together into a sea of reds and browns and mixing with the blue shades of the upper atmosphere.

“(Y/N)! Watch out!” Eld called, forcing you to snap your eyes open. An irregular titan leapt onto one of the many conjoined houses, both arms outstretched in your direction as it prepared to jump once more, its speed alarmingly fast.

You paused for a moment to inhale deeply, going limp and falling towards the ground. Your hair whipped around like ribbons, framing the whistling sounds that filled the air. These motions were captivating to the eye, every movement calculated yet, outwardly, looked effortless. You relaxed into each one.

Its outstretched fingers grazed your uniform as you fell, and from the corner of your eye you observed Gunther and Petra latch themselves onto it, blades running through titan flesh as they worked as one.

Just as the ground was a mere five inches away, you pulled up with one hook, in a vertical stance once again and pivoting in circles with the grace of a ballerina, finishing the titan off with the last hit to its nape. You let your head fall back, and when a high ledge presented itself, slowed down and tumbled forward. Sunlight perforated through more clearly here, highlighting the soft landing as you touched down on both your feet. It was as if the 3D maneuver gear were your wings— an extension of yourself.

Petra and Gunther stood a few feet away, the steaming human-looking beast slung over the edifice. Gunther was grinning at you in admiration as your strawberry-blonde comrade ran over, clearly exasperated.

“How do you make it look so elegant?” she implored, studying you brush a strand of hair away from your face as if she could decode the simple mannerism into her answer. You brushed yourself off, striding towards the other member of Levi squad.

“Hush up, Petra. Stop selling yourself short,” you scolded. “You make it look that way too; you just have no way of observing yourself to realize.”

Said girl smiled, amazed at your kindness as she stared at her own gear. It was short-lived though, as you all sprung into action once more at an approaching 15 meter.

Despite the banter, you all knew the situation was grim. The announcement given only hours ago replayed in your mind.

“What do you mean, a breach?!” you shrieked, eyes wide as the mess hall scrambled about, preparing their horses and suiting into ODM gear. The piece of bread in your hand fell to the ground as you sprung to your feet, the solemnity in the fellow scouts’ eyes nearly convincing enough to consider the possibility of such a ridiculous statement.

Eld snapped his fingers in front of your face, regaining your attention.

“I mean exactly what I said,” he replied, hurriedly. “We’re on damage control. They’re calling it the armored titan; it supposedly smashed through the wall after the colossal appeared.”

Petra, from her spot standing next to you, gripped your wrist harshly. Confused, you gazed back at her, her doe-eyes blown wide.

“The cadets are all out there,” she whispered, the words barely audible above the noise the other soldiers were making. You suddenly felt nauseous.

You waved as Oluo, Eld, and Levi landed next to you, blood staining their uniforms.  

“Captain! What’s the call?” You asked, jogging up to him. He ignored you and scanned for injuries, along with the other two of his squad a ways behind. The area was becoming overwhelming to contain, and information was difficult to spread, so everyone was a on edge.

Levi brushed his bangs from his eyes.

“All of the citizens have been evacuated, but a lot of the cadets are unable to head back over the wall.”

“They’ve run out of gas, apparently,” Oluo elaborated, frowning. You looked at Humanity’s Strongest, confusion flickering in your expression as your disciplined mind urged you to remain calm.

“Isn’t there a bunker with refills available, towards the center of the city?” you inquired. Levi nodded, but his demeanor was pessimistic.

“Titans are surrounding it, preventing those inside from leaving and the rest from loading up on what they need. The Commander says retreating is our best option at this point.”

It seemed that under the orders of their commanding officer, the rest of Squad Levi were willing to reluctantly comply. Your heart sank at the ease of their submission, and you looked around at the hellish invasion in front of you. The whole thing seemed an impossible nightmare.

Back down at the meter attached to your gear, you realized you were starting to run low on fuel as well. Eld, watching as the short girl in front of him deflate, took a step towards your crestfallen stature as the anger built up.  

“We can’t just leave them!” you argued, practically snarling at the ridiculousness of the idea. The Captain held his arm out, halting Oluo from getting any closer and glaring at anyone who attempted to comfort you. His stare was intimidating, boring into your skull as if communicating a thousand things at once.

“As an elite squad member, this shouldn’t have to be explained to you,” he reminded. “You’re relatively new to this branch, I understand, so let me provide this simple, life-saving lesson.”

You looked at everyone in disbelief, searching for backup, amazed to find that no one shared the same opinion or was willing to think of another alternative. Instead, they all seemed to shrink under Levi’s change of tone.

Humanity’s Strongest motioned to the rest of the members.

“Meet us on top of Wall Rose.”

They nodded and zipped away, grim with the weighing guilt of leaving. Your gaze shifted to the ground as they tried to catch your eye, but you were unable to meet any of their glances. 

You were in for it, for sure.

As soon as they were gone, Levi reached out and gripped the color of your shirt, harshly dragging you forward. His normally expressionless blue-gray orbs were seething, flames practically exploding inside of them. But you refused to flinch.

“You may think you understand the military, but here, especially in the field, it’s a whole different game. You do as you’re instructed, when you’re instructed, no questions asked. Quite simple, isn't it?”

The Captain watched as your face filled with reverie. He raised an eyebrow. You were aware that he was about to speak, and felt uncomfortable underneath his scrutiny. 

His fist balled up your shirt and rendered you useless, but that was the least of your concern.

Letting people go when you had the ability to do something, even if it was in vain, had to be the most heart-wrenching part of this job.

“Look at me, (L/N).”

Slowly, you complied. His appearance and command were both brisk and cold, yet not unusual for you to hear.

“One more round of scouting for survivors,” Levi started, releasing his hold. “and then we go back. If you take too long, I’ll drag you over the wall myself. That’s a direct order.”

“Yes, sir.”

Just as you were about to turn away, you felt something warm stroke your cheek, and as your downcast orbs flickered to search for its source, the realization dawned. The raven brushed the back of his knuckles against your soft skin for a short instant, but the impression was ever-lasting. The fire in his eyes was gone.

“Fifteen minutes,” he contributed, a short display of sympathy revealing itself before he flew off. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears. 

So he had been right. You were not yet broken by hopelessness, even after years of being a soldier. You still aspired to do the undoable. The male sighed, realizing your Military Police roots were incomparable to the brutal reality checks the Scouting Regiment provided daily. You’d just have to learn the hard way, then.

But he would be lying if he said such passion wasn’t... refreshing.