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theblueflower05 · 1 year ago

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Mi Ti’ong(In Bloom)

A/N: Usually I try to keep my readers pretty ambiguous so that everyone can envision themselves, but this ones gonna be a little more distinct. If that isnt your jam, please dont read! No use of Y/N. Reader nicknamed Flora. Based on the character from Winx Club! And this art!

Word Count: 6k+

Warnings: Size difference kink.Mature Language. Smut. Overstimulation. Oral sex(female receiving) Neteyams a munch, it’s canon now.

Summary: Neteyam can have anyone and yet he only wants you. A small human who can usually be found among the flowers. Neteyam x Human! Reader

Sugar, honey, iced tea. Bumble bee on the scene.

Yeah I’d give up my bakery to have a piece of your pie, ugh!

-See You Again, Tyler the Creator.

The forest is alive, the beating heart of Eywa felt in each and every leaf among the trees.

Every glowing piece of flora and fauna, every creature whose calls echo through the vastness.

This time of year is special and it's as though it is known. Deeply and primitively by all. The rains had come and gone, nearly a month of bruised skies that had bogged down the village and its daily life.

But as they always do the skies cleared, and the sun made its reappearance. Glittering and glimmering- triple rainbows breaking out in kaleidoscope like figurations. Beaming down with all of it’s warmth and vitality.

The earth is well fed and fertile, the soil rich and blooming with new life.

It’s that new life that brings the talioang(water buffalo like beasts) back. The creatures return in great migrations to the lush pastures of sweet new grasses to have their babies. The fish swim upstream, battling the roaring rivers, to spawn. The fruit hangs heavy and ripe in the trees. All around there is nothing but full bellies and joy.

This period of abundance is the Great Mother’s gift to her children.

It had always been Neteyam’s favorite time of the year.

Everything lush and bursting with life, the excitement a low constant hum amongst the tribe. The Great Hunt is coming and his father had given him the okay to take lead.

In his nineteen years, he had never been appointed with so much responsibility.

Jake tells him it will all be fine, nothing but easy smiles. This will be good. A fantastic way to show the clan that he’s ready to take on the title of Olo’eyktan once his father steps down. Although he manages to keep is calm and cool demeanor in public, he’s so fucking nervous he can barley function.

It’s why he’s here, trudging through the branches.

The village is buzzing with excitement. Everyone wants a moment of his time, their voices overlap as they wish him good luck.

Question his competence as head of the hunt.

Subliminally hint that hunters twice his age have never gotten the chance to do what has been so freely handed to him.

Remind him that their daughters are pretty. Unmated. Makes the best steamed Teylu. Are fertile and willing to give him strong children-

Fuck.

The moment he could, he’d slipped away. Disappeared into the foliage and had booked it deep into the trees, desperate for a moment alone. For a moment of silence and the peace of being away from prying eyes.

He doesn't even really know where he’s going.

Only that he just needs to be away. If only for an hour. He needs to recharge his ever draining social battery, to get his head on straight before tomorrow's hunt.

Neteyam has always performed his best under pressure.

Things that made others balk and cower ignited something in him. A need to fight. To prove himself- it’s not the prospect of high adrenaline and stampeeding hooves that makes him squirm. It’s all of the attention its garnering.

He know’s fully well that being the next Olo’eyktan means that attention comes with the territory. But that doesnt mean the thought of everyones focus on him doesnt make his indigo skin crawl.

He’s leaping aimlessly between vines when he remembers his sisters earlier proposition.

“Come with me and Flora to the watering hole today! The waterfalls are so pretty during this season- We’re going to go swimming!”

It’d been tempting this morning, and now it is even more so. He could use a dip in the cool waters and Kiri was always an ear to vent to when he got overwhelmed. He’d clear head and then leave-

He wouldn't get stuck staring at you.

Again,

No.

He can't pinpoint exactly when this happened.

It was like one night you were just another human at the Outpost. Another familiar alien face he’d grown up around. Just like Spider you’d stuck close with the Sully children. Your cheeks always flushed beneath your exo-mask and your fingernails always dirty and caked with mud from the hours and hours you’d spend tending to any and all plants that came in your line of vision. You were always so soft. Too soft for his liking sometimes. You’d cry at just about anything whether it be one of those old Tawtute movies the scientists played at the lab or the sight of an injured shimmyfly.

And then suddenly gone was that snotty, teary little girl he’d always known. And in her place was…you. A woman grown. Beautiful and bold- and there was strength in your softness now. You’d proved him wrong so many times- made it clear that you weren't another responsibility he’d have to shoulder-

“I can take care of myself, Neteyam” you’d insisted, never letting him carry your heavy baskets or tend to your scraped knees.

It’s maddening, the way that you shrug off any and all of his advances drives him fucking insane.

Neteyam approaches the secluded bank of the watering hole that his family loves best slowly, keeping in the treeline. Just out of sight. Just like he’d expected he finds you and Kiri on the familiar sands. Kiri is lounging in the sun, eyes closed and humming a pleasant tune to herself-oblivious to anything around her. He’d have to chastise her about her complete lack of situational awareness later.

You’re knee deep in the lake- tending to the water lilies that grow close to shore. Your back is to him but he bets your nose is all scrunched up, just like it always is when you’re around anything green and growing. His eyes drink you in greedily. All of your sun kissed skin is on display in the tiny faded pink panties you don for swimming.

He’d never found humans particularly pretty before you. The intense differences in their bodies had never appealed to him-

But Eywa, are you something to look at.

Time had been kind to you, and as you’d grown your body had morphed into something goddess like. You’re a real looker, his father had claimed. Would’ve been a total knockout back on Earth.

You’re all plush curves. Your breasts are pert and sit like rip hanging fruit on your chest, your hips wide and thighs jiggly and thick. And your waist…he’s sure if he put his much larger hands around them, his fingers could touch. He could cage you in his hold.

That thought has him biting his tongue, hard enough to taste metallic. You turn a bit, your laughter chiming over the glittering water like soft wind at some dry joke Kiri made.

Your hair color is light, lighter than any Na’vi’s and falls down around your shoulders in thick waves. He can only make out the side of your face but your full lips are pulled into a coy smile and your light jade eyes sparkle and all hell. Neteyam is so gone on you.

You’re like nothing he’s seen and definitely nothing he’s had.

And since his Iknimaya he’s had his first pick of the women of the clan.

He’s tasted passionate huntresses and flexible dancers alike and none of them satiate his thirst. None of them are able to replicate what he can only imagine you might taste like. It’s almost pathetic how many women he’s had and how many times he’s almost called out your name as he emptied his seed.

Neteyam’s more discreet about his romps than his brother, that’s for sure- but still. It’s a known fact that he’s an unmated male at his prime and that comes with a certain appetite. He can have anyone he wants, any Omatikayan woman would be glad to spend a night with him.

Yet somehow he’s lurking, hiding in the bush. Watching you longingly. Simpering like a pre-teen and pining over the way that the sunlight plays in the strands of your hair.

He shakes himself from his embarrassing reverie.

No one would be able to tell that just moments before he’d been debating on stroking his cock to just the sight of you, lurking in the trees like a creep. No. As he approaches its with his head held high and a sharp smile on his handsome smile.

“Brother!” Kiri grins, sitting up once she clocks him.

“What are you girls up to?” Neteyam greets. Cool as a cucumber.

“Nothing much, just been here since dawn. The waters so high this year!” Kiri picks up a fruit from beside her, peeling at its tender meat “everyone’s been out here today-on the other side, but no one knows how to get to this spot so we’ve had the beach all to ourselves”

You’re coming in from the lapping shore, beaming at him “Look at all the paysul(waterlily) that’ve bloom! I’ve never seen this many- isn't it amazing?”

“They are very beautiful. The rains were hard this year. I’m surprised the flooding wasn't worse” Neteyam tries not to focus on how tiny your chest covering- the bra as you call it- is. He turns his attention to his sister instead.

“Where’s Tuk, I cant believe she’d miss a chance to swim with you guys”

“She’s with mom, stuck on weaving duty since she tore grandma’s favorite tapestry” Kiri snorts because her baby sister had thrown a complete fit when she had been told she couldn't come “What about you? I thought you we’re too busy to hang out with the likes of us”

“I was able to make a little time for my favorite girls” Neteyam jests, amused by your eye roll and Kiri’s scoff “Plus, Lo’ak told me you need some humbling. Seems you forgot who’s the best diver in the family”

“Oh, you’re on, Teylupil(penis face/dick head)”

After stripping down to only his cloth, his cumberband and com left on shore, he slips into the cool refreshing water with a pleased “Ah”. Enjoying the gentle current against his skin-only to be tacked under the surface by Kiri and all of her bony lanky limbs moments later.

The sun soaked afternoon is filled with laughter and splashing. It’s exactly what he needs.

The three of you play in the river like children. Neteyam and Kiri go at it like the always do- careful to be gentle with your smaller form as you join in. It’s easy to forget the looming pressure of the hunt while he’s jumping from the rushing waterfalls and racing his sister, discreetly preening when he wins and you cheer him on with little claps.

Eventually you all tire.

Kiri floats on the water and goes to that place in her head that she so often does. Completely at peace to be surrounded by nature. She claims it’s when she can best hear Eywa.

Neteyam keeps a bit of an eye on her to make sure she doesn't randomly fall asleep again. Hoping she’d have the sense to get back to the beach before that happened.

Water floods his face and goes right up his nose.

His head snaps to you, spluttering and wiping at his eyes, “What the hell?”

You just giggle innocently before disappearing beneath the surface.

Neteyam’s tail flicks with interest.

He decides to let you get your little head start. His heart speeds up with the promise of a hunt before he starts his chase.He might be bigger then you but you're quick and slippery. Your mask giving you the advantage of not having to come up for air like he does.

When he grabs your ankle, so sure he’s got you, you all but kick him in the face to get away.

You little shit.

Fine.

If you want to play dirty, then he’s game.

He allows you to think you have a chance. That you may be winning the little game. You’re heading for the waterfall, planning to hide behind it.

He’s bigger and more trained than you could ever hope to be.

It only takes one well planned move and you’re done.

He yanks a hold of you, secure. He holds you then, your back against his chest and his strong muscle corded arms wrapped around you from behind before propelling the both of you through the pounding waterfall and into the small, closed off cave behind it.

“Neteyam!” You whine, squirming in his hold like a fish and he just laughs because honestly. He can barely feel it. You’re trying to escape with all his might and he’s holding you the way he might hold a child throwing a tantrum.

He leans in close, burying his face in your wet hair, close to your ear “I win, Sylaung(flower)”

He feels you shiver in his arms and it just makes him hold you tighter. He could keep you like this forever, if you’d only let him. Instead he can feel without you even saying so how hesitant you feel about this

“I think I deserve a prize” he pushes on even further and you give him a confused, side ways look. He so graciously allows you to turn in his hold until your chests meet, face to face.

“Like what?” you wonder and you’re too cute. You’re looking up at him, struggling to treading water with your smaller legs- Neteyam lifts you higher, until you’re bracing your hands on his broad shoulders and he’s holding you above the current. Supporting you totally.

“Well what can you give?” His inquiry is almost condescending and you shrug.

“I’m fresh out of gold stars” you tease and he barks out a laugh. Do you think he can't tell? That he can't see the way your cheeks flush and your pulse hammers beneath the delicate skin of your throat?

“What about a kiss” he offers offhandedly and your face scrunches up in a glare automatically.

“You don't want to?...”

“Why do you make fun of me like this, Neteyam” It’s not often he hears your voice this hard, soured by embarrassment and self doubt.

“I’m not making fun of you” he insists with a sigh “I don't know why you always say that. When have I ever given you the impression that I’d do that?”

You won't meet his gaze. Your green eyes flick, anywhere but on him. Zeroing somewhere behind his back. All too interested on the rocky cave wall.

“If it wasn't for this damned mask” Neteyam husks, low and sincere “I’d kiss you right now”

Even still, you don't seem convinced. Won't look at him until he takes your face in his hand, his fingers gentle but insistent. They grip the mask at your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “Why don't you believe me?”

“I’m nothing like the Omatikaya women you’ve been with” you say plainly like it's so obvious. Like it's a problem.

“I know”

“You didn't even like me growing up. You thought I was annoying”

“That isn't true-”

“It is” you insist haughtily “you’d make fun of me for talking to my plants”

He doesn't mean to laugh, really he doesn't. It’s not the time for it and it just pisses you off even more. He doesn't let you out of his arms even when you swat at him. “Listen, I’m sorry. I think it’s very sweet the way you talk to your plants. I want you to talk to me just like that, please”

That earns him a little giggle and he feels very pleased with himself.

You play with his hair often, most times it's mindless. A way to distract yourself. Your small deft fingers twirl along his adorned braids. He craves the scritch of your manicured nails on his scalp.

“How do you want me to kiss you? If I have my mask on” The interest in your hair is only just veiled. Your attempt at being nonchalant fails.

“Hmm” Neteyam feigns thinking, face screwed up “I think I could come up with a few ideas”

A few thousand more like it. You were the star of all of his fantasies. You, twisted and contorted into positions that would surely make you blush. You, with your mouth hanging slack in pleasure. Screaming his name-

But you hadnt agreed to that. You only, just barely, agreed to let him kiss you.

When he leans in its slow. Slow enough to give you time to push him away.

The waterfall roars in the background, white noise, but even it can't drown out the thunderous beating of your frantic heart.

Then his lips are pressed against your throat, gulping in the sweet scent of you. He cant kiss your mouth, but he can kiss the sweet, smooth column of your neck. Your clavicle. Your quivering shoulders. The heavy flesh of your breast. His kisses are open mouthed, his rough textured tongue dragging over your skin, leaving saliva trails in their wake-

You gasp sharpley when drags the skimpy fabric of your bra down so he can get at your pebbled nipple. He’s just about to suckle, when the moment is broken.

“Guys! Where’d you go?!”

It’s Kiri. Obviously awake from her nap like meditation time.

Your eyes go comically wide and Neteyam reluctantly releases you. Not wanting to get caught with an armful of pretty, half naked human. He’s thankful for the cold water and the way that he can hide the hardness tenting his tweng.

He catches you by the wrist before you can dip beneath the falls-

“We’re not done here, Sylaung” the promise leaves his lips fevor laced and full of heat.

You can only gulp and nod dazed, “I still owe you a kiss” your sweet voice reminds, before you’re ducking back under the water.

Leaving him dazed and buzzing for a moment before he gets it together and follows.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Days later he still hasn't gotten his prize.

Although he’s celebrated by his clan, praised for his successful hunt, he feels like something is missing.

The Harvest Season and its celebrations are well underway. Every night there's dancing and singing around the large bonfires we’re fragrant spiced tailong meat roasts. Neteyam is highly decorated; feathers adorn his freshly braided hair and he's donned his most ornate cumberband. He’s hauntingly handsome

Spider and Lo’ak are sat near the main fire, laughing heartily and sharing a leather gourd full of liquor between themselves.

Spider’s obviously drunk and eyeing Kiri hungerly as she dances with Tuk- he’d never do that sober. Not with Neytiri so near. Lo’ak is lounged out, an attractive female in his lap. She giggles madly at whatever filth his little brother whispers in her twitching ear.

Jealousy bubbles acidicly in Neteyam’s belly and again, he wonders where you are. Why you arent here, in his lap. Letting him woo you.

He figures he’ll have to go to you then, if you won't come to him.

First thing to do is find you.

“Hey, Spider!” the human man is the best place to start. Spider’s eyes are glassy under his mask and still. His friend is excited to see him, greets him with a hand shake and a small hug.

“Neteyam, man! Where have you been all night?”

“Around, you know how it is” Neteyam shrugs, sitting sown on the log, accepting the gourd and taking a swig of the thick sticky sap inside. It burns all the way down.

“This partys essentially for him- I’m surprise you we’re able to get away from dad” Lo’ak shit-talks, like he always does. It’s good natured for the most part “I thought he might throw you a parade or something. Call in the clans-”

“Fuck you, man” Neteyam chuckles, shaking his head at Lo’aks theatrics. “Don't be jealous”

“Jealous of dad? Nah” Lo’ak “Now the women you’re getting? That I might be jealous of”

“Hey!” the girl in his lap, a weaver from a modest family, squrims, pinching at his shoulder “You’ve got all the woman you need for the night, sayrip”

She squeals when Lo’ak squeezes her tight around her middle and blows wet raspberry kisses into her neck.

Neteyam just rolls his eyes and shares a little look with Spider. By the next eclipse, Lo’ak wouldve moved on. He has a knack for loving and leaving.

“Why arent you out there, bro? I saw Amitsa giving you the eyes! She’s so hot and she doesnt ever give anyone the time of day” Spider juts his chin and sure enough. The woman is giving Neteyam longing looks from across the fire. She’s a pretty thing and her sultry voice is renowned in the tribe. He’d be lying if he said he wasnt attracted to her “You’re not gonna go try to get at that?”

No. He’s not.

“Uh” Neteyam scratches the back of his neck “I was actually looking for Flora, I havent been able to find her around lately”

Of course, that sets of a exactly what he knows it would.

His brothers are assholes and have teased his merciesly since discovering his obsessive crush. Spider knocks his much smaller shoulder against Neteyam’s and Lo’ak hoots with laughter.

“How someone can be pussy whipped for pussy they haven't even had is beyond me” Lo’ak snorts and Neteyam gives him a warning growl, his lips snarled up.

It’s nothing he hadn’t heard before.

