#dove?? gurl. embarrassing

[emeritusprofessorofnothing]

Where is the "why do you have hundreds of dollars of cheap products" option?

[imhereforvibesandkneecaps]

Run and hide

Jock bully Sero x y/n

Inspired by @miggiisdumb (Ily queen❤❤)

Warnings : sex, primal play, blood, overstimulation, drug use +18

MNI DO NOT INTERACT YOU LIL SHITS

you ran, you had to. You didn't know why you agreed to this, you were just sitting on your couch only an hour ago, with your roommate Mina, who dragged you to a party. At the party, the host of it, Bakugo, had the grand idea of playing a game of truth or dare. A pretty stupid idea, you thought to yourself. But he was drunk so that might've been the reason he came up with this dumb idea. A bunch of people sat in a circle, you sitting next to Mina. Bakugo was setting the rules up, and you weren't listening. You had been spacing out for maybe ten minutes, until you noticed Mina elbowing you in the ribs. It jolted you out of your day dream to start paying attention to your surroundings. You noticed that one of bakugo's friends was pointing at you, with a big grin on his face. He had black hair tied up in a small ponytail and a piercing on his eyebrow. He wore a black hair of sweatpants and a jacket he got from being on the basketball team. He had dark eyes, with his scleras red from smoking weed. "Y/n. You got about an hour to avoid me around the campus."

"what?" You ask cluelessly. It was clear you hadn't been paying attention, at all. "And if you find me?" Mina sighed loudly.

"you're not allowed to ask, its his choice. If you had paid attention you would've known. Now go! You got about five minutes to hide!" She squealed happily. She pushed you up and out of the house. You were still dumbfounded. You came to the realization that they might've just kicked you out of the house because you were being boring. You sighed, annoyed and just started walking towards your hoise, because Mina drove you guys here. You started walking, but you felt some sort of anxiety, so you checked your phone to see the time. It was 1:43 am, you left the house two minutes ago by now. You started to walk A little faster, being a bit paranoid. You started to text Mina, embarrassed and angry. 'If you wanted me to leave you could've just asked instead of embarrassing me in front of anyone.' You pressed send and sighed, annoyed. About two minutes later you got a text back 'gurl, you better start running, Sero is about to leave the house to get you.' You scoff and text her back 'haha real funny asshole, just know when I get home I aint helping you with setting up your room anymore.' You check the time again. 1:47 am. You feel even more anxious, and Mina texts back, scaring you a bit. "He just left the house, you got about an hour Y/n good luck!" You almost yell, you're annoyed that she keeps going on with this stupid bit, but you still feel this feeling of unease around you. "Yeah sure, fuck you and your friends. " you put your phone in your pocket and keep walking. You hear a noise behind you and you snap your head back quickly behind you. There was nothing, you sigh and scold yourself for being paranoid. You keep walking to your house until you're maybe a block away from it. You go and text Mina again 'yeah, I don't see your little friend around here. Thanks for making me walk home btw🖕' you shove your phone in your pocket and keep walking. You hear a ding from your phone, she texts back 'you're no fun! And he is, you don't have to believe me until he gets you. Have fun, btw he thinks you're cute so I hope you think he is too.' You sigh and just look at the time. 2:03 am. Whatever, you shouldn't care. You get closer to your house until you hear a sound of footsteps behind you. You look behind you and see nothing, and take a deep breath. "No one is there, dumbass." You mumble to your self

"well now y/n you sound like bakugo right now. Don't know if it fits you chica." You freeze. Holy shit. You turn around to face Sero. He had a grin on his face still, but it seemed to be a bit darker. "Ill count to ten before I start running after you, Mi Amor." He whispers. You were still frozen, your face heating up. "Uno....dos..." He starts counting. You start running past him. He's now on 5, you keep running. Now were in the present, you're still running as fast as you can. You get to your house, but you know you can't make it through the front door, you didn't have a key and the password would waste time. So you go for the backdoor. You go through the fence door to the back yard and to the backdoor. You feel a sense of a relief. Until you see the reflection on you on the glass on the door... And Sero's. Your blood runs cold. You try to open the door but its too late. He grabs you roughly and slams you against the grass of your backyard. "Should've been faster Chica." He says darkly.

"get off of me you Fuck!" You yell. This doesn't stop him, it fuels him more now. He grabs his phone and takes a photo of you and him. You feel humiliated and scared, and slightly.... Aroused?