Lo’ak finds it endlessly amusing that Neteyam had his eye on you, the tiny human he’d grown up so lukewarm about. It had always been his siblings; Kiri and Lo’ak and Tuk that were close with you growing up. Neteyam had never shown a speck of interest until your figure had grown curvy and supple-

“Piss off, I wasn’t asking you” Neteyam gives his best big brother stare down. His golden eyes hard and unimpressed before looking to Spider, hairless brows raised “You know where I could find her?”

“Listen man, she said wasn’t interested in hanging out with anyone tonight” the human man starts with a sigh and Neteyam’s growl is low and warning “-but I’m sure you can find her where she always is”

Neteyam wracks his brain for a moment “The Greenhouses?”

“Bingo” Spider nods, an almost sympathetic look in his eye as he watches Neteyam jump to his feet and set off.

Lo’ak sniggers and the girl in his lap scoffs and mutters something about “shameful, being that twisted up about a tawtute” but Spider says nothing.

Instead his plixr hazed eyes focus on the figure dancing close to the firelight. Kiri lets out a twinkling laugh at something Tuk says and yeah. Spider understands Neteyam. He understands being completely obsessed with something you’ve never had.

Instead of taking a note from his much braver brother, he lifts his mask and takes another shot of the acidic syrup.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Neteyam could make the trek through the forest to Hells Gate in his sleep..

He’d spent a good chunk of his childhood retracing these exact steps, headeded for the familiar concrete fortress that made up the last human outpost on Pandora.

Neteyam had always been far too similar to his mother, for countless reasons. But his distaste for everything industrial was one of the main reasons. As he got older he spent less and less time here. Couldnt be found in the cold echoing hallways like Lo’ak and the girls coul

But even he could admit.

There’s something beautiful about the Greenhouses.

With their dome like structure, the big glass buildings are a fortress for the humans. Inside they’re as hot and humid as the Pandoran rainforests- but circulating Earth air so that the fruits and vegetables that are native to Terra Firme can grow, even on this alien planet.

Neteyam makes his way inside, plugging in the codes into the keypad and letting himself in through the pressurized doors that slide closed right behind him. His eyes are peeled, taking in all of the foreign greenery, hoping to catch a flash of tanned skin or light hair in the cracks between trees.

The Greenhouses are huge. There’s orchards of apples and oranges and long deep garden beds full of root vegetables. Enough to feed the Hell’s Gate settlement throughout the year, to trade with the People of the Omaticaya.

No matter, he’s a blooded hunter after all.

He hones in on that training as he tracks your path. Your footprints along the cement floor are light, and really you barely leave any trace of yourself at all. You float along with light steps and Neteyam truly thinks if you had been born one of the People you would’ve made a fine huntswoman-

He finds you in the shade of the orange trees. You’re up on a stool, gathering the plump fruit and humming a pleasant little tune.

You’re ethereal in artificial sunlight.

You’re something out of the books that Norm used to read to them when they were kids. His favorite had been the one about the boy who would never grow up and the island of Neverland. And the tiny golden dust covered pixi that flitted from page to page.

A fairy.

A being not quite real. Too gentle and feminine to exist.

He likes the tawtute clothes you wear. The small top that clings to your breasts like a second skin and the flowy patterned skirt. Of course if it was up to him you’d only ever wear the garments of the People- or even better, Nothing at all.

You reach too high, strained up on your tippy toes and Neteyam feels irrational fear at that. At all of your delicate skin and breakable neck-

He’s beside you in an instant and he doesn't need a ladder to reach the high hanging fruit you’d been struggling for. He grabs the fruit with one hand while the other stabilizes you, his big palm spread out across the small of your back.

You gasp at his warm touch. Your head snapping in his direction and legs going wobbly.

“Neteyam!”

“Flora” He sighs as he urges you down from the ladder, takes the heavy bucket of fruit from your hands “You really do need to be more careful”

You splutter for a moment, still shocked at his sudden arrival “I- ugh! I was fine!” you insist haughtily “It’s not like I don't do this all of the time. You didn't need to come help me, I can manage perfectly fine on my own”

“Need to help you?” Neteyam cocks his head a bit.

“Yeah…I mean. Why else would you be here?” you ask, scratching awkwardly at your arm for a moment “Tonight's the celebration. You really should be back with the clan-”

“As should you” He cuts you off firmly. Not liking the way that you’re trying to separate yourself from the tribe. From him “I have not seen you for days. Do you not want to feast with our people?”

You sigh, looking away from him. Biting at that plump ever pink bottom lip of yours. Always shy, he knows he needs to bring you out of your shell. You’ll find a way to run away from him again if he doesn't.

“I didnt come here to help you” Neteyam admits because he’s selfish and because you’re too beautiful. Even more so, since you’ve been hiding from him. Avoiding his attention.

“Oh really?” you’re not coy by nature but there's something in your eyes. In the way you’re looking up at him “Then what are you here for?”

“My kiss”

Your pupils expand, just the tiniest bit but he can see it. He can see it all. Every inch of your pretty face, unbridled by that cumbersome mask you usually are forced to don. He can see every freckle and blemish- and the way that a blush creeps across the apples of your cheeks.

“A deals a deal” Neteyam insists at the prolonged silence. At your nervous flicking gaze.

“Okay” is your sweet reply and he can only stare at your plump lips. A man with one thing and one thing only on his mind.

You don't protest when he reaches for you. When his big hands go around your waist and tug slowly until he’s enveloping you in his chest. You fit so perfectly, right under his sternum. Stare up at him with wide eyes that flutter closed the closer he inches his face towards yours.

The kiss is wet and electric and Neteyam wants to eat you whole.

Any awkwardness that comes from the size difference is soon overcome by the desire that simmers between you. You let him lead, always so willing to go with whatever flow he may give. Let him nip at your delicate bottom lip until he can almost taste the metallic twang of blood. Let him stick his much bigger tongue into your warm mouth, and then down your constricting throat.

As you make little gasping choking sounds, he imagines it's his huge pulsing cock stealing the air from your lungs instead.

You gasp for breath when he pulls away, as he trails kisses down your soft jaw. He cant stop, wants to taste you everywhere. Every inch of skin. He know it must be overwhelming- if your heaving breaths and mewls are anything to go by, he knows you’re feeling every inch of the mind spinning need that he is.

Still,

No matter how much he gropes at you with rough hands and drags spit soaked kisses over your neck and chest, youre so good for him. Such a good girl. Holding on for any ride he might take you on. Your fingers twined in his silky braids arent there to push him away, but to pull him closed.

When he grasps you by the back of your thighs and hoists- you wrap your legs around his slim waist, your ankles hooking at his lower back.

The helpless noise you make goes straight to his groin.

Neteyam lies you down on hard floor. He’d rather have you in the warmth of his Kelku, or under the stars, but at least here he can get at your maskless face. At your bare lips. Once he’s cradling your head safely and tucked in between your spread thighs he's at you again. Ravenously.

You’re so docile, so eager to let him take whatever he wants.

“Flora” he husks into your hair and you shiver.

“Yeah?”

“Flora” Neteyam brings your little body even closer.”You have no Idea. I have to have you. I need-”

You squeak needily “You can have whatever you need” and gasp when Neteyam kisses your cheek. Your lips. Your jaw. Your neck. Your nerves are on fire and your hips grind against his.

“I need this body. I need to see all of it, you drive me crazy” Neteyam armits as he tugs on your top and you help him pull it up over your head. You dont wear a bra, why would you? Your pretty rosy nipples are all on display for him. Pebbled and begging for attention, He laps slowly with his wide textured tongue at the puffy nub.

He suckles like a newborn until you’re chivalry and making hurt little sounds, until your pretty chest is covered in blooming bruises.

And then he’s dragging his wanting mouth down. Past your heaving ribs and over your soft belly. Neteyam hikes the flowy material of your skirt up high, until he can bend down and poke his head underneath.

“Oh!” you gasp, writhing a bit. Your thighs trying to close on instinct.

You’re so wet for him, the smell of it is thick and heady and he digs his nose into your inner thigh and snuffles. Its mouthwatering.

And it bit mortifying, from your end. Having the large man with his head buried under your skirt as he sniffs at your core-

When he licks a fat stripe over you, wetting up the thin material of your panties you cry out. No ones ever touched you like this and here he is, licking at your clothed pussy. Over and over until the fabric is translucent and sticky with your flowing juices.

“Please” you mewl, gathering the fabric, yanking until you can see him.

Its filthy and erotic. The sight of his hulking blue body between your trembling tanned thighs. So alien. So taboo-

“Please what, sylaung?” Neteyam taunts, his golden eyes meeting yours. They shine with mirth, and lust. So much lust. When he noses at your pink flowery panties you throw your head back, eyes squeezed closed. Unable to take the sight any longer “You want me to take care of you?”

“Yes” you sob because you’re pulsing and you can barley breathe you’re so horny “Please take care of me with your tongue”

Neteyam strips you then, out of your skirt and cute little panties and you’re lying under him. Naked and flushed and wanting.

He shoulders himself exactly back where he wants to be. Where he’s always wanted to be.

“Don't worry, I’ll take care of this sweet pussy for you”

Oh god. Your head is spinning.

You can barely think as he kisses on the jiggling fat of your thighs.

“I’m sorry” you gasp.

Neteyam hums right against your core and you can feel the vibrations throughout your entire body “What for?”

“I’m so messy” you whisper, that pink blush blooming all over your body.

Groaning, Neteyam can't wait any longer. Your flavor bursts along his taste buds. Tangy and earthy and decadently sweet. He’s had his fair share of cunt before, but he’s never tasted a humans and he’s shocked at how saccharine it is. It’s sticky and coats his mouth and throat. His lips and nose and chin as he digs in.

“Neteyam!” You wait.

“Fuck. Oh, Eywa. One Second” Neteyam sits up and adjusts himself where his painfully hard under his tweng and the ache in you deepens. You try to be good, try to be still as he leans in and licks at you again. Kisses your pussy in that same beautiful passionate way he kisses your lips.

He’s good. Too good at this. He’s had too much practice and you never had a chance againts that oversized mouth.

“Holy fuck” the words sound even more vulgar in your honeyed voice “Fucking hell, Nete. Nete. I’m almost there”

Neteyam grin is hidden between the lips of your pussy. He doubles down, letting you hump and soak his face. Then lapping back at inside of you in a repetitive and ceaseless rhythm, One that has you shaking, arching up off the ground. Your plush thighs closing, clamping around his head as you come.

Your orgasm cinches tight and rushes around you, inside of you, out of you with a gush of slick. It’s so deep. So strong, that it takes a moment for you to truly peak and it leaves you in a daze. Out side of your body as you fuck up againts Neteyams mouth like a wild animal.

You’d never come so hard in your life and it takes a while for you to recenter.

Once youre able to focus past the rushing in your ears, the first thing you notice is Neteyam’s face streaked with wet. Your blush blooms across your cheeks as you both breathe unevenly into the quiet.

“Did that feel good?” Nereyam knows it did, but still. He needs to ask. Needs to hear you say it.

You giggle, girlish and airy as your dainty hand releases his hair and cups at his cheek “So so good. I’ve never felt anything like that before”

His grin is all too feline and seeing those white canines gleam so close to the most sensitive part of you is a little alarming.

“There’s so much more to come, yawntutsyip” Neteyam promises, leading back down. His fingers play with the jiggle of your thigh- so different then any of the Omaticaya women he’s had You squirm a bit, clearly overstimulated, but keep your legs spread anyway.

Neteyams long digits prod gently at your pussy lips. You’re oddly pretty here. All red and rosy and inflamed, like that blush he loved so much on your cheeks. He spreads you with two fingers so that he can look at you inside. At your quivering pink folds and your tiny little hole that clenches when he runs his finger along it.

“You’re so small here” he whispers, completely hypnotized by it “So fucking tight. You’ll never be able to take me”

You whimper unhappily “Don’t say that. I want to- please just try”

“Shh,” Neteyam soothes your cries. Your dazed worries. He distracts you with his tongue, as it swirls over your throbbing clit. It feels a bit like sandpaper to your nerves, but you can get enough.

When his finger begins to breach you, you hold your breath.

Its big, but youre so loose from your first orgasm, so desperate to be filled that he sinks in until the hilt.

Its maddening after that and you grind the back of your head into the hard concrete under you- your eyes closed and your mouth hanging open. The sounds you make are feral and raw-

Neteyam fucks you open with one and then two fingers until its easy. Until the sweet stretch doesn't burn- instead its slippery and wet.horribly wet as Neteyam feasts on you as he fucks you with his fingers-

“Too much-Fuck” you weakly try to pull away from the assult of pleasure but he he’s too strong. Pins you down. Makes you take whatever he wants to give you.

When he lifts your hips up even higher to take a curious lick at your puckered asshole you white out.

This orgasm isnt like the first. You sink under the waves of this one. Your muscles cramp with the intensity. You cant come back to yourself, you can’t cling to anything but Neteyam. You cant even scream.

He’s everything, as he soothes you. As he makes you feel things you’ve never felt before.

“H-hurts” you whimper, eyes filling up with tears. Pussy aching.

“Just a little more baby” Neteyam huffs as he licks at you and stuffs the hand that's covered in your cum down his own tweng. It lubricates the fast and furious pumping of his fist along his rock hard cock.

He cant fuck you tonight, thats something the two of you will have to work up to. He’ll teach your tiny body to take him. To crave penetration.

But with his tongue buried in your pulsating pussy and your scent all around him its easy enough to pretend. Easy enough to imagine shoving himself into you slowly. Stretching you’re ruined. Your hole would never be the same. You’d forever gape because of him-

Neteyam comes with a roar and dirties his loincloth up like a teenager.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Later, after he’s cleaned you both up the best he can and gathered you to his chest. After he’s taken a sip from the breathing mask and nuzzled ar your wispy soft baby hairs that are plastered against the side of your sweaty head-

That he has the urge to read that book again. The one with the fairies. As he watches your slumbering face, your nose scrunching and lips pursing, he thinks the onlt thing missing is the gossamer wings,

His own little fairy.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

AAAAAAND we’re done.

First and foremost I want to give the wonderful @oakbuggy her accolades. Her Neteyam x Flora art inspired this fic 100%. A couple months ago I actually messaged her begging her to let me right this for her because I just couldn't get over this crackship of dreams. Thank you for being so patient with me. I hope you enjoy that overstimulation, baby!

PLEASE GO CHECK OUT HER ART. It’s sooooo delish.

This was a monster to write because I just had so many different ideas of what I wanted to do with the two of them and couldn't pinpoint where exactly I wanted the plot to go. Even now its a bit messy but still. I’m a fucking sucker for Neteyam x Flora and I would be more then happy to write more of them if thats something everyone would be into.

Please give me some feedback. What did we think about this writing style? Do we like the Y/N route more?

Until next time sweet honey bees!

#neteyam smut #neteyam x reader #neteyam x reader smut #neteyam x human!reader #neteyam x human reader #neteyam x flora #neteyam x you

3K notes · View notes

highvern · 10 months ago

Text

Burnt Coffee

Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung x gn! Reader

Genre: fluff

Summary: Running a cafe hadn’t been as glamorous as you initially believed. You loved your job; the cozy aroma of the different roasts, the hum of the espresso machine, the foam art you tediously practiced until a cute bear face stared back from the surface of a cappuccino. But any new shop comes with quirks, like the fire alarm that goes off almost every morning. Luckily, the fire station is just across the street and you unknowingly have one of the fireman wrapped around your finger.

Warnings: coffee shop owner reader, firefighter Hoshi, pockets of angst, crying, lots of mentions of food and coffee, firefighter jihoon and his baker gf, crying, kissing

Length: ~4.6k

Note: second valentine's fic! surprise! written for the Cupid For You Fic Exchange hosted by @svthub. Happy Valentine's @idyllic-ghost / @bee-buzzez !!! i hope its the cafe au of your dreams

read more here

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked!

“I’ve got an iced dirty chai with oat milk at the end of the bar!”

A sour-faced woman scoffs, “That isn’t what I ordered.”

“Well, is your name Samantha?”

“No.”

“Then it isn’t your order.”

The exchange between Seungkwan and the woman rings familiar. Sundays bring out the best in everyone it seems. But you're too busy handling the never ending line of drink tickets to scold him for poor customer service. Focusing on the machine, you pull shot after shot; inadvertently covering yourself in errant splashes of milk and coffee. The rush of the morning is still going strong but you hone into the rhythm and let your mind fall away from anything beyond the cups resting atop the counter next to you.

But as always, the steam from the milk frother continues to heat the space above; right where the over sensitive fire alarm was installed.

The shrill blaring freezes everyone in place. A few children scream in shock, making the vein on your temple throb. Your ears ring with each pulse as your head falls into your hands.

Every single morning since you opened Fika two months ago the alarm went off without fail.

And then he would show up like clockwork.

The bell attached to the wooden door chimes as Soonyoung breaks through the threshold of the cafe. Grimaced faces greet him. The shrill fire alarm with flash lights blares into the industrial space, bouncing off the walls to echo inanely.

“Earlier than usual.” Soonyoung chirps as he saunters past the line, easily rounding the bar to access the screeching piece of junk inconveniently placed above the espresso machine.

You step out of the way, face flat and mouth tense. “Busy day.” You explain.

The alarm cuts off as swift as it started, Soonyoung stepping back to smile down at you.

“I can hang around in case. Seems like that line isn’t going anywhere.”

“Yeah, sure. Do you want something to drink?” You offer stepping back to the line of cups littering the metal counter.

“Ooo, buying me drinks already? Aren’t you presumptuous?”

The wiggle of his eyebrows is meant to be suggestive but they only make him look like he ate a mouthful of sour candy.

“Nevermind.” You huff, stepping around the man as you grab the next cup in line and start working. “Go save a cat in a tree or something.”

Sensing your waning mood, Soonyoung cuts the act. “I’ll just have my regular.”

“You know where the cups are.”

A full cup of brewed coffee joins him on the opposite side of the counter. Soonyoung plants himself in his usual chair, chin resting on his curled fist as he watches you work your magic.

On slow days he’ll chat your ear off until the fire station calls him back. But on days like today, he’s content to in silence; obsessed with the sureness of your hands, the strong pout of your lips, and the way everything seems pulled into your gravity.

Maybe he has a crush on you.

Scratch that; Soonyoung definitely has a crush on you.

And everyone knows. His supervisor, Jihoon, knows. It’s why Soonyoung is always the one to come and fix the faulty alarm in the shop. His best friend, Seokmin, knows. It’s why Seokmin and his fiancee constantly batter him with texts about when he’ll ask you on a date. If someone went to space and looked down they could see how much he likes you without even trying.

You hit a lull and Soonyoung takes his chance. “Got any special plans this week?”

“We’re doing themed baked goods on Wednesday.” You call over your shoulder.

It’s not what Soonyoung was asking about but he takes it in stride.

Your employees also know about the fireman’s feelings. It’s why Seungkwan throws a pitying look his way along with a deformed muffin. Subtle rejection tastes like blueberries and brown sugar.

“Will you save me one?” Soonyoung asks.

“Is free coffee not enough?”

“Who said I wouldn’t pay for it?”

You never let Soonyoung pay for anything at the cafe. Despite how much he enjoys free food, it always makes him feel a bit guilty. It’s why you think he only drinks black coffee with a lethal amount of sugar when in reality he’d take some fancy espresso drink any day.

You laugh as you continue to work through the next batch of orders. “We’ll see if there are any left.”

“I’m a civil servant!”

“Serve in silence please!” Seungkwan barks, earning a few chuckles from the other customers sitting at the bar.

The back and forth continues and eventually the line dwindles to nothing as the morning lulls on. Soonyoung downs two more cups and manages to haggle Seungkwan for an overly toasted slice of banana bread with a singed corner he planned to throw out anyway.

The entire time Soonyoung watches you. Even covered in splashes of milk and coffee stains, he’s still enamored with you as you lean over the bar and jot notes in the ever expanding list of repairs and updates the shop needs.

And just when Soonyoung opens his mouth to say something, anything, the shrill beep of his phone cuts him off.

“Damn, I gotta head back.” He curses. “Just call if you need me again, okay?”

“Will do.”

You don’t even look up as he walks towards the door.

“Satan is one the phone for you.”

“Please be less specific.” You beg Seungkwan, grabbing the receiver still on hold.

“Bakery lady.”

Steeling yourself, you unmute the phone and bring it to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Y/N?”

“Yes.”

“I was reviewing orders for Valentine’s. You're only doing the usual? I thought we talked about special items. I already bought the ingredients so if you changed your mind it’s putting me out of money.”

“No, we need at least two dozen of the cupcakes and two dozen of the cookies on top of our usual order.”

“That’s not what the order form says!” The old crone hawks through the line.

You ask her for a moment while pulling out your laptop and settling into a seat far away from the clusters of customers still strung throughout the cafe.

Wiping your face, you stare at the illuminated screen of your computer with the order form pulled up. “I have the form on my screen right now and it clearly says—”

“I don’t care what you’re looking at, it’s not what I have on my end!”

“Are you sure you’re looking at the form for Fika on Second street?”

“I’m telling you I’m—oh.”

The deflation in her tone pulls a smirk across your lips. “Hm?”

“Alright so two dozen red velvet cupcakes and two dozen heart sugar cookies?”

“Yep.”

“Alright, I’ll have it on Wednesday.”

“Thanks.”

Click.

The table shakes with the impact of your forehead. The clatter of your mug draws attention from the few customers around but none pay much attention.

“Everything okay?” A voice asks from above.

“Great. Wonderful.” You say into the wood.

“Good. Because the espresso machine is broken…again.”

You rise from your seat, face indecipherable as you walk past the counter, through the back storage area and into the alley behind the building.

Several seconds pass before you release a guttural scream. It's gritty, ripping apart your throat as all bubbling exhaustion breaches your lips. The noise echos between the brick walls before escaping to the sky above. Several pigeons flee to the rooftops for safety while mice and other vermin scuffle along the walls in terror.

Seungkwan watches from the door, eyes wide as you continue to belt for the trash bags and city rats witnessing your meltdown.

Your voice fizzles as you run out of air. Closing your eyes, you take two deep breaths. Inhaling the scent of stale storm water and whatever else perfumes the back alley until the stretch of your lungs burns from the inside out.

And then you turn and walk back inside as if the entire thing never happened.

The block is only illuminated by streetlights at this hour. Not even the earliest of early birds litter the narrow sidewalk as you push into the empty cafe and begin prepping for the Monday morning rush. The smell of fresh coffee fills the air, the whir of the grinder harmonizing with the jazz playlist curling down from the speakers.

The calm before the storm.

Slowly the first shift employees trickle in just before opening; relieving you to commandeer the office slash storage room in the back, intent on knocking out the mountain of paperwork and following up with the repair man about the alarm he said he would be back to fix last week. But first, the phone blinking with unread messages.

“This is Megan. We’ve been trying to reach you about your car’s extended warr—”

Message deleted.

The next message is a young man reporting his credit card missing and visiting your shop. You call and let his voicemail know no one has seen anything but you hope he figures it out.

“Hi Y/N. This is Cheryl with Harmony Bakers. Just wanted to let you know I won’t be able to get that special order for Valentine’s Day. Or your regular order for tomorrow. We’ve decided to close up shop. Sorry about the inconvenience.”

The words don’t hit at first. But your brain slowly catches up to what Cheryl is saying. Canceling. She’s canceling two days before Valentine’s.

Your attempts to return her call fall flat. Six tries and all ring once before dropping into an automated message reporting her voicemail is full, no doubt from the other shops she’s also shafted with the impulsive decision.

No holiday treats. No regular food items. No back up. No plan B.

Failure, failure, failu—

The pad of paper littered with notes sails into the not so far wall only to slap against the plaster and slip to the ground.

You can only focus on one problem at a time. Or at least the problem whose solution won’t send you to jail. And that means heading to the front where the day is starting to pick up.

The boys have things under control but the line is lengthening and you’re a great way to relieve the pressure. Immediately an invisible song pulls you into the rhythm of their work; drinks and food hit the end of the bar almost as fast as the orders came in.

Soonyoung comes in and waits at the counter as usual. The alarm seems to be granting mercy given the horrible state of affairs from this morning.

The customers not so much.

“God, how stupid are you that you messed up a simple order? It’s a fucking americano and you made it taste like ass.”

The man standing at the end of the bar, hands flat on the counter in an attempt to physically dominate the space, always complains. His iced drinks are too cold, his hot drinks are too hot, the weather is bad, taxes are too high, the list continues on and on. And somehow it's always your fault.

Usually its little barbs under his breath but today he’s out for blood and you’ve already had enough.

Your teeth grit together so hard it feels like the forced smile plastered on your face might crack them into dusk. “Like I said, I can remake it for you if you’d lik—”

“Why would I want you to remake it? You clearly have no idea what you’re doing. Get someone else.”

“I got it.” Seungcheol steps forward.

The older man gives him an apprehensive look. Seungcheol is harmless but he knows how to be scary when he wants to be.

“I’m gonna go…restock something…” you warble, all but sprinting to the back.

Plastic sleeves of cups and boxes of straws bear witness to your breakdown. The six am tantrum clouds in and your carefully built dam of control explodes. Hot tears streak your cheeks, dripping off the jut of your chin with every gasping breath from the knot in your throat tangling tighter and tighter. All you can hear are ugly gasping breaths as you rock back and forth in the dark.

The sliver of light spilling in from the cracked door doesn’t register given the way your face is buried in your hands. Soonyoung has half a mind to pretend he never entered the cramped space. He’s never seen you so… small.

A shrill squeak of the hinge alert you to the new presence. Bloodshot eyes find his wide ones and you swipe at your face to hide the evidence of your distress. You go to speak but barely manage a croak before the tears come again.

“Shit,” Soonyoung whispers. “It’s okay, it’s alright.”

The warmth of his chest makes you cry harder, tears spilling onto his neck as you hide from the world. He smooths the flat of his palm across your back.

It's anyone’s guess how long you stay there. Soonyoung’s cheek rests on the top of your head, arms firm around your shoulders. The faint smell of smoke tickles your nose. Smoke and pine from his cologne. It tethers your mind, lulling the frantic breakdown and giving you something to focus on other than how horrible the day has become in the span of a few hours.

No baked goods. Horrible customers. And now you’re being held by the handsome fighter from next door with snot dripping from your nose.

Soonyoung hesitates when you shift in his hold, arms tightening for a second in case another bout of tears crops up. But you pull far enough away to send an embarrassed grimace his way before looking anywhere else.

“Sorry.” You say, turning to snatch napkins from the shelf next to you.

His hand continues to rub your shoulders as you dab your eyes and blow your nose.

“It’s okay. That guy was a jerk.”

“I don’t care what he said.”

Soonyoung stares in disbelief, waiting for you to continue.

“My baker canceled on me, and the espresso machine is held together with duct tape, and there's a million other things going wrong, not to mention the fire alarm. And I just…”

Squeezing your eyes tight to prevent the moisture swelling in the corners proves unhelpful. To Soonyoung’s credit he stays silent, allowing you all the time you need to get your thoughts in order. But the hand on your back continuing to trace abstract shapes between your shoulder blades lets you know he’s there when you’re ready.

“It’s just been a rough week.” You say to the floor.

The admission lifts the ten pound weight off your chest. Soonyoung isn’t an employee you need to guarantee everything is okay to or a customer requiring a mask. He’s a…friend? It feels generous but if he was anything less you doubt he’d be where he is now.

“Is there any way I can help?”

You blow your nose into the tissue before laughing wetly. “I don’t suppose you have a magic wand, do you?”

“Just broke mine actually.” He winces sarcastically.

What’s another thing on your never ending to-do list? Along with the desperate need to buy more supplies for tomorrow, how difficult can it be to conjure artisan baked goods out of thin air?

“Actually,” Soonyoung perks. “Jihoon’s girlfriend works at a bakery. Pete’s? No, wait. Penny’s?”

“Petunia’s?”

“That’s the one! Maybe I can ask her if she can help?”

“Good luck.” You snort. “They couldn’t even fit me into their normal rotation.”

“We won’t know until we ask!” He chips, thrilled he can help.

Soonyoung jumps up, a cruel chill invading the space he once occupied. Like the sun moving behind a cloud and leaving you at the mercy of a cool breeze; there and gone before you can delve into what it means.

You hand him the order form you usually give your baker to relay to Jihoon’s girlfriend. While he steps out to ask for a miracle you focus on tallying how many cups, napkins, lids, and other miscellaneous items you need from the supply store across town. A few lone tears appear, falling without much preamble but the worst is out and stained on Soonyoung’s shoulder. You’ll get through it. With Soonyoung’s help you’ll get past everything, even if his efforts fall flat.

Seungcheol and Seungkwan confirm they’ve got things under control as you take your leave. Soonyoung is just visible in the dissipating morning fog hanging in the street. He paces the sidewalk, speaking into his phone animatedly before spotting you trying to sneak past him to your car.

“Thank you! You’re the best!” He cheers before hanging up and pocketing his phone.

“So?”

“They’ll do it! One of the other shops dropped out last minute and they have a lot of extras. Maybe not all the usual stuff but Rita said she can pull together most of the stuff on the form.”

Body frozen, you stare at Soonyoung with an open mouth and eyes wide. There’s no way he solved half your workload with one phone call.

“She also said they can try and work you into their usual orders. If that’s something you’re interested in…” Soonyoung trails off, glancing at you nervously.

In a blink your back in his arms, squeezing him so hard your arms hurt.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” You chant into his chest.

“Of course.”

Stepping back, you blush at your own impulsiveness.

“Um, well…” you fumble, clearing your throat you get back to the task at hand. “I need to run to the store so I’ll see you later.”

“I can come!”

“No! I mean, you’ve already helped so much. I’d feel bad dragging you along.”

“Don’t worry about me, I'm just trying to make sure you don’t start crying again and cause an accident.”

“Okay, rude.”

Soonyoung ignores you, already strutting down the street.

“Your cars this way, right?”

“No.”

“Listen, I wanna come with you. I have nothing else to do today.”

“Cool,” You laugh, continuing the opposite direction Soonyoung headed. “but my car is still this way.”

The drive is pleasant. You learn more about Soonyoung in the thirty minutes it takes to get across town than you’ve learned in the weeks he’s been coming to the cafe. He has an older sister, he likes to volunteer at the youth center down the street in his time off, and he cannot work a computer if his life depends on it. You also learn more about his coworker turned best friend who also happens to be the boyfriend of your new god.

“Yeah Jihoon and I started the same day. He comes off kinda cold but it's all an act.”

“Oh, really?” You laugh, pulling into a cramped parking spot.

“One hundred percent. You should see him with Rita. I never saw him blush that much until they started dating.”

“How’d they meet?”

“Funny story.” Soonyoung shares, climbing out of the passenger seat. “So the bakery she worked at before had a fire. No one was hurt and they put it out before we even got there! But we went to make sure everything was clear. Well, Rita was there and I swear it was love at first sight for him.”

“That’s sweet.”

You both make your way inside the sliding doors; Soonyoung pushing a flat cart behind you through the aisles.

“He’s definitely mellowed out since he met her. Doesn’t work as much, thank god.”

“What about your girlfriend? Do you guys have the same Hallmark meet cute?”

“Oh! I don’t have a girlfriend.” Soonyoung mumbles, ears turning scarlett.

Your face heats as well. Whatever force compelled you to ask such a prying question revels in satisfaction to hear Soonyoung is in fact single. A tidbit of information you’ve never wondered about before.

“Sorry I couldn’t get you anything for today.” Rita says as she helps unpack everything onto the counter.

The cafe is scarce of customers, far past closing time but Rita said they’d be too busy delivering to their other customers in the morning to spare a trip to you. What's another Tuesday at the shop? It isn't like you have time for much of a social life given the million things you need to do.

“Really don’t worry about it. You're saving my life by getting me this stuff for tomorrow.”

“Well Soonyoung made a bargain I couldn’t refuse.”

You pause for a moment. Soonyoung didn't mention anything beyond the payment Rita quoted and later sent via email. Did he promise something from the shop on your behalf?

Swallowing the budding annoyance, you continue to work like nothing is wrong. “Oh?”

“I mean an entire month of covering Jihoon’s shifts? What kind of person passes that up?”

What?

Soonyoung offered to sacrifice all his free time to help you. Soonyoung who you barely know beyond the fact that he pretends to like black coffee. The man chews with his mouth open. Soonyoung who let you ruin his sweater with tears and snot from a horrible day.

“You didn’t know?” Rita asks, face full of mirth.

“Ugh, no,” you cough. “He didn’t tell me that.”

“I was shocked when he offered. He wouldn’t do that for just anyone.”

But he did it for you.

“Yeah.”

“Y/N?”

You find Rita smiling like she knows some big secret. If you had to guess, it's probably the same thing you're realizing now.

“Soonyoung’s a great guy.”

Words fail you because you know Soonyoung is a great guy. He held you when you cried, he comes in everyday without fail to turn off the alarm, and he just sacrificed a month of his life because it would help you.

Once you and Rita unpack the remaining cookies and cakes, she takes her leave but not before dropping another wink when she spots Soonyoung approaching from the direction of the fire house.

“Rita.” he greets at the door, holding it open for her exit.

“Hosh.”

And she’s gone without another word.

“How’s it going?” Soonyoung asks, rounding the counter to join you.

“Great!” You blurt with too much enthusiasm. “Rita ended up making everything we needed.”

A second set of hands assists in packing the glass display case in preparation for tomorrow's chaos. Soonyoung listens well. Patient to a T as you direct him to tweak things just so from the opposite side of the bar.

“Thank you for all your help this week. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t here to help.”

He continues to unpack the few remaining goods beneath the counter as he responds. “It’s not a big deal. What are friends for?”

“Hmm and you agree to cover all of Jihoon’s shifts for your friends?”

Leaning back against the opposite counter, you watch Soonyoung’s shoulder tense and his ears erupt into bright red. He’s so still he doesn’t even seem to be breathing at the shock of being caught. Each passing second heightens the smirk curling your lips.

“Oh, you heard about that?” He asks into the counter.

You saddle up beside him, dropping your head until his eyes meet your own. Each inch of space you claim next to him sends him away like an opposing magnet; until your sandwich between him and the hardwood.

“Yeah, I heard.”

Soonyoung backs away nervously but not before you catch the way his eyes cut to your mouth. Who knew all it took is a smile and batting your eyelashes to make chatty Soonyoung clam up? The shyness bubbling on the edge of your conscious fizzles with the new knowledge; instead, curiosity takes its place. How much more can you make him blush? What would he do if you grabbed his hand? Or if you took a chance and kissed him?

“Soonyoung?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you have a crush on me?” You smile around each word.

He opens his mouth to argue but it's moot with the way you gaze at him, eyes shining with mirth. Like you're laughing at some shared joke. Soonyoung will tell you whatever truths you want to hear if it means you’ll keep looking at him like that.

“Yeah.” Soonyoung whispers so quietly you almost don’t hear him.

“Good.”

You step into his space with finality, chests brushing with each breath.

“Good?”

The edge of your teeth pinning your lip down is the only thing preventing a smile from ripping across your face as you answer. “Because I have a crush on you too.”

“Oh…” He nods, head dropping dejectedly and then it hits him and whips back up so fast his eyeballs rattle. “OH. You do?”