"no can do Chica. I won, you were too slow, so I get to do what I want now. " he says with a smile. You look at him taking off his jacket, he had a black wife beater on. Fuck he looked good on him. You were just glad that the back porch lights were on. "Relax pretty girl, ill make it enjoyable." He whispers in your ear, sensually. You can feel your breath hitch as he starts to peel off your leggings. You feel yourself getting more aroused. Fuck, this can't be happening. He slid his hands down to your bare thighs. "fuck, so fucking sexy Chica. Can't wait to taste." You heard a ripping noise and felt your wrists being tied up. He sat you up against the backdoor. Your bottom now exposed to this feral looking man. He looked you straight in your eyes and without a warning shove two fingers in your cunt. You let a squeal of surprise " well, I need to prep you darling. " you glare at him "hey don't get mad at me, you lost." He grinned. He started to curl his fingers. You felt yourself tightening against this new feeling, You arch your back as a result. "You're so pretty like this." He coos

"fuck you asshole." You say breathlessly.

"that's the plan sweetheart." He throws your legs over his shoulders out of nowhere. You felt a soft tongue against your clit. You gasped and twitch at the feeling. "Fuck, so fucking good." He murmers something in Spanish that you couldn't understand and starts to suck against your folds. This makes you moan out loud and buck your hips, god why did it have to feel so good? He Slurped and sucked against your cunt, happy you were moaning, knowing it was a sign he was doing it right. You were sopping wet at this point and your eyes were brimming with tears. He kept kissing your cunt. "Good girl, wanna cum? Wanna cum for me, like a pretty little slut?" He asked, shoving his fingers in and out of you. You whine and nod your head vigourusly, you felt so close to coming. You needed to, you needed to cum so badly.

"please, fuck, please Sero." You beg, like a dumb slut. He pulls out his fingers, you were so close, so so so close. You start to cry. "You jerk! I was so fucking close" you cry out, this earns you a harsh slap against the ass. You hiss at the pain. He lays you down and starts to pull down his pants, you felt so hot and airy now.

"calm down chica, you will." He Pulls down his underwear and his cock springs free, slapping against his stomach, it was long and thick. You were worried it wasn't gonna fit. He rubs his hands against your cunt, making you squeal again, and rubs your juices against his cock. He positions himself against your cunt and puts one hand on your face. "This might hurt." He whispers. With no warning he shoves himself in, immediately bottoming out. You short circuit a little as your body clenched around his intrusion. He groans happily and starts chuckling "fuck yeah" he mutters breathlessly. "so fucking tight, Im gonna fucking ruin you, you sweet little bitch." He grabs you by the hair and starts pounding into you, you moan and scream with every thrust. He would bite against your neck and legs and ripped off your shirt like an animal. He dove right for your breasts while still pounding you without even slowing down. He licked and but at your nipples harshly and slapped your ass anytime you cussed. You were covered in hickeys and bite marks, which some of them even bled, which he licked obviously. You felt so close again, you wanted to grab him but your arms were tied up, so you lay your head against his chest.

"please let me cum.." you whisper in his ear, this made him even more feral. He started to pound into you harder. You felt him bite against your shoulder really hard as he pushed into you, he sounded like he was growling almost.

"Wanna fucking cum? Wanna cum like the little slut you are? Ill let you cum pretty girl." You felt him bully your cervix even harder until you squirted everwhere, on his stomach, both of your guy's thighs and the floor. You moan out weakly from your high and you hear him huff. He went back to pounding you though. "wait! S-Sero! I just came I ca-" he silences you with another slap to the ass, that was definitely gonna leave a mark.

"you wanted to fucking cum right, Mi amor? Well your gonna cum until you can't fucking talk and Im gonna cum until Im all out, got it?" You nodded helplessly as he pummels into you relentlessly he made you cum god knows how many times now, and you couldn't talk anymore and everything was hazy. Your body was covered in hand prints, bruises, hickeys and bite marks. Once he finally came, his moan sounded so angelic to your ears. You felt his warmth in you, it was so thick and hot, and you wanted it all in your tummy, which he was planning on doing. He grabs you by the neck and slams into you again, this goes on for god knows how long until you two are finally fucked out. By this point the sun was starting to come up and you could hear Mina's car pull up. You didn't care at this point and you and sero looked at the fence and saw Mina poke her head of the corner and made eye contact with both of tou. You two were both completely naked and she covers her eyes and yells,

"I told you I wasn't lying!" Sero started to chuckle and finally released your hands and rubbed your wrists. "good work MI amor. Next time we do this, try to run faster though, its fun watching you get scared." He then kissed your wrist and put on his sweatpants and brought you inside the house, you still being completely naked and walked past Mina. He brought you to your room and laid you on the bed and kissed your head and whispered loving words to you as you fell asleep. You gotta thank Mina for dragging you to that party after all.