He watches you nod, slowly angling himself to connect your lips. When Soonyoung realizes you aren’t going to push him away, evident by the hand fisted in his sweater, he goes for it.

The curve of your lip, the breathy sigh you release into his mouth, the way you seem to go boneless with each pass are all committed to his memory. Soonyoung reminds himself to be good. That this is the first time he’s kissing you and he should be a gentleman; gentle, chaste, respectful.

And he would succeed but you’re acting like you have no interest in any of those things. You whisper another heavenly sigh into his mouth, trailing a hand in the short strands of hair at the base of his skull forcing Soonyoung to focus on batting away the demons at the edge of his mind rather than giving into temptation.

But when you tug to angle his head better the delicious sting drowns Soonyoung so quickly he has you pinned to the counter before he realizes what's happening.

Sometime later, when your lips are swollen and the floor sways beneath you from the flood of giddiness coursing through your veins, you and Soonyoung part. The crisp air of the late night tries in vain to nip at your face but you’re too distracted by the calluses on the side of Soonyoung’s thumb and the way they rasp against your knuckles as he walks you to your car.

The cafe is in full swing by the time Soonyoung comes in Wednesday morning.

All morning he paced across the cramped common room of the fire station. Sure you let him kiss you but what did it all mean? He knows you like him but did you like like him or just like him? Should he have asked you on a date? Would that be too forward? Did he mess things up by not immediately asking you out despite the fact he was so love drunk he ran into a pole after watching you drive off?

He fights the idea of running across the street and demanding answers. You’re definitely too busy to spare a second and tame the butterflies in his stomach. And how pathetic would he look if he asked you to explicitly dictate how you feel so no wires end up cross? And on Valentine’s day no less?

Luckily, he’s saved by the bell. Or rather the fire alarm.

He watches you work like a tornado, pausing only to smile at him the same way you did last night when he did not so safe for work things against the very counter lined with coffee cups and steaming mugs. Flashes of memory heat across his face.

You thank him with his usual coffee and one of the cupcakes you set aside just for him. Except this time his paper cup is scribbled with a heart and something else.

Be my Valentine? _Yes _ Also Yes _ YES BUT LOUD

At some point he should tell you about the sensitivity setting on the alarm and how all you need to do is nudge the tiny lever to the right if you don't want it going off every time the steam builds up. But the way you beam at him when he steals the sharpie from behind your ear and checks all three boxes on the cup makes Soonyoung decide it’s a secret he’ll keep for now.

@cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @tomodachiii @ddaengpotate @arycutie @gaebestie @gyuguys @primoppang @mine-gyu @doremifasire @missminhoe

#svthub #svthub.collab #kvanity #kwon soonyoung #hoshi #kwon soonyoung fluff #hoshi fluff #seventeen fluff #seventeen fanfic #svt x reader #soonyoung x reader #hoshi x reader #svt #svt fluff #seventeen #🫡 highvern

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tinydefector · 1 month ago

Text

Marine Centre 8- merformers

A big thank you to the lovely @sunntownn for this beautiful piece of fanart of 'Big blue' Optimus and Caretaker (reader) and had to add it to one of the chapters, please go follow Sunntownn they have such beautiful art.

Warnings: mention or arousal, mating season, (popping a boner)

Word count: 2.3k

Fic masterlist

_________________

They know big blue is avoiding them. He hasnt been at the cave when they show up, it's normally Nemo or Firefin with Babybee. But Babybee's words had been getting much better over the few weeks they had been teaching him, both Nemo and Firefin and the few others who dropped in would pay some attention to the pups' lessons.

" Alright now this one baby?" They ask the little Oceanide while pointing to a little clownfish in the book, a smile on their face as they read the book to him. The pup trills thoughtfully for a moment before buzzing happily, "Kownfiss!"

"Very good bubba, and guess what your my little clownfish" they state while booping his little nose earning a giggle. Babybee trills happily at being called their clownfish, little claws grabbing the book as he shoots a large smile showing off his little teeth.

Firefin tilts his head slightly, his gills quivering as he attempts at their speech, vowels warbling roughly. "... kloun...fish?" Beside him, Nemo chuckles in mild amusement.

Angelfish titters eagerly. " Clowy...bee? Fiss? ownfish?" He attempts the words despite how raspy they sound and how uncomfortable it made his gills feel. The twins chitter and chirp at the others in amusement.

They gasp slightly when Nemo pulls himself closer, a soft rumble leaves him as he gestures his clawed hand to the pup. "Oh ok" they hum understanding the basics of what the white and orange oceanide was trying to do. They scoop Babybee up and pass him over to the large Oceanide. He lets out a few clicks at them with a soft smile.

The other oceanides catter between themselves with soft melodies and clicks As Babybee happily chirps in Nemo's hold. The older mer helped the pup slip back into the water followed by slipping in after the energetic little one.

The oceanides still hung around the centre but a lot of them had taken back to ocean hunting now with the seasons getting warmer. Everyone at the centre had noticed too with how little they had the oceanides climbing onto the jetties to steal fish out of barrels.

They hadn't told Quin about the oceanides talking but Quin knew something was up and had them on a lot more outdoor activities to be around the oceanides for socialisation and to make sure the pup took well to the sea and pods.

They slowly slide into the water too calling out to the red and black mer. "Cherry" they coo, trying to get the oceanides attention while treading water. The others click and chirp while giving them a side eye.

But as the requested Oceanide swims towards them, They point to Nemo as he and babybee begin swimming out of the cave's mouth. Trying to usher for them to follow as they grip onto his shoulder. "Swim" they manage to say to Cherry.

They hold their breath as they swim through the cave holding onto the oceanides shoulder, their body pressed closely to his back and flank as they make it out into the open water. The sweet melodies of the others echo across the waves as they swim up to see what they were doing.

They pull away from Sideswipe to swim up for air only to have the Meg glide under them, slowly rising himself so that they rest on his back, it shocks them slightly at how docile he is acting with them but they lean against him enjoying the opportunity to just lounge on the large Oceanide.

More little chirps and calls fly between the different pods, some playing with each other and others lounge in the waves or on rocks. A deep rumble leaves Big man as he turns, large clawed hands grabbing them to keep their smaller body steady as he lets them rest against his chest, loud purrs leave him as their legs brush the rippled gills on his sides.

"Well aren't you social once you're out here big man" they tease to the large Oceanide as they sit on him. A bright smile on their lips, their hands moving to his cheeks patting them playfully, "bububub, awww who my big scary man, you, you are " they coo. Only for him to huff but relax back into their touch.

The human's eyes flicker towards Echo when they hear his sweet melody. " Echo there have you been?" They call out excitedly to the rather silent oceanide. It wasn't often they saw the pretty deep blue mer, he was rather illusive as was Reaper.

Mega rumbles softly in contentment, but the large mer doesn't move.

Echo chirps fondly towards them but doesn't make an attempt to interpret the big man's cuddle time. Others swim around eagerly splashing and playing only for The Meg to grumble at them or hiss every once in a while. It makes them chuckle at how cuddly the big mer had gotten since they had been looking after him.

They happily lay against his frame enjoying how cool it feels in the scorching sun. They almost fall into a nap listening to his rumbles and soft thrills, one arm in the water as they rest against him.

They are halfway asleep when a loud whistling call snaps them awake, Big blue swims towards Nemo and babybee, but he nears the pods, delighted to see all the other oceanides. He slowly stills his swimming when he sees them resting against the Meg.

Babybee excitedly babbles to his sire as he swims to him, doing quick little circles round him in delight. Big blue warbles uneasily but turns his focus to his pup. The others watch anticipating what his reaction would be to them swimming with the pod.

They slowly slip back into the water off the Meg, paddling over towards Big blue "Where have you been big blue, why have you been avoiding me?" They ask as they tread water in front of him. Big blue whines softly at them, still not talking in that sweet broken voice they were beginning to miss.

"Blue, please talk to me, I know you can" their voice goes much softer as their hand reaches up to touch his face, frills and fins. Only for it to earn a low growl from the normally docile mer but it slowly turns into a wabled whine as he goes to try and swim they grab hold of him not letting him take off without then, holding on by his fin. Bee playfully follows while the others just watch on in disbelief,

The moment he stops on the beach they move quickly forcefully pushing him down as they sit on him, in truth he had much more strength then them and could have easily thrown them off as they staring the oceanide down, they watch the way his fins and frills extend and show off the colour, as a mating display.

"What's gotten into you? " they mumble softly while cupping his face. He wants them, wants them so badly that his body responds to each touch. Big blue warbles helplessly as his frame responds. Gently he butts his head against their hands.

Slipping close, Angelfish beaches himself beside them. trills a soft greeting while flaring his vibrant frills and fins in display. He nudges against their side,

Their eyes move from Big blue to Angelfish as his fins flare and his scales shift colour almost like an illusion as he begins to show off. They sit there stunned for a moment as he continues, they feel something pressing against their back. It's only then that they realise exactly why Big blue had been avoiding them. "Oh.., Oh!" They shout before quickly clambering off the oceanide and walking off flustered trying not to make eye contact.

‘Holy shit, holy shit, they have a penis too not just Claspers, maybe the claspers arent really claspers’ they begin to panic as they walk off trying not to look at the oceanides on the beach.

_____________________

Rodimus rumbles approval while Ratchet nods sagely at the pups Advancing vocabulary. "Well said, Bumblebee. You're leaning very quickly"

Bluestreak inquiries curiously. "Think if the little pup learns their ways, maybe they'd warm up to us too?"

Sideswipe hums in agreement. "Pit, if Bumblebee can get cosy, imagine what we could show a landwalker with a few words in our vocab!"

Sunstreaker shakes his head. But as Bumblebee continues blossoming under the soft ones teachings.

Bumblebee trills happily at being called their clownfish. “ I'm doing good!” He calls Ratchet only for the older mer to chuckle with a nod. “Very well pup” both Rodimus and Bluestreak attempt to say the words bumblebee is being taught.

Sideswipe laughs playfully as he slowly slides down the algae covered rock. "Since when'd you two start trying to learn?"

“Alright pup, come on time to go hunting, your sire will be back soon need to make sure you have had a feed” Ratchet calls to him, moving closer to the soft skin. They gasp slightly but scoop bumblebee up and pass him over to Ratchet regardless. “Thank you sweetone” he rumbles.

Bluestreak titters excitedly as Bumblebee is passed to Ratchet. "Aww lookit him, getting comfy with them already!"

Sideswipe's whines enviously. "Frag I wish that could be me getting coddled!"

As they all began slipping back into the water to prepare for a hunt the landwalker slides in alongside them. Looking towards Sideswipe as they call out in their little strange name for him. Rodimus whines "Fragger"

Beside him, Bluestreak thrills eagerly as always. "Look at Sides go! Think if he scores we'll all get a shot?"

Sideswipe, draws closer. “Yes sweet one, how can I appease you?” He coos softly.

Meanwhile Ratchet shakes his head wearily, keeping Bumblebee tucked safe as he watches the foolish adolescents.

They point to Ratchet as he and Bumblebee begin swimming out of the cave's mouth. Trying to usher for them to follow as they grip onto his shoulder.

Rodimus rumbles with barely-checked eagerness as the landwalker invites themself along for a swim. "Frag, they really want us all, don't they? Think if we play our cards right..."

“Can it Firefish!” Sunstreaker shouts at him only to get a glare from Rodimus and Bluestreak. Sideswipe purrs, as he lets them settle against his back. "I'll keep you safe, sweetsea."

He takes off quickly, not wanting them to be underwater for too long, knowing well the landers couldn't breath under water. Thundercracker and Skywarp drift around curiously. Even Megatron eyes them for a moment with a low rumble acknowledging them with a whistle. Skywarp flicks his fins teasingly at Sideswipe's find. "Look at you, Sides, got yourself a sucker" he teases.

Megatron follows their movement to the surface, using his bulk to keep them afloat. He lets them settle on him, rather enjoying himself with the small softskin. Skywarp titters amusedly. "My, my, looks like someone likes the fleshy!"

Thundercracker chuckles. "Never thought I'd see Megatron taken with a lamprey"

Even stoic Soundwave moves to watch. " Landwalker cared for his injuries."

Megatron's purr rumbles his massive frame, as he cradles them against his chest letting them rest.

Skywarp titters excitedly to his twin. "Seems like half the pod's got their eyes on the little landwalker! Think any of us stand a chance against Megatron, Soundwave and Optimus?"

Thundercracker chuckles dryly. "Who knows"

Nearby, ever-hopeful Bluestreak titters eagerly. "Oo, wouldn't it be nice if they chose all of us? Think of the clutches!"

Another whistle breaks through the air as Optimus swims towards Ratchet and Bumblebee, but he nearly stills his swimming when he sees the sweet human he had been avoiding is resting on Megatron. Bumblebee excitedly babbles. “Carrier teach more words. Clownfish, I'm a little clownfish!” He states excitedly.

As the human makes their way off Megatron the paddle over towards Optimus while the others watch rather intrigued to see what happens.

Beside them, ever-intrigued Skywarp titters to his twin. "Ha, looks like Mr. Smooth scales is tangled up by them and they don't even have a net" he continues as Optimus tries swimming off only for the softone to hold on as he darts away. "Awww,someone'sgot it reeeeal bad!"

Thundercracker softens."Let them be,Sky. He's struggles enough as is, his seasons come early it seems we'll most likely be like that by the end of the full moon."

Mirage chirps cheerfully, "Aww, they make such a cute pair! Don't you think so, Sides?"

Sideswipe huffs softly feeling slightly rejected "much rather have them as my mate."

Rodimus rumbles impatiently, "Well, if Optimus won't make his move, maybe one of us should..."

Ratchet vents heavily, "Oh, for Primus' sake. Give them some space, you lot."

Optimus warbles helplessly as his frame responds against his will. Gently he butts his head against their hands, wishing words could convey how much he wanted to tell them what was happening. “Please little singer i can't have you near me like this” he tries to plead knowing they didn't understand the melodies but he didn't trust himself in this state.

Slipping close, Bluestreak trills a soft greeting while flaring his vibrant fins and frills on display. He nudges against their side. "Let poor Optimus be, sweet carrier"

Nearby, Rodimus rumbles faintly amused. "Lookit Blue go, making his move while Ops a mess"

Optimus can't help it when his spike slowly slinks out from its cover claspers spreading slightly as he lays under the softkin. Their expression slowly changes, "Oh...Oh!" They cry, quickly scrambling off poor Optimus in a spray of sand and pebbles.

Sunstreaker whistles low between his denta as the realisation sinks in. "Well scrap me, looks like it finally clicked!"

"About fragging time too," Smokescreen adds wryly. "That must've been quite the show for the little landwalker."

Optimus retreats back into the sea darting off again leaving Bumblebee with Ratchet.

____________________

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#transformers #transformers idw #mtmte #transformers x human #transformers x reader #transformers lost light #valveplug #merman #merformers #mermaid #mermaid transformers #mermaid au

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miguelhugger2099 · 8 months ago

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HEEEEYYYYYYYYYYYY

Glad to see ur requests are open. Can I get some kisses with Miggy please? Make 'em steamy, sensual and desperate for me, no smut required, but if you want to add on u can.

Tysm Bee! I love ur writing :)

Oh Boy, Smooching Time!

hello !!! thank u !! :) i love a good simple kissing. personally, i think the tension is sooooo much better than anything. i tried to do this as best as i could !! if u are not happy, as always i can remake it if ur not satisfiedddd ヽ(；▽；)ノ Art: caiabresebun on instagram

Miguel was a touched starved man, that much was clear enough. It showed in the little ways he’d touch you. His fingertips grazing your waist as a silent question to hold you before resting his warm palms on your hips. His arms tightening around you while you rested on top of his chest, one arm reaching down to pull your thigh over his lap. Leaning his body weight on top of you after a long and tiring day of work.

So it’s no surprise when he’s chasing your lips for another kiss while you’re on the couch together. What started as a simple cuddling session, ended up with Miguel crawling closer to you, his lips pressing soft kisses on your collarbone before making his way up.

Your hands curled in his hair, easing out the little tangles in his locks while his fangs nipped at your skin. You tilt your head back while his hands run up your thighs, pushing them apart to make some room for himself. You felt the soft pads where his talons were retracted in and his fingers gripped the plushness of your thighs and hips.

Miguel continues his assault on your neck, his tongue licking up the small bruises and nicks that had formed on your perfect skin. You arch your back, chest pressing up against his and Miguel reaches under your shirt, palm keeping you flush against him–skin on skin contact. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, arms resting on his shoulders while you keep his head close to your neck.

Still, Miguel still finds a way to trail his plump lips up your throat, grinning when he feels your fast pulse. “Te gusta, mi amor?” He hums, and sucks another hickey just under your jawline. Finding yourself impatient, you lean your head down to capture his lips with yours.

Miguel lets out a soft moan, his sigh fanning your cheeks through his nose. His hand raising your shirt further and further up, feeling your spine under his palms and fingers gripping onto your skin with desperation. You follow the way he kisses, wanting and craving to devour all that you are but it feels endless.

It makes your cheeks burn with just how close he is, his body heat radiating off onto you and the soft hums of pleasure while he indulges in you. The soft clicking of teeth and feeling the curl of his lips when he smiles. You catch a glimpse of it when you open your eyes: a weak smile on his face, his eyes still closed and still under your spell before diving back in.

His hand cups the back of your head, entangling his fingers through your hair. Your arms run down his back under the collar of his shirt and you feel the movement of his muscles while he kneads at your body. You separate from the kiss, leaning down to kiss his temple and cheeks. Miguel rests his head on your shoulder, switching positions so you’re now on his lap. He slowly grinds his hips towards you, soft panting and hushed whines of pleading for more.

Miguel can’t help the hunger for more of your love, his hands leading you back down to his mouth, his tongue sliding across your bottom lip. His wet muscle ends up in your mouth to search for your tongue. Meanwhile his hands run down the curves of your body slowly. He takes he time soaking you in, your skin rising with goosebumps, until he lands on your thighs that’s around him. Miguel grips your flesh, ghosting higher to the hem of your shorts and curve of your ass.

Your body burns with desire, the feeling of his tongue swirling with yours— warm puffs of breaths shared in the space between the two of you. Lips moving in sync, taking eager turns of sucking tongues and biting lips to make the other groan and grind. Your fingers find his hair, twirling the curls at the nape of his neck around your index and tugging on it. Miguel moans, pressing you down on his growing erection and bucking his hips up at the same time.

You mewl at the millisecond of relief, tilting your head back for a breath of air. Miguel is relentless, settling on kissing along the side of your face while whispering más, más. Your mind spins when you feel his kisses leave wet marks from the sloppy make out, the sensation cool against your heated skin.

Miguel grabs your chin between his index and thumb, bringing your face back down so he can reach your mouth again in another kiss. You reciprocate eagerly, shivers running through your body while tasting him again. The sounds of shared loving echos softly in the quiet and dim room—soft hums and hushed declarations of love and desire.

Miguel’s fingernails claw at your back from top to bottom. It makes your arch into his chest—which he wanted. He smirks against your lips before biting down on your lip teasingly. His palms feel your arch, groaning with your pressed up against him. He rubs up and down, down, down, to where he cups one cheek of your ass to nudge you closer in his lap.

You nearly stumble, mouth dropping open to spill moans and growing weak. Miguel doesn’t let you go, taking advantage of your blissed state for more and more and more kisses. He loves the way you roll your hips instinctively, the way your breathing becomes labored—feeling it on his lips for the split moment to breathe. He knows what he does to you.

Your hands that had messed with his curls run down his temples, your fingernails gently scratching down his face and neck and over his chest. Miguel shutters, cock throbbing for those very hands to be around him. “Haah..Hnng..” He whines softly, hissing when the teasing boils over. He can’t take it anymore. You know what you do to him.

Miguel switches positions again so you’re lying on your back. A yelp of surprise knocks you out of the moment—your eyes rolling to the back of your head with a sigh of pleasure when he kisses you passionately again. Miguel fumbles with his zipper with one hand while you stumble out of your shorts.

#requests ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚#miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x you #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel ohara #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #spiderman 2099 x you #spiderman 2099 x reader

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slasherscream · 5 months ago

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Hello Bee! First I want to say that I really love your writing and your characterization of the characters. I've read so much of your stuff over and over again, it's so good! Thank you so much for writing it all!

Secondly, I wanted to make a request. Sorry if this sounds dumb, but could you please make a crazy ass husbands with an artisitic s/o? Like someone who may not necessarily create art, but is really passionate about like painting, and music, and just all the types of art? I saw you added Vincent Sinclair and thought of this 😄.

If not its fine, I still want you to know that I adore and enjoy your writing! Well wishes! 🩷🩷

Qimir (the acolyte) - Qimir likes the way you get carried away by music. The way you close your eyes when you walk into a cantina and musicians are playing. The little songs you hum to yourself when you’re piloting the ship, or fixing something. Music awakens something in your soul. You feel it deeply. Love songs and tragic laments alike light a fire in you. Every now and again he’ll have the two of you go to planets known for their music, their unique sounds, and singing styles. It’s always under a false pretense. The training or mission he sends you on are usually extra grueling before you’re given your “reward”. Otherwise, he feels like a slave to the whims of your joy. What wouldn’t he do to see you smile? To relish your little gasp the first time you hear a new instrument or song? He likes to reach out, using the connection you two share, and feel what you feel. He’s so glad he freed you from your shackles of repression. The way you indulge your passion is beautiful.

Norman Bates - You’ve always loved flowers. The first thought you had about the motel was that it needed some nice flowers outside. You’ve traveled the country, visiting all sorts of gardens. It’s an odd hobby, but one you chased relentlessly. Until you met Norman, and settled into the hotel with him. But eventually you start to crave those gardens again, so you decide for the first time not to just admire gardens, but to cultivate one. There are a few false starts. Miserable failures. Mixed successes. But Norman is encouraging every step of the way, and eventually your little motel begins to shine. Ivy creeping up trellises you place against the house. Roses, peonies, lavender, poppies. All in ranges of colors and sizes. You repaint the motel when it begins to look shabby in comparison to the garden blooming around it. For the first time the motel starts to look… welcoming. Like a true home. People in town begin to stop by and spend the night just so they can have breakfast in the garden the next morning. People propose to each other at the Bates Motel. Get married there. Honeymoon. Have the celebrations for their baby’s christening among all your flowers and saplings. Norman doesn’t have a green thumb, but he brings you lemonade and kisses your cheek and thanks you earnestly for bringing color and life into his world.

Hannibal Lecter - This is one of the ways you and Hannibal bond. You could talk about art for hours together. He’s a wonderful conversationalist, and your raw passion for the topic makes it so that you always have something new to say to one another. Date nights consist of going to art galleries for big and small artists. Something about being in one another’s presence sweetens the art itself. Hannibal often surprises you with trips to other countries just so you can go to their art museums and partake in new art scenes. Money is a small thing to Hannibal. The conversations you have about art? Those are priceless.

Shane Walsh - He’s never been too interested in the arts. Not before the end of the world and certainly not after it. The only art that matters now is the art of survival. He tells you this often. Tells you to look to the future. Focus on surviving the day. On perfecting the skills he tries to teach you, day in and day out, so even if he’s gone, you’ll be okay. But you make him soft. For all that he bitches, he’s always giving in. Always looking to keep you alive, yes. But he wants you to be happy too. So he takes detours, and looks for libraries and bookstores that are beginning to cave in on themselves and smell of rotten pages and wood. He’s risked entire hoards of walkers to retrieve a book he knew was your favorite. He doesn’t mind when precious bag space is taken up by whatever paperbacks you can get your hands on. One day he might find a town that he likes enough and decide to go through the trouble of turning a library into a home for you. It will be well fortified, and he won’t like how many entry and exit points it might have. But he’d love to see you in your element, surrounded by what you love.

V (from V for Vendetta) - So much art has been ruthlessly crushed beneath the boot of the fascist government you live under. Admiring the arts, any form of it, is like trying to hold sand in your hands. Your grip grows ever more desperate to hold onto anything. But there is no rhyme or reason to what is outlawed or taken away. Little bits of your soul are chipped away, with each new restriction, with each new burning or banning. Until V whisks you away to his hideout, and suddenly the world is made anew again. You are surrounded by art, art you didn’t even know existed. Things you couldn’t imagine in your wildest dreams. You inhale everything the gallery has to offer. You feel nearly gluttonous. In each room there is something new to see, hear, read. A feast for your senses anywhere you turn. You feel alive for the first time in years, maybe ever. V, in turn, feels his own form of gluttony. He cherishes every bit of delight he brings to your world. He feels like the worst kind of miser. The lowest of villains. What could be more precious than your smile? Or your laughter? Nothing. And by keeping you here, with him, he deprives the world of you and all you have to offer. But the world isn’t kind to precious things. So he keeps you like all the other treasures of this world. Hidden. Safe. Loved.

Candyman - You collect book nook shelf inserts. Your home is covered in shelves, just to fit them. You have more book nooks than you do books separating them. Daniel is charmed to death by the collection. By the tender, diligent way you take care of them all. You spend hours of your week dusting. Fiddling. Making tiny adjustments. There must be something meditative about it, because you never complain. The joy he felt whenever he held a paintbrush is the same joy that flashes across your face when you open a new kit. He watches you assemble your precious, miniature worlds and ask you quiet questions, every now and again. He doesn’t want to break you from the beautiful trance you fall into, but he loves to peek into your mind. “What drew you to this scene, my love?” / “This one has an enchanting gloom to it. You have such an eye for art.” / “This one looks especially fragile, you might have to be more gentle, love.” He enjoys watching you lose yourself in your hobby. He loves the way you are unashamed in your joy. How you take pride in this work. You curl up into his side, after you’ve spent hours assembling one of your nooks, and the two of you will stare at it in all its completed glory.

Robert Neville (I Am Legend) - At first he thought you were a hallucination. He’d been hearing things more often. Seeing things too. The human mind wasn’t built for isolation, as a scientist he was well aware of that. He tries to compensate as best he can. With his mannequins. With entertainment. By focusing on his research. He only has to stay sane long enough to fix the world he couldn’t save. That’s all. But then he sees you, while he’s hunting. The sun is still high in the sky, and you don’t move like a dark seeker. You’re cautious, slow. You also don’t move like a hallucination. You don’t really look like one either. He almost doesn’t approach you, afraid he’ll discover you were a mirage. He follows you all day long, until the sun is getting too low for comfort. Then Robert approaches you, fumbling through the obvious (it isn’t safe out here), barely remembering to introduce himself because people have names. Hoping desperately that you’ll trust a strange man instead of taking your chances with the dark. But the entire time he talks to you his eyes keep drifting to all the jewelry you’re wearing. Earrings. Bracelets. Necklaces. Rings. They glint in the light. Hypnotizing in their imperfections and intricacies. You move into his home, but you two drift around each other like ghosts. You’ve been alone so long, the both of you. You dreamed of meeting another living person. But faced with the reality of it, you’re overwhelmed. Until one night after dinner he finds you in the living room, making more of your jewelry. Slow and careful. He asks you about it, and you tell him it kept you sane while you were alone. Made you feel human. Then you look up at him, and he freezes under your gaze. (It’s been so long since he’s looked into someone’s eyes. It almost hurts. He can’t imagine ever looking away.) You ask him what kept him human. He’s not sure he still is. But he moves to sit beside you on the floor, hands you beads, and tells you he's been pretty fond of movies lately.

Lestat De Lioncourt - You were a tailor in life, before he turned you. In death, in this eternity he’s given you, fabric is nearly your religion. With your vampiric eyes, you see even the tiniest flaw in stitching. All colors look more vibrant. The world looks more alive. Even though you can never see the way certain fabrics and colors catch the light of the sun, moonlight and starlight can be just as beautiful. You drag him to fashion shows in order to soak in the new styles, and cuts of clothing. You are as endeared by couture as you are the various counter cultures that arise throughout the decades you spend together. You spend exorbitant amounts of money on the finest bolts of cloth and thread. Sewing and tailoring and designing can be done entirely on your own. In fact, you’d probably be done quicker if you were just left to your work. But Lestat gets lonely when you lock yourself up in your work room for days on end. He likes to drape himself against your back, push himself into your side. Trail teasing fingers up your arm, to see if he can get your ever steady hands to falter (he cannot.) Looking over your shoulders and seeing what latest fashion has caught your eye is his hobby. You don’t mind the company of your muse. Sometimes you even sit him in front of you as you sew, and let the sound of him talking guide your needle and thread. He hardly wears anything you don’t make. Not only is your work superior, but every piece is made of love.

Abe Sapien - You love everything about movies. How they’re made. Sound design. Light design. Set design. The difference between digital and film cameras. Abe was caught in your orbit the minute you were recruited. Talking to you, trying to form a connection, however, did not come as easy. Awkward nods as you passed one another in the hall. Stilted, dry conversation as you ate lunch at the same tables. It was enough to drive him mad. He didn’t know why he alone was unable to form any sort of acquaintanceship with you (especially when he wanted far more than that). This all changed during movie night. You were watching the voted on film play out on screen, entranced by every individual frame, it seemed. He’d never seen anyone smile so fetchingly, or blink so little. He bravely, and quietly, asked if you were enjoying the film. You began to eagerly whisper to him all sorts of details about how the film was made, the difference between the final product and script. Apparently, it was one of your favorites. With one conversation, the bridge between you two was crossed. Abe had been so caught up in enjoying literature, he hadn't explored much of the diverse realm of cinema. Happily, you appointed yourself the esteemed position as his guide. Somewhere between sharing your tastes, late night discussions, and dry eyes from sleepless nights, you leaned over to kiss him. He kissed you back, and you both forgot all about movies for a little while.

Vincent Sinclair - You were an avid admirer of sculptures. You went to museums, and had to curl your hands into fists to resist the urge to reach out and touch the statues. There was something so beautiful about someone taking the time to carve human shapes out of stone and earth. To make marble resemble fabric as delicate as silk. It was breathtaking to you, really. Until you came across the House of Wax, you hadn’t really thought of wax as a means to make sculptures. Instantly, you are captivated. You forget that your car is being “repaired”, so closely do you look at every sculpture. You admire each one from several angles, for long periods of time, face giving away nothing. Vincent watches you, wanting to know what you’re thinking about his art so desperately he feels as if he’ll die. He interrupts Bo from the preparations to kill you and makes him ask you questions. Bo asks each one through gritted teeth, irritated to be playing a game of telephone, but even he is a little charmed by your thoughtful answers. When Vincent insists on not killing you Bo just shakes his head and washes his hands of the situation. You fall asleep in the town’s only motel, but when you wake up you’re in Vincent’s workshop. You’ll be able to admire his art for as long as you like now.

Joel Miller - You tell him stories. You’re an avid collector of them. Wherever you go, you collect a story from someone. Sometimes they’re fantastical. Some myth or aesop fables that will be lost to the sands of time and the chaos of the apocalypse within just one more generation (if humanity makes it that long.) Other times they’re heartbreakingly real. The taste of an apple pie someone’s grandmother used to make for them. The memory of someone trying on their wedding dress for the first time. You have a way about you. It’s your eyes. The warmth in them. The understanding. Even after so many years of survival and fighting, you possess an empathy that should have gotten you killed by now. Instead you’re the keeper of people’s stories. You’ll be riding side by side on your horses, and Joel won’t sense any danger nearby, so he’ll say the magic words: You got a story for me today, L/N? And you always do. The sound of your voice keeps his head quiet.

A/N: i blushed bugs bunny curled ears style. thank you for the compliments, made my day! i think yours is the first crazy ass husbands gang request i’ve written! if you enjoyed these headcanons consider reblogging, leaving a reply, or an anon! a writer's fuel is engagement. Xoxoxo

#my characterization?? thank you im insane abt these people #qimir x reader #norman bates x reader #hannibal lecter x reader #joel miller x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #abe sapien x reader #lestat de lioncourt x reader #robert neville x reader #candyman x reader #shane walsh x reader #v for vendetta x reader #v for vendetta imagine #crazy ass husbands gang #im going the fuck to sleep now lmao #if you see a grammar error im so sorry sleepy

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helluvaoutlaw · 6 months ago

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Gimme Shelter

((( Warning: The song Striker is singing in this post contains sensitive content. )))

Under the dim, smoky lights of the Sugar Buzzed club, Striker stood on the small, worn stage, gripping his electric guitar. Usually filled with vibrant neon hues, the club had dimmed its lights tonight to recreate a Wrathian country blues atmosphere. The crowd, a mix of regulars and curious newcomers, buzzed with anticipation. Striker's outfit was a blend of vintage charm and rugged style:

Brown trousers, black suspenders, an old mauve-colored shirt with its sleeves rolled up, and a black vest that completed the ensemble. He was enjoying a cigar while arranging his guitar and giving time to the other musicians to prepare themselves.

The two Hellhound vocalists (recommended by Queen Bee herself), were more than excited to perform with him, given the two girls were giggling and whispering to each other, probably commenting his physique.

He adjusted the microphone stand, its metal frame barely reflecting the subdued glow. The club’s atmosphere was thick with the scent of spilled drinks and the low hum of conversation.

He drew one last smoke from the cigar, before putting it out in a metal ashtray.

The cowboy nodded at the rest of the group, before starting to play.

Striker's fingers danced across the guitar strings, coaxing out a raw, soulful riff that immediately quieted the crowd.

"Ooooh, a storm is threat'ning

Myyy very life today

If I don't get some shelter,

Ooh yeah, I'm gonna fade away...

Waaar, children,

it's just a shot away

It's just a shot away

Waaar, children, it's just a shot away

It's just a shot away."

His voice, deep and gritty, cut through the room as he began to sing a blues rock tune, each word dripping with emotion and authenticity.

"Ooooh, see the fire is sweepin'

Myyy very street today

Buuurns like a red coal carpet,

Mad bull lost its way...

Waaar, children, it's just a shot away

It's just a shot away

Waaar, children, it's just a shot away

It's just a shot away

It's just a shot away..."

The guitar came alive, electrifying the room. Striker's skills were evident in every note, his fingers moving with precision and passion.

"Look out!

Raaaape, murder!

It's just a shot away

Raaaape, murder!

It's just a shot away

Raaaape, murder!

It's just a shot away

It's just a shot away..."

The crowd swayed and nodded, some with eyes closed, lost in the music. The rhythm section backed him with a steady, driving beat that resonated in the chest of every listener.

The vocalists were doing a splendid job, enhancing the feeling of the song with their honeyed voices.

"Ooooh the floods is threat'ning

Myyy very life today

Gimme, gimme shelter!

Or I'm gonna fade away..."

Striker’s performance was a blend of raw talent and heartfelt emotion, the kind that left an indelible mark on everyone present.

True, the song wasn't exactly a cheerful one, but he didn't care. They came to feel the true Wrathian spirit tonight, which was anything but sweet and joyful.

It was crude, merciless and painful, delivering the harsh truth of life.

"Waaar, children, it's just a shot away

It's just a shot away

I tell you love, sister,

it's just a kiss away

It's just a kiss away

Kiss away, kiss away..."