IM FINISHED HELL YEAH!!

Tags : @miggiisdumb

#sero x yn #bnhasmut

[lefaystrent]

Welcome to the Neighborhood part 3

Fandom: Thomas Sanders, Sanders Sides

Pairings: Prinxiety

Summary:  Virgil’s really bad at peopling, or so his new neighbors find out.

Chapter Navigation: part one, part two part four

AO3 Link

Virgil had just slurped a big bite of food into his mouth when a voice startled him from behind.

“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks! It is the east and Juliet is the—OW THAT WAS MY FACE YOU HEATHEN!!!”

“I TOLD YOU NOT TO SNEAK UP ON ME YOU FUCKER!” Virgil seethed with rage born purely from fright.

Here he had been minding his own business on his own front porch, standing there with his back leaned against the railing. And Roman— the most illegally gorgeous dumbass to ever walk the face of the planet—had done the one thing that Virgil had warned him not to do.

So it wasn’t Virgil’s fault he had decked him in the face. Not when the spilled remains of his beloved food splattered the wood of the porch at his feet. And he could deny all responsibility for the way Roman covered his nose, eyes squinted and tearing from pain.

Wait—oh shit, was that blood?

At first Roman seemed more preoccupied about whether or not his nose had broken. He stopped to stare down at Virgil’s feet, big brown eyes batting in a way that reminded Virgil of Bambi.

What kind of person punches Bambi?

“Is that . . . a can of green beans?” Roman asked in disbelief.

“Remy banned me from the chips,” Virgil replied weakly. He felt untethered from where his feet met the porch, like a wayward breeze could lift him up and drift him away. He knew he shouldn’t have eaten green beans on a Wednesday afternoon. It was more of a Saturday midnight snack thing. And here he was, still holding the fork in the shaking fist that had decked Bambi in the face.

Oh god, ohgodohgodohgod, he could have stabbed the idiot in the face. He could have killed Bambi!

Instantly the silverware fell from his limp fingers. Roman watched dumbly as it clattered to the floor, but Virgil didn’t care about any of that. He lurched around the railing at sonic speed and his hands were fluttering uselessly in the air with all the worried agitation of a humming bird mixed with a mother bear (no Virgil’s mind was not processing things properly at the moment).

“Are you sorry?!” Virgil almost screamed at him. Oh wait, he actually did scream at him.

Roman reeled back—oh no no no, did he think Virgil was going to assault him again? Did he hate him now? Was he going to call the police and Virgil would have to spend the rest of his existence in a prison cell where he would never eat another green bean or Dorito ever again in his miserable cursed life???

This is why you don’t sneak up on people!

“What? Sorry? Yes?” Roman stammered out as fast as he could, looking for a moment to be just as overwhelmed as Virgil.

“Shit, wait, no. I didn’t mean that,” Virgil rushed to say desperately, urged on by the inner mantra in his head: please don’t hate me, please don’t hate me, please don’t hate me. “I was trying to ask if you’re okay but say sorry at the same time, but it all came out at once, and I’m so fucking sorry dude. I didn’t mean to, I swear.”

“Virgil, slow down,” Roman said, as if Virgil really had any power over the frantic tribal beat of his heart. “It’s uh—it’s not that bad.”

Roman was bleeding in Virgil’s front yard. What part of this constituted as not that bad?

Spurred by the inexplicable need to fix this, Virgil’s hands finally made contact with the sleeves of Roman’s leather jacket. He tugged him up the porch, forgetting he should really probably ask for permission for such a thing but the FIX THIS in his mind was really having a swell ole time jackhammering away in his head.

Roman protested but not in a way that said he had a problem being dragged into Virgil’s house (and if Virgil was thinking rationally at the moment, he’d probably freak out over his handsome neighbor seeing the inside of his house for the first time, but again, FIX THIS). He seemed more concerned with convincing Virgil that this wasn’t a big deal.

“I was more shocked than hurt, really. Believe me, I’ve been in far worse brawls than this.”

“You’re bleeding,” Virgil hissed.

“Oh that? My nose is just crying red tears because of how amazing I am!”