His voice rose and fell, his eyes closed as he sang every lyric with ardor, his mind miles away.

As the final notes echoed through the club, the audience erupted into applause, the sound filling the small space with a wave of appreciation.

Striker grinned, nodded, and thanked the public, letting the band to take care of providing ambience music as he left the stage to get a drink.

He would've sang again a bit later, but for now he just wanted to enjoy a glass of bourbon.

(((Song: )))

youtube

(((Art belongs to: )))

#helluva outlaw #helluva boss #striker #ask blog #helluva striker #rp #Youtube

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humming-bee-art · 1 year ago

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I drew these two cuties a while back and I still really like them! Honey Slime and Rad Slime!

I actually really like drawing Slime Rancher slimes so I might make some more at some point!

#slime rancher #slime rancher 2 #honey slime #rad slime #fanart #humming bee art #humming bee fanart

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ineedjesusverymuch · 3 months ago

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Diabolik lovers headcanons pt. 3 (even more stuff)

Hi, it's been a while, no? Even though I feel a bit like I'm screaming into an empty void, I do enjoy writing my thoughts down.

The Diabolik Lovers fandom gets smaller and smaller and since just a few blogs are active, I wanted to post more! I know that without Rejet producing more content (that is canon and not "just" new merchlines, even though I deeply love the art), the dl fandom is bound to shrink. But: now, there are a lot of very respectful blogs, which I do enjoy! The toxicity just shrinks a lot on smaller fandoms. And I really love that no slander of Yui is happening!

Now, lets get into the headcanons after my short ramble.

I won't write anything nsfw this time, just a quick psa.

⚠ I'll try to mark anything that could be triggering with this: ❗trigger warning ❗

⚠This post will briefly discuss topics like: parental trauma and childhood trauma.⚠

The topics in this post will be mostly happy or cute (?), asks are always appreciated!

As always, I'll try to be at least a bit true to canon. But... Well.

this time I did not just ramble about Kanato, I think I talked about Laito quite a bit though...

Headcanons under the cut ⬇

First of all: Shu.

Genuinely loves dogs (remember the scene with Yuma? The little puppy? Yes.)

All fluffy dogs are loved, just as all other dogs.

Loveslovesloves Golden retrievers and sheperd dogs. Likes big dogs a bit more than small dogs, more to hug.

Deeply hates toads. Not frogs, toads. He thinks they're quite ugly and hates how big they can get

Shu is Not dumb but being a little fuck by not-obeying-karlheinz's-orders-like-being-good-in-school

Has only socks with terrible obnoxious patterns, like the weirdest psychedelic shit? I'm talking about rainbow colored mushrooms on sunyellow backdrop and comical faces. (Ngl, it's a vibe)

Huuuuge crush on Yuma. He likes his long hair and the fact that Yuma doesn't try to lie to him. Shu likes honest people and Yuma with his blunt approach is amazing for him. Also, he is convinced that Yuma is very simple to understand, nit at all complicated like some other people.

Next in Line is Reiji! What a surprise.

Has a huge collection of Hand cream and lotion. He has those long, slim fingers and his nails are manicured so impeccable that they don't even look real anymore.

Wears only black socks. Its a hassle to sort them since some of them have different lengths or fabrics

Has pet rats. Definitely pet rats.

They're cute and all but he's named ever single one outrageous names like Berthold and Brunhilde, the typical old german names you'd read in very old books.

Reiji Is able to speak not only german, japanese and the demon language but can also speak latin (even though shu is on a much higher level), a bit of French and russian.

Would be the type to do things simply out of sprite. Shu once mentioned not liking blue curtains and now all curtains are blue.

Has an academic rivalry with Ruki. All the other students (including Ruki) think they're flirting, only Reiji is oblivious.

Next: our boy Ayato!

Hates bees with a passion.

Kanato once "gifted" him a box of bees out of spite (the little shit put the whole bee hive in that box), ever since then Ayato runs as soon as humming from a bee can be heard in a ten mile ratio. (Being outside is very exhausting for everyone, himself included)

Very much enjoys shows like Brigderton and say yes to the dress. Loves the drama and the intrigue.

Ayato actually? Doesn't hate his brothers??? He likes to bicker with them, especially his other triplets, but genuinely cares about them. He's just a bit too emotionally stunted on that front (thank you cordelia).

Likes not only takoyaki but also any type of japanese festival food. I'm talking about mochi, dango and tayaki, etc.

the type to have lactose intolerance and ignore it completely to seem "cool"

went on an ice cream date with Yui once and spent the entire night in the bathroom because he was too proud to say no

Actually wears makeup? I'm not talking about full-on glam but a bit concealer and eyeliner. Ayato has red mascara and omfg he looks so good with it???

Laito and he enjoy playing those multiplayer games for nintendo

He has an entire village on animal crossing that is managed by him and Laito together

Next in line: Kanato!

I have made quite long posts about him in the past so I wont elaborate on some things that I already wrote down.

Very skilled at makeup. Like top-level skill. Wears eyeliner, liptint or gloss and glitter under and on his eyes. Light blush is a must-have!

Can crochet and knit but is often too impatient to make bigger projects

Will hyperfocus on things like historical fashion and garments for weeks at a time.

Once was so focused on the black plague that he didn't drink blood for like five weeks and passed out until he was fed some blood

Gremlin.

Has a friendship with Yuma? They plant plants together and since Kanato (canonically) likes apples, Yuma will bring him some after plucking.

Kanato enjoys tea time with Reiji

Kanato also likes to gossip with Laito. Or more like: Laito gossips and Kanato sits next to him and munches on some sweets.

Huge crush on Azusa. (I went into more detail on that in earlier posts but I'll answer any questions on that matter! Feel free to send me asks or prompts!)

He and Ayato have both the same interest for old fairy tales and will read them together on those nights were everything just comes up again

❗Laito will comfort him when Kanato has nightmares and Kanato will be there for Laito, since they went through a bit if the same things even though Laito's was much more intense

Cuddle time with Shu

Quiet time with Subaru

Now Laito!

Can speak a fuckton of languages.

I don't care if its canon but Laito is like B2 Level of French. Is able to discuss theological matters is perfect french.

Can also speak italian like all the triplets but he's also able to speak a bit german, polish and romanian

Friends with Kou! ❗They're really good ffriends and can understand what the other went though. Laito stays often over night at Kou's and they spend the night watching funny movies (Deadpool is Laitos current favourite)

Laito enjoys comics. He likes Marvel and DC a lot!

We know that Laito likes crossword puzzles but like. He's so good at them it's almost frightening. Is able to not only do japanese ones but also french.

So intelligent???

Not only booksmart but also "people smart". He notices the smallest things on people around him, constantly analizes everyone. Knows a lot about medicine and psychology.

Loves learning new things.

Has immense knowledge about the universe, is able to name every single star sign on the sky.

in the games we often see Laito wear casual clothing. My headcanon is that he likes the sort of style skaters usually wear.

Really likes cargo pants since everything fits in all of the pockets

Wears oversized hoodies and shirts

Has those two piercings on his left earlobe but also has a lip piercing on the right lower lip and a septum that he got when he was bored

As soon as he's alone, he let's the perverted fassade fall down. He doesn't smile a lot actually, more along the lines of a serious face most of the time.

It took a bit for him to be able to drop that fake face of his in front of Kou and his other triplets but after some time he got used to not fake being friendly and perverted.

Dropped the infamous "bitch-chan" after some time, now uses Yui's actual name. The -chan stayed though.

Last but not least: Subaru!

has very soft plushies in his coffin

Loves those tiny fluffy bunnies. Lionheads especially!

Very gentle with animals.

Animals love him (#disneyprincesssubaru)

once tried to color his hair, it went horrible and his hair was a patchy muddy color for eight weeks

Wears eyeliner. The black, brush-tip ones

Long eyelashes. They genuinely look fake.

So pretty

Is naturally more fair and frail-looking than some other vampires so he tries to roughen himself up

❗Bruises his knuckles and bites his lips to look more dangerous. Even though the scowl he usually wears is more than enough to ward off anyone who wants to pick a fight...

Also friends with Kou (Kou really collects Sakamakis like pokemons)

Wears black nail polish but it chips off pretty fast due to the gardening Subaru does

Bonding time with Kanato is applying nail polish together

Enjoys playing pool and darts with Shu when his older brother has enough motivation

Knows he is fucked up from all the stuff with his mother and wouldn't be opposed to therapy (at least after some sweet talk from Yui... And a whole lot of promises for new seeds for his garden and a new set of black clothes)

Has a motor bike and it's his entire pride

Polishes it every week and has a lot of clothes for biking

Takes trips to somewhere when he's bored and/or annoyed by his other brothers

does not realize that Kou flirts with him every time they do something together (obliviousness lies in the family)

So! That's it? I guess? Sometime in the future I'll write about the Mukamis too, I promise!

If there's anything you'd like me to write about, just send me an ask.

And to whoever reads this: I appreciate the time you took to read my post and I hope you have an amazing day/night !

you are truly appreciated!

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carpetbug · 4 months ago

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ML Feline Blue AU Chapter Three: Origins pt. 1/2

1 • 2 • 3

read below or on ao3

Each step back to the Pont des Arts was petrifying. All the muscles in her legs contracted in protest, begging her to stop or for the still fresh soreness to bring her to her knees. What had been an ache in her lungs was now a relentless screaming, and the sound of rushing water in the seine was making her head hurt.

But she had to know.

It wasn’t like the streets of Paris would be crowded so early in the morning, but Marinette had expected more than the occasional elderly couple or jogger on a morning run. There were no sirens, no policemen barking orders at each other with megaphones like she had pictured in her mind. No one had noticed the bloodbath left behind. Which only made it feel all the more fictional, like some elaborate, fucked up fantasy she had concocted in her mind.

She had to go back and know if it was real. Know if she had any right to feel as burdened as she did.

There was no reassuring kwami hidden in her pockets, no magical jewels that made her a superhero. No, those had all been tucked away in her closet, where no villain could find them. It was just Marinette, bundled securely under a thick gray hoodie, mind running wild with worst case scenarios. They didn’t stop when she arrived at the Pont des Arts, and only seemed to get louder when she took in the freshly cleaned condition.

She walked the length of the bridge, then did it twice more. It was pristine, easily wiped of the brash color it was stained the night prior. Marinette wasn’t even sure she could remember where exactly on the bridge it had been. The wooden walkway looked almost polished, the entire platform was the spitting image of perfection. It made her fucking skin crawl.

It was too easy, too tempting, to sit on one of the benches sprinkled across the bridge and let herself peel apart. The panic had long set in, leaving her feeling lost and unraveled. This sudden enemy was already plucking away at the careful seams she's used to stitch her confidence together, and he didn’t even know she existed. Sitting on the bench for a few hours, her mind wandered aimlessly on autopilot, yet always circled back to ‘Guardian. Miracle Box. Guardian. Guardian. Miracle Box. Guardian.’ It was still on loop in her head when she picked herself up off the seat and went home.

The idea of doing a mad dash through the bakery and to her room crossed her mind, she had to admit, but it was quickly dismissed. The bakery had already been open for almost an hour now, she didn't want to cause a racket amongst customers. Plus, it’s not like her parents would let it slide either. Then again, Marinette had entered her home in many weirder ways.

She pulled open the doors of the bakery, skirting the customer line and bee lining for the ‘employees only’ labeled door. If she was really lucky, her mom would be too busy to even notice her slipping in.

“Welcome back, why were you out so early?” Sabine commented nonchalantly as her daughter awkwardly tried to creep past, eyes not leaving the cash register as she tapped away at the buttons.

What a fantasy. The idea of Marinette Dupain-Cheng having a single moment of luck. “Sorry Mama, I woke up way too early and couldn’t fall back asleep so I wanted to go out for a quick walk. Then I may have fallen asleep on a bench at the seine…” She trailed off, hands flailing wildly around her as she explained to her mother. It honestly wasn’t too far from the truth, and it also wasn’t too far from something Marinette would do.

Sabine quirked an eyebrow, giving her daughter that questioning look only mothers can, before sighing and smiling to herself. She reached out and stroked her face gently, then pinched her cheek. “Go get changed and enjoy the last week of summer break. No more falling asleep on public benches.”

Marinette nodded in relief, turned to leave, then spun back around and planted a kiss on her moms cheek. “Love you too!” She hummed, bounding through the kitchen with a passing hello to her dad, then up the stairs.

Her mother had helped clear her head momentarily, but it all came crashing back down when she came into her bedroom. It all felt too bright now. The rosy tones and cluttered surfaces were bringing on a migraine, and the nauseating box of magic hidden she knew was in her closet was not helping. Still, she reached for the doorknobs after allowing her eyes a moment to adjust. She had built a nest of fabric around the miracle box, bundling it away in the corner of her closet. The box felt lighter than it had yesterday, maybe because the wood dried during the past day, or because Marinette had a night to sleep on the heavy new burden. Well, a few hours, really. The lid opened easily, and out flew all the kwamis. Tikki and Plagg settled calmly in front of her, both curiously inspecting the room with their eyes. The other kwamis didn’t have such etiquette, and instantly began to wreak havoc on her belongings.

Her lips parted, about to protest, when her voice failed her. Instead she let out a quiet sigh and rolled her eyes, allowing them temporary free reign, then made her way to her desk. The kwamis weaved through the air around her, almost ignoring her presence all together as they discovered the wonder that was her room. They screamed, shrieked, and squealed— Marinette had never been more relieved her parents were in the bakery, too far to hear— about each new unearthing, but she tuned them out into white noise.

There needed to be a record. A journal, a book, she’d even call it a diary. She needed to start writing these things down, making a physical trail of everything that’s happened so far. Documenting about the kwamis, the miraculous, this villain, Master Fu, her total number of panic attacks (three and counting), etc. The important things. It seemed as good a place to start as any.

“Marinette?” The ladybug kwami had followed her across the room and now sat atop her computer, intently watching her write with cautious eyes.

“Mm?” the girl hummed in response, enthralled in her furiously scribbled notes. Her tongue peeked out from her lips just slightly as she wrote.

“What... what are you doing?”

“Screw that, where the hell did you go?” The cat cut in, tail lashing from side to side. His lips were pulled back in a slight hiss, sharp teeth glinting from in his mouth.

“I-I went back to the Pont des Arts.” She mumbled, pen stilling in her hand. It was silent for a second before their voices erupted.

“You did what?!”

“I would have come with you!”

The kwamis were instantly rambling, Plagg listing off all the ways she could have died on his claws while Tikki pressed her for a play-by-play retelling. It was suffocating.

“I’m fine, okay?! I’m alright!” She huffed, slamming the pen down and pushing against the desk to send her chair rolling backwards. Marinette brought her hands to her face to gently rub her eyes before taking a breath. “Nothing happened.” She said flatly, arms falling to her lap. “I just wanted to see why no one was talking about the blood. But it was entirely clean. The whole bridge looked fucking polished.”

The kwamis exchanged a look between them before Tikki quietly repeated, “I would have come with you.” with a small frown and eyebrows knitted together in worry.

Marinettes building frustration melted. She hadn’t even thought the kwamis would worry about her, nevertheless be upset she had gone alone. A small part of her had honestly thought they would prefer she do the dirty work herself. She pinched her eyes closed and tried to shrug off the guilt blanketing her shoulders. “I wanted to go alone. Plus, it’s my job to keep you all safe and hidden now, I couldn’t risk taking you back there.” She explained softly, returning to the desk and plucking the pen from the surface to fidget with.

“It’s your job to stay safe with us!” Plagg hissed, unaffected by her gentle tone. “It’s our job to train you as guardian! You have to work with us, Marinette!” his voice wavered as he went on. “Let us teach you how to be a guardian before you try doing it on your own.

She listened carefully, gaze locked downward on her feet. After a few moments she spoke “I just want to be able to protect you guys.”

Tikki lowered through the air until she rested in Marinettes lap, looking up kindly at her eyes. “We know, Marinette.”

“But, c’mon Pigtails—“ the new nickname caught her by surprise, making her look up at the cat kwami. “We’re not the only ones who need to be protected right now.” he huffed.

“Let us keep you safe as well,” The ladybug kwami pleaded enthusiastically. “You’re not alone.”

Marinette nodded weakly as she reached a hand forward to rub the red kwamis cheek. “I’ll try to remember that. But if I'm going to do this safely, I need to be prepared.” She clicked her pen, pushing out the inky tip. “Tell me everything, from the beginning.”

An annunciatory cough caught her attention, and she turned to see the rest of the kwamis had settled in a small, patient audience around the three as they talked. It was easy to forget just how many of them there were. Seventeen miniature gods living in her room.

“I think I can help with that,” A light green kwami with a shell spoke up. His sclera was a saturated yellow, and a thick antenna sprouted from his head, ending in a round bulb. “The man you met was Wang Fu, the g— uhm.. The previous guardian of the miraculous.” he spoke, wincing slightly as he messed up his wording. “I am Wayzz, the kwami of protection.” a small tail flicked from the bottom of his shell.

Marinette took hasty notes as the kwami spoke. “Wang Fu.” She echoed the name, feeling the heavy way it rolled off her tongue. “I think I remember him saying that.” It felt wrong to say his full name only now, after everything he sacrificed for her.

“Wayzz was Master Fus personal kwami, so he knows the most about the guardian.” Tikki explained, zooming through the air to float by his side. Wayzz gave her a soft smile, but a heavy gloom lingered in his eyes. He tilted his head to lean against hers slightly, making Marinettes heart twist for the creatures.

“You must have been close.” She said gently, giving the kwami a sympathetic smile. “How long had he been guardian?”

That question gave the kwamis pause. Wayzz blinked before awkwardly clearing his throat. “Well, similar to you, Master Fu had to become sole guardian at fourteen because of… a-a tragic event, leaving him the only living member of the Order of the Guardians.” He stuttered. Marinette's throat went dry and she was immediately buzzing with questions, but he went on. “But that happened many, many, many years ago. Master Fu lived to one hundred and eighty six.”

Her mind went blank, all questions gone in a moment's notice. “One hundred and eighty six?” Marinette repeated. She frantically looked from kwami to kwami, eyes wild. “Am-am I going to live that long now?” her voice was tight with panic. Being fourteen felt burdensome enough, how was she supposed to do this for another century— and possibly longer?

Plagg was the first to respond, and he did so with pure amusement. “Fear not, Pigtails. Master Fu only lived that long cause he was a crazy old man who did crazy old man shit.”

Wayzz glared at Plaggs vulgarity, but began to explain further. “It was simple really, he ate a very specific and controlled diet, practiced rigorous healing and meditation practices, and he’d even-”

“Just keep doing what you’re doing and you’ll live a normal human amount of time.” An orange kwami barked, long fluffy tail flicking back and forth. He resembled a fox, but with purple eyes and long antennas on his ear tips. “Maybe take the anxiety down a level or two. We need you to stick around for a while.”

“Ha-ha.” Marinette said bluntly, rolling her eyes at the fox kwami. She turned her attention back to her journal, pen gaining motion in her hands once again. “What else can you guys tell me about him?”

“A lot, Master, but in due time. First, I think introductions are in order.” the turtle kwami responded, side-eyeing a few kwamis to his left. That’s what made Marinette finally notice some of the creatures literally shaking with excitement. A velvety purple feline and floppy eared dog most notably, both the creature's tails lashing at an intense speed. They looked like they were about to explode.

“You’re right, I don’t even know half of your guys' names.” She realized, and a dull feeling of guilt dawned on her at not having asked about them. She gestured a hand towards them, prompting them all to share.

They went around, one by one, introducing themselves. Tikki and Plagg, the ladybug and black cat, who Marinette was familiar with after last night. Wayzz, the turtle, Master Fus kwami. Trixx, the name of the fox kwami that had spoken earlier. Sass, a snake. Pollen, which is quite a fitting name for a bee kwami. Roaar and Barkk were the tiger and dog kwamis, the two exploding with excitement. Kaalki, Ziggy, Orikko, Mullo and Daizzi, being a horse, goat, rooster, mouse, and pig respectively. A blue ox named Stompp, which reminded Marinette of the story of Babe, the blue ox. A dragon by the name of Longg, and a ditzy bunny named Fluff. Last but not least, the loudest and most chaotic kwamis of them all, Xuppu, a small light brown monkey. According to them all, the butterfly and peacock kwamis, Nooroo and Duusu, were the only missing gods. One was held captive by the butterfly villain, but the other was lost alongside its miraculous.

She wasn’t sure she would ever remember all that.

“Your turn!” The tiger kwami roared in delight.

“Oh.” Since they had known her name and age, Marinette had assumed they had known everything else about her too. That what it had seemed like with Fu, why should tiny animal gods be any different? “I’m just Marinette.” They already knew that. “Uhm- My parents have a bakery, that’s downstairs, we live on top of it. Right now we’re in my room, obviously.”

“We want to know about you, Marinette!” Tikki chirped, returning to perch happily on her computer again.

“What’s your favorite color!”

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“-Or a girlfriend!”

“Why are you so small?”

“What’s your deepest darkest secret!”

The kwamis were a shrieking chorus of voices, all piling up questions without waiting for answers. Marinette watched, eyes wide, until they eventually quieted on their own. Her life was going to be a lot louder from here on out.

“Uh-uhm, my favorite color is pink.” Her face was burning as she waved a hand around her rosy room. Why is talking about yourself so embarrassing? “I don’t have… either of those things right now, the last boy I fell in love with was- uhm- w-we went swimming and-” Marinette wasn’t even sure where to begin explaining the horrific prank she’d been victim to last school year. “He just didn’t feel the same way.” She said quietly, clicking the pen in her hands a few times anxiously. What had the other questions been?

“WHY ARE YOU SO SMALL?!” That question was repeated, much louder and much closer to her face. Xuppu had sprung up in front of her, big ears nestled on the side of his face and a long monkey tail curled beneath him.

“Cause I’m fourteen?” Marinette slid back in her chair to get some space from the kwami. “I’m not exactly done growing.” She explained in a high pitched voice, somewhat confused by his demeanor. The monkey kwami would take some getting used to. But, then again, they’d all take some getting used to.

“And your deepest darkest secret is?” Plagg purred, his tail lashing playfully.

“You guys. Obviously.”

The kwamis all went silent for a second— which seemed almost impossible to her— and exchanged looks before bursting into laughter.

“Good answer, Marinette.” Tikki giggled. ---

“What do you mean It’s not my box?!” Marinette looked up from her journal at the kwamis and groaned loudly before burying her face in her hands.

“He means technically.” Tikki corrected awkwardly.

“I mean it’s not yours!” Plagg jeered in response. “Look at the Miracle Box. What does that look like to you?”

“I don't know! A box!” Marinette whined, throwing her arms forward and herself back onto her comically large cat pillow, before sliding down into the nest of blankets she had gathered over the week. He gave her a sharp and unamused glare. She sighed and heaved herself back upright. Studying the box carefully, she traced the design with her eyeline; staring so intensely she felt like lasers would beam from her pupils and burn through the wood. The box sat, just barely a foot away, carelessly in the corner of her bed where she had left it the night before. It looked the exact same as the first time she saw it. Still just as unsettling. She was almost scared to touch it. Thankfully, the latter feeling was fading slowly with each passing day. “It looks the same.” She muttered, before tentatively leaning forward to grab the box.

“Bingo. That's not normal Pigtails.” his tail flicked impatiently as she held the box in her lap. “Each Miracle Box has a distinct guardian, and should change to reflect their personal desires and deepest truth. This piece of junk-” Plagg flexed a single claw towards the box between them, “doesn’t look like your miracle box in the slightest.”

Tikki sighed before chiming in “He’s not entirely correct, but his point makes sense.”

“Does it?” Marinette questioned unenthusiastically, palms pulling at her cheeks.

“How do I explain this…” the bug mumbled to herself while scrunching her face in thought. Funny, people always said Marinette did that. “It’s like the box is only considering you a temporary guardian, and so it isn’t entirely connected to you. If it were, the box would change shape, size, color, even its own rules and structure.”

“MY SITUATION DOESN'T FEEL VERY TEMPORARY?!” Marinette wailed in immediate response, arms thrashing wildly at her sides.

“You’re not Marinette, don't worry! It's most likely the box can somehow sense your unease and won't allow you full guardianship… or…” Tikkis gaze took a hard turn to bore into the cat kwami to her right, who shrugged it off easily.

“That's right, I stopped it.” He yawned dismissively. “Kid, you've barely even used a miraculous, you're like nine years old, and you’re going up against an actual murderer. You should be thanking me right now.”

“You don’t think I should be guardian Plagg?”

“Not what I said.” Plagg huffed, but Marinette wasn’t following. “I understand Fus’ situation was… sudden, but you shouldn’t have to pay for that. I do believe you would make a good guardian, Marinette, but I don't think you should have to be one.” Plagg did a weird thing as he spoke. His voice softened, his gaze became glued to the floor, and his ears pressed gently back against his head.

Her lips broke into a warm smile, and she brought her hand up to the cat to run her fingers across his soft fur. He purred, very quietly, in response. “Thank you, Plagg. It's nice to know you've been looking out for me.”

His eyes widened suddenly before he jerked away and shook out his fur, repressing his growing purr. “Too cheesy, even for me.” He fake gagged, then settled comfortably on her knee. She gave him a breathy laugh before ruffling his head with a careful fingertip and turning her attention to Tikki.

“I think I understand. So, how do I prove myself?”

“It’s not about that, Marinette. The box doesn’t think you're not good enough, only not ready.” Tikki sighed.

“I thought Plagg was the one that stopped it?” Her head tilted in confusion.

“I stopped it from granting full guardianship to you once, but I don't control the damn thing. It's in your hands from here, so take it up with the box.” Plagg huffed, beginning to groom his paws.

“You just need patience and focus. Keep preparing yourself, and the miraculous will tell you when it's time.” Tikki reassured.

Marinette let the words sit for a few moments as the kwamis flew off in search of other activities. Patience and focus. Marinette wasn’t known for either. ---

School was supposed to start on Monday. Two days to finish her studies on the miraculous, which Marinette knew she wouldn’t be able to accomplish. How could she get the flu in the next couple hours? Also, how could she make it last for a month?

“Maybe I could be of some assistance, Master?” Trixx offered playfully as he drifted towards his guardian, her hair unkempt, eyes heavy with dark bags, and body curled over her notebook, taking intense notes. An array of dirty cups and plates littered the space around her, many reeking of old coffee. “Using the miraculous of the fox you could make an illusion of yourself being sick to trick your parents! Free extra long summer break.”

She paused writing to look up at the small fox with skepticism. “Really? And it would work?” Marinette questioned, like such an easy answer was too good to be true. “Also, just Marinette. Not Master.”

“So long as no one touches the illusion, it should. It’ll disappear when it comes into contact with anybody else.” The kwami gave a nonchalant shrug.

It was hard not to roll her eyes, but instead she opted for letting out an impatient huff and pouting her bottom lip. “Thanks for the offer, Trixx, but that won’t work. The second I mention being sick to my parents, they’ll want to take my temperature and feed me soup, it would be a literal nightmare if their daughter disappeared when they touched her.”

“Your loss.” He shrugged again, but his tail lashed in a way that said ‘Don’t come crawling back to me’.

“You’re welcome to my miraculoussss.” Another kwami hissed, bringing Marinette's attention to Sass, the snake kwami. “The power of intuition will allow you to rewind time at your command, letting you try any number of ssssolutionssss until one workssss.” A long, forked tongue flicked in and out of his mouth as he spoke.

This one she gave more thought to before declining. “I would only be able to do that if I transformed.” She frowned, “My parents would definitely have some questions if I was in some random snake get-up.” then began chewing on the already heavily dented cap to her pen.

“My offer sssstandssss should you change your mind.” He nodded politely. “Perhapssss the other kwami with a time related power can help. Fluff!”

The cotton white bunny bounced through the air towards them, big ears flopping with the movement. “Yes, yes, yes, what’s happening?” She was holding a baby carrot between her paws, indicating they had interrupted her lunch.

“Do you know of any way to convince the parents our Master is ill?”

“Just Marinette, please.”

“Of course, Marinette, my mistake.”

Fluff sat on a tomato shaped pincushion on the desk, abandoning her carrot and considering her options. “I can use my power to burrow back a few days ago and find some way to get you sick?”

Sounded weirdly horrific. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not, but please, please don’t do that. Please.”

To Marinette's surprise, the fluffy kwami bent over giggling in response. “I won’t, I won’t, besides it would cause some horrible catastrophic event.”

“What?”

“If a kwami uses their powers without a holder to channel them, the concept that kwami represents in this universe will ‘break’, causing some calamitous event, which can usually only be fixed with the ladybug cure.” Tikki chirped, joining Fluff on the pincushion.

“Good to know.” Marinette bit down on the pen again, pressing it between her molars as she took in, well, everything. For about the millionth time.

Crack.

Ink exploded into her mouth, coating every taste bud and slipping down her throat in seconds. She gagged instantly, choking on the putrid tasting liquid, as the kwamis around her gasped.

“SHE’S DYING!” Xuppu screamed, a little too loudly, because instantly Maman shouted back.

“What? Who’s dying?”

In a hurry, the kwamis flushed through the air like a flock of birds interrupted by a hunter, all diving for the safety of the concealed Miracle Box. Marinette forced her lips together to contain the ink, a plan forming in her mind as she moved towards her vanity and its sink, pushed against a wall in her room. It wasn’t a great plan, but it was a plan nevertheless.

As her parents flung open the trapdoor to her room, she made a big show of dramatically spitting out the ink and starting the faucet with exaggerated gags.

“Me! I’m dying! I was chewing on a pen and it exploded!” She whined, taking a mouthful of water from the faucet and swishing it aggressively through her mouth. It came out a murky dark gray, and Marinette had to grit her teeth as she swallowed the remaining half still in her mouth. It felt just as foul in her stomach as it had tasted in her mouth, but it was a necessary part of the plan. If she was going to fake a debilitating stomach ache, she needed a bit of honesty behind it.

“Oh, Marinette, I’m constantly telling you to stop chewing on your pens! If you have to do it, at least use a pencil or something.” Sabine said, half joking, as she walked up and gently rubbed her daughters back.

Marinette nodded in agreement as she continued sipping and spitting mouthfuls of water to clean out the remaining ink. Eventually she stopped the faucet and dried her mouth, then turned to her fearfully observing parents. Tom was fanning his eyes like he was on the verge of tears, for some reason.

“Papa! Don’t cry, oh my god—”

“I was worried you were choking to death!” Tom replied, dramatically stretching out his arms to gesture at his daughter. Sabine continued rubbing her back, then bit back a laugh at the sight of a dark blue ink stain on the corner of Marinette's lip. “How do you feel?”

“I’m alright,” She brought a hand to her stomach and clutched it before pulling her mouth down in an exaggerated frown. “But I think I swallowed a lot of the ink. I don’t feel very good.”

Her parents exchanged a look before sending her up to her lofted bed for some immediate rest and recuperation. The last thing Marinette heard before the door closed was her Mama starting a pot of tea, and her Papa frantically running downstairs to the bakery to make treats for his little girl. Never mind the fact she was supposed to be having a horrible stomach ache right now.

“You got a little something right there.” Plagg flew to his holder's side when the door was closed, his tail flicking at the ink stain on her face.

She flicked her tongue across her thumb and pulled out her phone, quickly thumbing to the camera, and began to scrub at the mark. “That should get me a few days off at the very least.” She sighed, wiping at her skin more and more aggressively. “I don’t know what I’ll do after that though, it’s not like my parents would let me drop out of school. I doubt they’d even let me miss more than a week.”

Tikki joined the guardian and black cat kwami with a tissue in her hands, and she silently took over cleaning the girl's face. “Don’t worry about that now, Marinette. What’s important is you have time, and we’re all here to help teach you.” The small bug pulled back, taking in her guardian's freshly cleaned appearance. “There, all better.” ---

Marinette's week with the kwamis was busy, extensive, and overall exhausting. When she wasn’t feigning stomach pains to her parents, she was taking thorough notes on the complexities of each individual miraculous, wrestling with the Miracle Box, and not getting nearly enough sleep.

Instead, she spent her nights rotating through the different jewels, pinpointing all the different strengths and weaknesses they had. Some could see in the dark; the black cat, the tiger, the fox, and some others. Some were faster and stealthier, others were sturdy and solid. Each transformation gave her new abilities, but they all made her feel strong, refreshed and ready to fight.

They all allowed her to bounce between rooftops easily, to swing across the city, and balance like she weighed no more than a feather. Her energy was endless. Marinette wondered if it would feel that way when she was face to face with the butterfly’s latest villain. For now, she was focused on finding a good level of understanding of all the miraculous, as well as fostering a relationship between her and the kwamis.

Which she had been able to do, for the most part. She’d use part of her time with the miraculous to transform and use its powers, of course, but the rest of the time she'd spend bonding with the kwami, getting to know their favorite foods and past holders. They’d even play a twenty questions style game to get to know each other. Most enjoyed it, or at the very least tolerated it.

She had learned a lot.

Ziggy is the ‘youngest’ of all nineteen, with Tikki being the ‘oldest’. Mullo likes to spend their time pranking and teasing their fellow kwamis, while Longg prefers to stay observant and silent, surveying and keeping others in check. Trixx talks like he’s constantly trying to scam you into some sort of pyramid scheme, while Kaalki has a thick, prissy accent. Wayzz, Pollen, and Stompp are more on the quiet and calm side, unlike Roaar, Barkk, or Xuppu who can make a sold out Jagged Stone concert sound like a chill lofi playlist. Every kwami had a boisterous presence, regardless if they tried to keep calm or not. Marinette was slowly falling in love with each of them.

But most importantly, she learned the true powers of the earrings of creation and the ring of destruction.

“When combined together, the miraculous of the ladybug and black cat can grant their holder the ultimate power, any wish they ask for. This comes at a terrible price; however, the universe will be destroyed and rewritten in accordance with the request.” Tikki nodded solemnly as she explained, small eyebrows pressed together in sincerity.

“What—What does that even mean?” Marinette asked.

“If you use my ring and tikkis earrings, you get a single, all powerful wish. Could wish for anything you want. Let’s say you wish for a lifetime supply of camembert, as one does. To make that wish come true, someone else would be devoid of its cheesy creamy goodness for the rest of their life! And y'know, existence itself is destroyed and remade.” The cat kwami had an annoying habit of simplifying the most important things.

“That’s… not the example I would have used, but I guess it works.” Tikki shrugged. “That’s why the butterfly wants our miraculous, and why he killed Master Fu.”

“Well… what’s his wish?”

“Fuck if we know,” Plagg scoffed, settling on his guardians shoulder. “It happened too fast. Wayzz had a horrible feeling when the butterfly was activated, and—”

“Wait— only Wayzz? Why not all of you?”

“It’s not allowed within the order, but should a guardian become a permanent wielder to a miraculous, their kwami will transform and have more intricate and sensitive powers.” The ladybug explained, “Wayzz was able to provide warning due to his connection with Master Fu.”