Virgil laughed but he also kind of wanted to cry too so he didn’t know how to emotion right now. He let Roman go by the kitchen sink and snatched a clean dishcloth from the adjacent cabinet and placed it under Roman’s nose. Roman took over to staunch the bleeding while Virgil left him there to rummage in the freezer. He pulled out two bags.

“Fries or mixed vegetables?” Virgil asked, because on some level of his consciousness the answer really seemed important in that instance. He held them up on display for Roman to decide.

The bleeding man stood there bewildered (Why was he looking at Virgil like that? Did he still think he was going to get hit again?). He glanced between the two frozen foods for a moment before pointing at the vegetables.

“Let’s go with that one,” he said. “It’s smaller.”

“Y-yeah,” Virgil agreed. He tossed the fries onto the counter carelessly and offered the vegetables at a healthy arms-length away. The embarrassment of man-handling Roman into his home had caught up to him.

Roman plucked the bag from his hand. With nothing left to hold, Virgil fiddled with the zipper on the arm of his hoodie. He wondered if Roman regretted moving in next door. God, he couldn’t even look up from the floor at this point. How pathetic was he?

“Thank you, Virgil,” Roman said quietly.

“For punching you in the face?” Virgil said with a snort. He slapped a hand over his mouth. The fiddling on his zipper increased.

“No, my little storm cloud.” Virgil nearly choked upon hearing the nickname. He stared wide-eyed at Roman. “You did warn me to announce my presence better. But when I saw you standing there . . .” Roman lowered the reddened cloth, and sure there was a little more red smudged on his face but the smile he wore was sincere. The playfulness in his eyes a little too much for Virgil to handle right now. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“Well then.” Virgil scratched at his neck and crossed his arms, shoulders hitched up. “I’m still sorry,” was what he meant to say. “Serves you right then,” is what he actually said.

Mouth . . . could you just cooperate for once in my life? Sincerely, Virgil.

Roman chuckled and placed the frozen bag gently against the bridge of his nose. “I suppose that’s fair. Would you give me the chance to make it up to you?”

Virgil’s already distressed brain short circuited because what the absolute flying fuck did that mean???

Roman stood there, tending to his face, body language and any discernable facial features unreadable. Something lodged in Virgil’s throat and he couldn’t quite swallow right. His overanalytical thoughts bounced around at the speed of AHHHH as he considered what ‘make it up to you’ meant in this context.

If Virgil’s life were a porno—no, do not go past Go, do not collect two hundred dollars. Do not finish that thought because honestly? This was real life, and knowing Virgil’s luck Roman was far more likely to beat him up. A nose for a nose, as it were.

“Virgil?” Roman called his attention, which only made Virgil lose more of his focus. Roman was waiting for a response to some offer that Virgil didn’t know what he would be agreeing or denying, so how was he supposed to answer? And whoa, were the walls closing in or what?

The door to Remy’s bedroom opened. He slunk out with all the grace of a foraging raccoon, wearing a black silk robe and hair curlers, obviously having just woken up. He took a moment too long to spot their neighbor standing in the kitchen.

Roman smiled pleasantly. “Hello—”

Remy screeched and dove back into his room, door slamming shut.

“. . . is he okay?” Roman asked Virgil.

“GURL!” Remy shouted from behind the door, and Virgil knew without a doubt that the accusing tone was addressed towards him. “I don’t even have my face on! Like give a warning!”

“Spoiler alert, Remy. We have company.”

“BITCH I KNOW!”

“Don’t worry about him,” Virgil told his neighbor. “He just came with the house.”

“Excuse me, ma’am, this is my house,” Remy said, popping his head back out for a moment, shades in place this time. “You’re the one who showed up sniffing around one day and I made the mistake of feeding.”

He slammed the door again.

“He’s not wrong.” Virgil shrugged.

“I see.” Roman nodded. He didn’t seem freaked out by the exchange, curious and amused if anything.

Truthfully, Virgil was still internally pulling his hair out in mortification over the last five minutes, but Remy’s interruption had offered a nice reprieve, enough for Virgil to take a breath and steel his nerves.

“What did you mean?” Virgil blurted before he could stop himself. Roman just looked at him, so he rambled on. “Earlier, before Remy—you were saying something?”

Roman brightened. He lowered the bag from his face to give Virgil an unobscured view of his hopeful expression. “Even when I caused you distress, you patched my wounds, and for that I am grateful. I’d like to make it up to you, if you’d allow me the honor?”

Why did he have to talk so weird? Why did he feel like he had to make up for anything in the first place? Why couldn’t Virgil stop fidgeting with his jacket sleeve again?

“Make it up how?” he asked.

“Dinner?” Roman asked, and the emo’s dead heart sputtered and said help me. “I’ve been told I’m an excellent cook. You could come over tomorrow night and we could get to know each other better. You could bring Remy along if you’d like.”

Would it be too dramatic to faint right now? Probably. If he had any cool points after today, he needed to stubbornly hold on to his consciousness. Throwing in the inclusion of his roommate aside, a devastatingly handsome man (who he had just punched) had asked him over for dinner. A dinner that he would cook. Of course he also knew how to cook on top of all his other attractive qualities.

…ya know on one hand, if what he got out of it was having a cute guy ask him over, maybe Virgil should punch people more often?

On the other hand, a cute guy was asking him over for dinner what was he supposed to say???

“Sure,” Virgil answered automatically.

WHY DID HE JUST SAY THAT?

“Wonderful!” Roman beamed at him. “I’m certain Logan and I will make it the best dinner you’ve ever had.”

Virgil was suddenly hit with the full force of remembering that Roman did not live alone.

He lived with Logan.

Logan, the evil vampiric elementary school teacher.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t—

FIX THIS!

“Sounds great,” Virgil said, grimacing while he imagined astral projecting outside of his body just so he could hit himself with a baseball bat. “What time am I going to die—I mean, what time should I come by?”

If Roman noticed the slip up, he didn’t comment. Just grinned all the wider. “Let’s say around six?”

“Cool.”

He had less than twenty-four hours to live.

But hey, at least he could have Remy die with him.

General Tag List: @spectralheartt @a-pastel-pan @notalwaysthevillian @rose-gold-roman @ijustrealizedhowdumbmynamewas @katie-the-noble-fangirl @yourroyalydramaticanxiousness @aroundofapplesauce @merlybird500 @beach-fan @jemthebookworm @whats-going-on-kiddos @randomsandersides @gamerfreddie @unring-this-bell @that-royal-ravenclaw @analogicallythinking @lilygold23 @punsterterry @naw2702 @levy-the-b00kw0rm @iolanomsgranola @tacohippy56900 @accio-hufflepuff-power1 @just-another-rainbowblog @georganabanana @grey-says-heck @randompicts-blog

Welcome to the Neighborhood list: @roman-red-aesthetic @joyful-milkshake-observation @lizziepopanime @ab-artist @cricks-loves-you @ghoulingwheeze

[whimstories]

BalconyAU Pt 6

Part 1 // Part 5// Next 

A/N: Everyone that has ever comment and been just fabulous human beings, (Tumblr, A03, or Fanfiction) you all are the only reason I’m finishing this. You. You right there reading. So thank yourselves, you’re doing good work.

I always write to improve, so comments and critiques are welcome! Please rip this to bits! Thank you!

Word Count: 3k

Waking up and staring at a blemish on her ceiling, Marinette is reminded she has no patience for subterfuge. She asserts this fact all morning as she tugs on her clothes, crumpling the fabric in her grip, and withers frustrated glares out her balcony window; a pair of pigeons stare back, flaunting their easy system of mating on the criteria that their partner has wings and is alive.

Chat Noir fragrantly proclaimed his intentions almost a week ago; to Plagg, then Manon, and thus essentially the whole building, and he hasn’t followed through in the slightest. Though her identity in the situation is in check, what reasoning can make a person say such a silly thing then disappear?

Do men in her life have a sick enjoyment in rallying her affections then promptly throwing them to the dust? It’s a pattern that’s becoming her best friend and, honestly, she doesn’t want any of it.

Yet even in her frustrations, her heart still wants to know him. She believes it’s a misunderstanding— soft strings plucking in the night air and gentle male undertones are difficult for her mind, and even her body, to forget. So she’s determined to make everything straight.

She’s not a princess locked in her tower in the 12th century, she’s a warrior princess of the 21st century, free to do as she will; and if this situation isn’t straight by the weekend, she’s giving up entirely. Even if he kneels at her door, with roses and tears rolling down his cheeks from anguished love, she will direct him to the nearest trash bin.

Alya calls for their morning meet up, and Marinette almost topples a lamp when she realizes she never told Alya about the entirety of last week. She didn’t think to call Alya at all about the Chat ordeal, or even the dramatics with Chloe and Adrien. Its probably because Alya would consider it an op-ed piece for the modern romantic and would, also, give the worst advice.

Chat Noir proclaims his adoration? Bang him immediately.

Chloe insults her and her best friend in a single breathe? Bang down her door, with doormen in tow, and throw her to the streets.

Adrien Agreste hides in her house? Bang him then get connections with the dad. Two-for-one sale!

Unsurprisingly, the latter sounds like she’s angling for Mr. Agreste, and if that isn’t a clear indication she’s known Alya too long, there’s no way she can tell her a thing.

Marinette is groaning like a troubled moped as she approaches the door to Alya’s newest cafe discovery. The front door is glass but a distinct darkness reflects through the window which stops Marinette to consider if it is still morning or that the store is closed.

However, the door pushes open when pressured and she finds the entire cafe is shadowed in dim light and too many black curtains. Marinette is certain she stumbled into the cafe for the undead, which is actually a fantastic cafe name when one considers morning patrons. Alya is sitting in a booth a few steps from the door and waves her down, her wonderful smile a strange contrast to the general bleakness.

Marinette sits across from her, the black leather seat reflects the light at the center of the table, and looks around at the blackboards, the scatter of high skinny tables with bolted chairs, and workers with piercings. The menu on the table displays pictures of all the drinks which are either complete black or ironic pink. Her mouth twitches when she considers anything eerie from her life is easily overshadowed by the terrible atmosphere here. A bit genius, actually.

“Marinette, your hair!” Alya exclaims, slapping the table. Marinette flushes, containing her glee, and tentatively touches the corner of the princess braid still safe on her head. She preserved it the best she could when she went to bed, adding all the bobby pins that didn’t exist before and wrapping it in a scarf, and was quite happy looking at it this morning. “Did you get it done at a salon? You never want to go!”

“Well, I—“

“I knew you’d look like a bombshell if you went to a professional.”

Marinette frowns. “I do fine on my own.”

Alya gives a here-or-there gesture with her hand flat, and looks dubious. “You have a poor, hot artist vibe. ‘I only have time for mascara and head buns because I can kite a man with my deep inner thoughts and button nose face’,” She teases then gestures to her own face. “Some of us have to watch youtube videos.”

Marinette pouts and plops her face onto her hand. “I don’t kite men.”

“Only hot people say that.”

A female employee walks up to their table for their order, which exempts Marinette’s response. After ordering, Alya begins gesturing excitedly about her weekend with Nino, where they went on a grand date to a concert and restaurants. It’s rare for them to go on dates because Nino travels with his job; or when he is home, he’s so tired from jet lag it’s just a lot of cuddling and extracurricular activities that Alya loves to describe in torturous detail. It’s hard to look Nino in the face sometimes.  

“Alright, alright, I’ve said enough,” Alya sighs like a lovelorn dove. ”I just love him too much, you know? Lets get back to your clearly interesting weekend.” She waggles her eyebrows which puts up Marinette’s hackles.

She picks up her drink that arrived during Alya’s anecdote, one of the ironically pink frappuccinos with chocolate skulls on the side, to cover the bottom half of her expression. She scrambles for anything of interest.

“I went running two mornings in a row,” she shrugs.

“Trying to look good for someone?” Marinette clenches her jaw, the plastic straw crushes underneath her teeth, and curses Alya. She was always good at steering a conversation.

“More like, trying to get rid of the extra pounds someone put on me the past several months,” she quips.

“Gurl, give me some credit. I know when you’re hiding something,” Alya smirks. She brings her drink to her mouth, it’s a latte— the darkest black Marinette has ever seen— and also decorated with a foam skull. Alya’s delight in the taste is reflected when she downs half of it within a second. “Did you finally make it to next base with Chat?”

“He hasn’t shown up since the day I got back,” Marinette admits, going with a partial truth.

“Oh,” Alya blinks several times. “That’s… surprising.”

What’s more surprising is Alya actually looks surprised. She holds her latte at bay, considering it in contemplative silence, then sips it with more patience than previously. Like she was holding something back. Marinette tilts her head. “You think?”

Alya blinks several times, again, and waves her off. “No, no, I was thinking…I just had a feeling he was a good guy.”

“You said he was probably a murderer,” Marinette intones.

“Obviously, I was joking.”

“And an adulterer.”

“We live in Paris, not Antartica.”

Marinette shakes her head, unsure of her friend’s sudden good faith. Though she has pushed Marinette towards Chat since she realized Marinette’s over the top admiration, at the same time she is supportive of keeping her in traditional and healthy matches. From her perspective, him giving up means he’s a tease, artificial, and possibly an actual adulterer. Definitely not a good base for boyfriend material.

Alya’s eyes twinkle suddenly, like a spark of inspiration, and she waves her empty cup towards Marinette. “How about this: Nino and I are going to a Karaoke Bar next Friday. You should come with us! Nino’s bringing an old friend, and I hate third wheeling the friend dates,” Alya says.

“Karaoke?” Marinette asks.

“You sing for a stranger but not your best friend? I’m shook,” She says with the utmost seriousness. “You need to get this guy right out of your head. Embarrassing yourself is the best option.”

Marinette groans into a smile, imagining said embarrassment. “Why must you torture me?”

“Because I’m all knowing and all powerful.”

Marinette cannot enact ‘operation warrior princess’ until Wednesday afternoon, when she catches sight of Manon at the front desk. If Marinette hopes to meet Chat Noir when he no longer shows up on to balcony, and she had checked every night, then she has to ask the central hub of communication.

“Manon?” Marinette asks. Manon hums, an arm leaning on the desk and supporting her head as she reads a novel. The cover is tilted low and Manon looks about as interested as a fox to an ant. Required class reading, then. “Do you happen to know what happened to that—um, singer? The one that use to come out every night?”

Manon hums, again, flatly, looking like she was stuck in the void of reading the last line of her page and the battle has worn her a reading speed of 20 words per minute. Marinette wonders if she should come back later, but Manon would probably be done for the day, and Marinette made a promise to herself.

“Did he ever find that girl? The one Plagg pointed out?”

Manon snaps the book shut, like an electric wire hits her, and stares aghast as Marinette. “Plagg. Oh my goodness, don’t get me started on Plagg, that dolt!”

Marinette straightens out, happy something caught the girl’s interest, and asks, “What happened?”

“Okay, I can’t tell you all the details, because Plagg said the guy is afraid girls will flock his door. Which I don’t blame him. They would if they knew the whole package.” Marinette’s mind latches onto the information, wondering if she fell for a Mr. Darcy after all. “But I do need to rant a bit.” She pauses and looks over Marinette. “I love your hair.”

Marinette is use to the compliments, dragging out the remains of the hairstyle to its last. It wont survive the night, the frays becoming less stylish and her hair needs to be washed soon, which definitely disappoints her. “Thank you. And I won’t tell anyone. Not even, Alya.”

“Please, tell Alya. Actually bring her along so I can rant to her as well, and maybe we can solve this dramatic liaison in a single afternoon,” Manon sighs.

Marinette tends to forget Manon and Alya are as tight as twine whenever they’re in the same room. They have the same interest for drama and mystery and just about the same amount of cynical humor.

“So, Plagg, he’s an idiot,” Manon starts. “He’s an idiot because he got the wrong door number, and now our dear singer is ensnared in the claws of a she-devil.”

Marinette’s mind buzzes at the words. Chat is still looking for her. He wasn’t chased away, he was sent down the wrong path! “So he knows its the wrong girl?”

“Yes! But he’s with the she-devil’s out of guilt for leading her on for a day. A DAY. That girl would guilt him for the rest of her life just to keep him ensnared. Plagg is a penchant for bad luck. So, now, what’s happening?” Manon leans on her forearm and waves grandly to herself. “Plagg comes crawling to me to solve the case. Which is a pain because I couldn’t even figure out our male without him telling me, how am I supposed to find the leading lady?”

“So, you don’t have any clues?” Marinette asks.

Manon looks physically pained. “Im dried up.”

This is so much information, fantastic information, that Marinette doesn’t want to wait. She can straighten this out right now— just tell Manon and she can point her to Chat. Perhaps Alya’s gut really did mean something. “I might, actually, know something to help?”

Manon perks up, eyes wide, and leans over the counter to grip Marinette’s arms. “You’ve been holding out on me Dupain-Cheng? Who gave you the goods? What do you know?”

Marinette raises her hand in defense. “Before I say anything, you’re my friend, right?”

Manon pulls back and huffs. “Of course! I would cover murder for you.”

“Manon.”

“Including my murder. Full coverage.”

“Okay, fine.” Marinette takes a breath “The girl who sings with him—“ a bustle of people returning from work, enter the front doors and Marinette’s nerves flusters her words. “—I, I happen to know her. And she’s looking for Ch-that guy, too.”

For some reason, even if she trusts Manon, before the cat is caught, she doesn’t want this soap opera even remotely broadcasted to the building. She remembers the doormen teasing her about too much takeout, what would they say about her love life at this stage? Barry has a boyfriend now, and she could not take his pity stares again.

“You knew? This whole time?” Manon stresses. “No wonder you were so excited that day! You went to tell her!”

Marinette breathes relief. “Something like that. Look, she’s trying to talk to him. If you can give me his door number, this whole debacle can be cleared up.”

Manon bites the inside of her lip. “I don’t know, Plagg sort of told me in confidence. Even if it is her, which I’m not doubting you—“

Marinette recognizes a sinking ship when she sees one and changes tactics. She grabs Manon’s hand between two and hers and leans across the desk. “Manon. This is true love at stake. This could be the greatest story to ever come out of these apartments and you are at the center of it.”

“That’s a little—“

“You always complain that romances in this city are too dramatic. Maybe it’s because the wrong people keep tearing them apart. Romeo and Juliet. Westley and Buttercup.”

“Clarke and Lexa.” Manon’s eyes are wide and inspired, and Marinette is rejoicing. “You’re right, if I leave it to Plagg, he’ll screw it up again. The girls need to take action now.”

Manon takes a post it note from the desk drawer and scribbles on it before folding it up and sliding it across the counter.

“Thank you, Manon,” Marinette sighs, clenching the paper in her fist. Manon sends soft punch to her arm in return.

“I better hear all about it the next time I’m on shift.”

Then the next three seconds is a whirlwind. Marinette is smiling and turning towards the elevators when a heavy obstacle hits her mid step and she’s careening forward. Since the paper is in her fist, she attempts to use one hand to balance check, but another person is already mid motion to catch her, so her body is going the wrong way. In result, there is turning, tangling and crashing to the ground.

“What are you doing, Bruce?” Manon yelps.

A soft grunt responds along with a jiggling motion under Marinette’s head. She’s rising on fours from the ground and her face is right next to a well pressed pant leg. Bruce, the least clumsy and least likely to cause an accident in the entire building, is on his rear next to her.

“You really do work in the shadows, don’t you?” She jokes, though a bit dizzy from the sudden fall. A weird imbalance is causing her head to tilt and she looks to the left and the princess braid is no more, dangling in a single long braid with locks falling out. She wouldn’t be surprised if some bobby pins were scattered on the ground next to her.

Bruce smiles, an eerie and strange sight for those who know him. “My mistake,” he says. Manon walks around the desk to help Marinette up, in which she smiles gratefully.

“Wow, what happened here?”

Plagg is in casual attire, a black bomber jacket, a t-shirt, and jeans, and standing right next to Manon. Marinette glances below her and notices a few suitcases scattered on the ground next to a golden cart. They must have fallen, though how she didn’t hear them is amazing.

“I didn’t know you worked tonight,” Manon glares, probably still riled up from their conversation.

“Barry needed the night off,” he shrugs. He shuffles closer to Bruce, dragging his black converse across the ground, then offers out a hand. Manon accepts the explanation, her shoulders unwinding, but her eyes are still narrowed at Plagg.

Marinette takes her cue to leave and looks down at her right hand, now empty. She grumbles then whispers to Manon, “I think I dropped the paper.”

Manon looks towards her then at the ground, which is usually spotless so finding a pink post-it should be a breeze, but there are too many the suitcases. Manon looks towards Plagg, probably not wanting him to see her, before turning towards the desk, but Bruce taps her shoulder first. Manon turns with her brows raised.

“You’re almost off your shift. Do you mind sending up some boxes to Madame Bustier? Now, if you please.”

“Ah-um,” Manon glances at Marinette and sends an apologetic smile. “Right on it.”

Marinette clamps her lips to a thin line and curses her luck. She looks at the suitcases and leans down to help pick them up, hoping to find the paper, but Plagg shuffles in front of her. “I have this. Do you need anything else today?”

Marinette sighs, knowing it looks awkward to stay and watch him clean up. “No, thank you. I happened to drop a piece of paper. If you find it, can you send it up to my room?”

“Yes, Miss,” Plagg grins and stands there. She looks around awkwardly and nods in return and walks to the elevator. She looks back and Plagg is still standing there with a smile, not cleaning up yet. Marinette narrows her eyes at him before the door dings and is forced to enter.

He’s still smiling, stock still, until the doors close.

She remembers thinking that Plagg must be close friends with Adrien. Considering how strange he is, she wouldn’t be surprised.