Marinette glanced at the Miracle Box resting on her chaise lounge chair, and at the kwamis resting around it. The turtle was asleep on top of the box, limbs all tucked inside his shell while his head poked out just slightly. Curled around him were Pollen and Barkk, comforting him with hushed words and soft fur. It made her heart sore.

“And that’s what’s going to happen when I pick one of you.” The realization dawned on her.

Tikki and Plagg looked at each other for a few seconds, a wordless exchange, then turned back to her. “Yes, it will. A guardian has never wielded the ladybug or black cat, since they are the most powerful miraculous, but you are in a… difficult position, so it’s inevitable.” Tikki mumbled in response.

“There’s no way of knowing what will happen when the kwami of creation or destruction is transformed, Marinette. Could be nothing, could be everything. It could hurt you.” Plagg said, pressing his front paws against her hand softly. His eyes were clouded with concern.

“I’m sure it can't do anything worse to me than what that… butterfly did to Master Fu.” Marinette said softly, petting the cat's forehead with a gentle touch. “Don’t worry about me, Plagg.”

There was only so much Marinette could learn in the short time she'd had so far with the kwamis, and taking on too much was leading her to anxiety attacks and paranoia. Holding up so much all at once was crushing her, it was obvious, but she refused to sit and breathe. Everything needed to be put in the right place for when things went wrong. Everything needed to be prepared, everything needed to be written down. It was the closest thing she had to a guide.

Because of this, she could tell the kwamis were holding back. There were some things they knew she wasn’t ready for, and Marinette didn’t think she was prepared to challenge them for it. But knowing there was potentially vital information right out of her reach made her heart race, it made her hands start to shake. How could she be ready for anything if she didn’t know everything? It was best to reassure them all that there was nothing to worry about.

There was a blur of motion, then she watched the black cat kwami zip through the air in front of her to the skylight overhead, then out to the balcony above. If she wasn’t mistaken, he was shaking as he flew.

Marinette looked at Tikki, who was also starring after Plagg with a sad frown. “Did I say something?” She asked softly.

Tikki shook her head, “Not in the way you think.” she tried to comfort, then lifted into the air and began towards her fellow kwamis. “I think you should check on him, Master.” The bug flew away before she could correct her.

She reached up and pushed open the passage.

The night air felt fresh, blowing through her unwashed hair and tingling the smaller hairs along her arms and legs. A slight chill flowed through the breeze, raising goosebumps across her skin.

Plagg was curled into a small, black ball in the center of her sun chair, his tail flicking every few seconds. She watched him in silence, until his bright green eyes peeked open from the void to stare back at her.

“What, I can’t take a catnap in peace?” He grumbled, ears laying flat against his head.

“What’s wrong?” She asked softly, sitting cross legged on the floor in front of the occupied chair.

“I’m feeling catty, so what.”

“You know I don’t want you guys outside on your own.” Marinette ignored his response, brushing her palm softly across his silky back. “Are you okay, Plagg?”

He shot up with a sudden and violent hiss, batting her hand away. “I don’t know, kid! Am I okay? Are you okay, Marinette?! Is this what we’re doing now?!” He spat, fangs bared.

She flinched back just slightly, unprepared for his outburst. Plagg had just yelled at her. “Wh-what? I don—”

“None of this is okay! And I’m sick of being told not to worry about you!” Plagg floated just above her, black fur bristled out in angry spikes as he snapped. “Why don’t you care, Marinette?!”

Plagg must have known how that stung. “Care about what?! I care about you! I care about all the kwamis, the miracle box, even that old man I knew for thirty seconds! I care about all of it!” Marinette bit back at him, unable to hold her tongue. All she had done was care, how could he say that?

He quieted, then dropped back to the chair without a word. Plagg looked up at her with sad eyes and droopy whiskers, “Why don’t you care about yourself?” he asked.

The words stopped her. Stunned her, really. “I-I… I don’t even— Plagg, I— I care.”

“You’ve been tearing yourself apart, Pigtails. Back-to-back all-nighters studying us, blaming yourself for what happened to Fu, putting our own emotions and wellbeing above your own. It’s too much.”

Water welled in her eyes as she choked on a response. “I didn’t mean… The— I thought I was doing the right thing.”

He watched her for a second, considering her words. “You did the right thing. I just sometimes wish you would do whatever the wrong thing is, too.” he said, then continued before she could question it. “Sit down and do nothing for a while. Go to sleep at nine. Let yourself be selfish, Kid, if that’s what it means to care about yourself. It’s a kwamis job to care for their guardian, too.”

Tears slowly rolled from her cheeks, quickly turning to a steady pour from her eyes. Marinette sniffled, wiping the heel of her palm against her face in a vain attempt to dry her skin. “Th-there’s so m-many of you… and s-so much to do, I-I just want to keep you all safe, and—”

“We’re safe, Marinette. No one else knows where the miracle box is, and you’re going to make sure it stays that way.” Plagg said, tail wrapping reassuringly around her wrist. “There’s a lot of us, sure, but we can manage on our own. And you have all the time in the world to do everything there is to do.” He gently rubbed his face against her hand as he purred, just like a real cat would. “You freak out too much, Pigtails.”

She had no response to that. It was true.

“So don’t tell me not to worry about you.” His voice was weaker now, wavering like he was also fighting against a wave of emotion.

“I’m sorry.” She sighed, still wiping tears from her face. “I just want to do this the right way, so I try to control it all, and I freak myself out. I want to be a guardian, and be there for you all, b-but, I—” Marinette trailed off momentarily, “I just want to be Marinette, too.”

Plagg gave her a small smile. “I’ve been telling you since you saved us, this isn’t your fight. You're not in charge of controlling it all. You don’t deserve to go through this, but I won’t stop you from going forward.” He took a deep breath then gave a resolute nod, before diving back inside the room below. He reappeared moments later with a smooth black ring in his paws, and a crowd of kwamis all poking their heads out of the balcony door.

Plagg held out the ring to her and spoke, “I, Plagg, the kwami of destruction, ask you, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, to wield the ring of the black cat. Using it, you will protect the kwamis in your care, you will reclaim the stolen butterfly and lost peacock miraculous, you will enlist the help of a ladybug holder, and you will rest when you need to.” The words had the same effect as the ones Master Fu had spoken at the Pont des Arts, only both she and Plagg started to gently glow.

Marinette reached out slowly, still convinced the kwami would yank back the jewel at the final moment, explaining to her that she wasn’t worthy at all. Instead, he happily let her take the ring, even purring just slightly when her hand brushed his chin.

She slid the cold, black ring onto her right pointer finger, intrigued that it had the same weightless feeling that the earrings had. A dim, green glow passed over the jewelry and Marinette watched as it changed to an iridescent silver, and a small flower replaced the paw centerpiece. She twisted it slowly with her thumb, eyeing over the camouflaged details. Unless someone knew to really look, it truly seemed like any other ordinary ring.

“It’s never too late, Pigtails. You can always back out.” Plagg spoke gently, his eyes darting between her and the ring. It was her decision, her choice.

“I accept.” She spoke, igniting a bright change in the steady glow encompassing them. The light burst in a flash, passing over the guardian and her kwamis, solidifying their connection. As it subsided, Marinette blinked open her eyes to find nothing had truly changed. Except for the feeling.

This felt final, like a decision set in stone. She was the holder of the black cat. She was the guardian.

She turned to the kwami audience, smiling softly at them. They returned her smile with cheers and congratulations, some of the more emotional kwamis genuinely brimming with tears.

“Oh, we’re so proud of you!” Ziggy bleated.

“You’re destined for great things, Marinette!” The mouse kwami squeaked.

“Never before have we had a guardian so young and with such potential. Under careful guidance she will go far.” Even Stompp seemed genuinely happy for the girl.

Marinette let herself bask in their praises, just for the moment. A happy laugh rose from her throat, one she didn’t try to deny. “Do you guys think I’m ready?” She smiled, hands passing from kwami to kwami as she pet them.

“As ready as you can be for now. You’ll learn on the job, chickie!” Orikko clucked warmly, pushing his feathered head into her palm. The other kwamis agreed, slowly gaining energy in the space around her. Soon they were bouncing in the air, some singing and dancing in excitement.

“Guys, guys! Shh, come on, let’s take the party inside.” Marinette hushed, waving the group inside. The kwamis giggled among themselves and drifted back into her room, followed quickly by their guardian. “Thank you, Plagg. It actually feels… kind of real, now.” She whispered to the black cat as she latched closed the trapdoor.

“It wasn’t me, Marinette. All I did was ask something of you. You’re the one who chose us, we should be thanking you.” He said, when another squeal rang out.

She huffed in annoyance, gave him a small peck on the forehead, then climbed to the ground floor of her bedroom and glared at the kwamis in warning. They quieted, and she pressed an ear to the floor to listen for her parents. The muffled sounds of a video game sounded from beneath them, signaling they hadn’t heard. Marinette turned back to the kwamis, ready to scold, when she finally focused on what her tiny gods were looking at.

Where the Miracle Box used to sit, there was now a bonsai tree, nestled inside an intricately designed pot. On thick bands around the vase was the same pattern that used to be on the top of the box, but that was the only thing that looked similar between them.

“What… is that?” Marinette gasped as she crossed towards the plant.

“The Miracle Box! My liege, it has accepted you!” Pollen buzzed with joy, flying in fast circles around her head.

“The Miracle Tree, you mean.” Plagg meowed at the bee while nuzzling into his holder's shoulder. “It’s all yours kid.”

She reached out a hand, rustling the orange-pink leaves that sprouted in eager clusters across the branches. At the base of the tree, engraved into the trunk, was a yin-yang symbol with the marking of the cat and ladybug balanced between each other. Arched above it was the fox, turtle, and bee, with the butterfly and peacock on either end. The growth above was occupied by the zodiac kwamis, each one laying claim to their own bushel of leaves.

The plant was gorgeous. If she didn’t know better, she would have assumed it to be an expensive gift or invaluable family heirloom. In some weird ways, it kind of was.

There was only one blemish.

“It’s rotting.” Marinette muttered, mostly to herself, as she studied the tree. Surrounding the butterfly and peacock markings were deep gouges, threaded with dark veins. They seemed empty and lifeless when compared to the other miraculous along the tree. Corrupted, almost.

“It’s hurt.” Tikki chirped, popping into place beside Plagg. “Nooroo and Duusu are essentially dead– or dying, according to your Miracle Tree, which is what’s causing that damage.” The bug flew closer to the trunk, extending a small arm to test the bark. “We’ve never seen a Miracle Box like this before.”

She almost sounded impressed.

“How do I fix it?” Marinette asked, now fiddling with the scarred wood. The kwamis were all still celebrating, but she couldn’t help feeling like she broke the thing. It hadn't hurt before, afterall.

Tikki turned back to her with a blank stare. “You can’t.” She said, flying back to her cat counterpart. “Not right now, at least. Maybe once the butterfly and peacock are retrieved, but even that isn’t a guarantee.”

“The tree isss now connected to you, Marinette. It’sss deeply aware of your feelingsss, moralsss, and desssiresss. In a way, the only one who truly knowsss how to manage it isss you.” Sass chimed in, settling carefully onto the fork in the center of the trunk.

“Me?! I don’t even know the first thing about plant care! Do I need to go get fertilizer? Wait, first, I need to make a list of everything I’ll need so I can go to the store— Shoot, do we still have those gardening gloves Maman bought a few years ago? Where would she put— No, no, we gave those to Nonna for her birthday…” Marinette started to ramble, already beginning to pace around her room.

“Pigtails!” Plagg interrupted, pausing her spiral. “It’s magic. It’s a magic tree. You don’t need fertilizer, or gloves, or whatever else you’re already thinking of buying.”

“Oh.” That’s simple. Why couldn’t it all be that simple? She went back to the potted plant, then took a deep breath and heaved it up from the floor. Straining, she slowly carried it across the room, then hoisted it onto her desk. She’d find a more permanent place for it later.

A cheerful tune began from the computer behind her, bringing her attention to Fluff, Mullo, and Daizzi fiddling with the speaker and song settings. Xuppu and Roaar were spinning and bouncing in rhythm with the music, tails swaying with glee. Even Longg and Kaalki, always the serious and sometimes uptight, looked like they were enjoying themselves.

“Master Marinette?” Wayzz spoke up from behind Marinette, the seemingly only kwami not partaking in the festivities.

“Hm? Something wrong, Wayzz?” She reached for the chair sitting at the computer, pulling it over and taking a seat as she talked with the turtle. Even in her private time with him, he hadn’t said much.

“Well, Its… uhm… You’re aware I was Master Fu's personal kwami.” He began, settling on one of the miniature cushions. “He wasn’t a perfect guardian. But he tried very hard, and… and he would–,” Wayzz swallowed, fighting emotion. “He would be very proud of you.”

It meant more than she realized it would. When Wayzz looked up to meet his guardians eyes, she was crying again, eyes red and puffy with tears.

“Thank you, Wayzz. I really needed to hear that.” She gave a breathy laugh, happy tears trailing down her cheeks. The turtle kwami flew upwards, pressing himself in a loving hug against the side of her face. Marinette returned it with a cupped palm.

“Its not a real party until theres a group hug!” Barkk yipped from the pretend dance floor, inciting the kwamis to swarm Marinette. They coated her head, arms, and torso, all purring and giggling as they wrapped their tiny limbs around her.

Her first highschool party, and she got to spend it with gods. ---

The idea of going to school felt equivalent to some kind of death sentence. How is she supposed to be the Marinette they had known before? Everything is different now. She is different now.

‘You’re still Marinette Dupain-Cheng, a normal girl with a normal life.’ She reassured herself in thought, but the feeling remained. ‘Marinette Dupain-Cheng, guardian of the miraculous, soon to be protector of Paris. Normal girl with a normal life.’

Laying partially awake in bed, her thumb lazily toyed with the miraculous ring that now resided on her pointer. She was quickly falling into the habit of checking to make sure it was still on her hand when she woke up. She found it reassuring. The sun was slowly rising, and was currently settled perfectly to glare through the trapdoor above her bed and into her eyes. Blindingly so. She groaned at the brightness suddenly attacking her vision, but sealing her eyelids shut did little to filter the light.

It was time to get up and get ready anyway. Although, being late was definitely more of a ‘Marinette Dupain-Cheng’ move. She debated it internally for a few seconds before climbing the ladder from her bed to the floor below. Her parents had been nice enough to let her miss the first week, the least she could do was try to be on time her first day back.

Kwamis were already busy floating throughout the room, each fairly settled into their new routine. It was hard to keep track of them all at once, but they tried to stay near the Miracle Tree as much as possible, which helped. Sass and Wayzz were flying from kwami to kwami, scribbling down drink orders for the morning. Marinette had taught the two how to use the kettle and coffee maker in the kitchen, and had shown them any other beverage options they might want. She trusted the two (seemingly) most responsible kwamis, and had made them promise to only use it if her parents were working in the bakery. Longg and Tikki would be in charge of the remaining kwamis.

“Finally awake, Pigtails?” The recognizable sour meow rang out through the room as the black cat kwami floated through the air to his holders’ side. His eyes were cloudy with sleep, so he clearly had also ‘finally’ woken up. Marinette was too drowsy to tease, luckily for him.

“Mmm… ‘morning Plagg.” She responded through a lengthy yawn, miraculous wielding hand coming up to cover her gaping mouth. She stood herself in front of her mirror, sleep-disheveled hair in messy knots down her shoulder, and eye bags reflecting back to her in all their glory. In all honesty, she hardly looked like Marinette these days. Even worse, she was starting to think that wasn’t a bad thing.

“Wow! You look like shit.” Plagg chirped, stilling in the air beside Marinette and watching her painstakingly comb through her bed head in the mirror.

“Yeah… I do, don’t I?”

He gave her a weary look before responding, “Don’t worry Kid, that’s why I’m here.”

“Oh yeah? You gonna brush my hair for me?” Marinette smirked, playfully batting at the kwami with her free hand as she untangled the last sections of dark hair.

“I was thinking more along the lines of supervi—sing… Marinette, what’s wrong?” The cats voice trailed off as he spoke, and he turned from watching her reflection to floating directly in front of her.

Marinette watched her reflection closely, eyes wide in what looked like shock, maybe confusion. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, like she was grasping for what to say. She settled for, “Nothing, Plagg.” and gathered her loosely strewn hair in a hand.

“Are you sure?” Plagg normally didn’t sound so… concerned. There was nothing to be worried about.

“Yes, Plagg, I’m just getting ready.” She reassured, voice becoming curt with annoyance. The way she spoke had a sharp edge, as did her movements as she pulled and tied her hair behind her head before stepping away from the mirror.

It took barely a second for Plagg to interrupt again. “Hold up!” He was flying through the air again, a black swarm of magic as he blurred in motion. “No pigtails?”

A bun, just a simple, basic, plain ol’ boring bun had replaced her signature matching pigtails, and a light pink hair tie held it in place. Marinette usually tied her hair with ribbons.

“No ribbons, either?”

“Aren’t they a bit… I’dunno, childish?” Her outfit for the day was being pulled from her closet, shirts being thrown aside after being quickly compared to a pair of pink sweatpants. She was doing anything she could to avoid his almost pitiful stare. She didn’t need to be pitied. “I think it’s time I grow up.”

“I didn’t think they were childish.” Plagg mumbled under his breath before flicking his whiskers, like he could shake off the weird energy his holder was putting out. “Well, my nickname for you doesn’t really work anymore.” He sat by idly as she dressed, considering new combinations or phrases that fit the teen.

“Most people just call me Marinette or Mari. When I was little my parents would call me Nette and Nettie.” The latter brought back nostalgic memories of walking through Paris, both her parents' hands in her own smaller grasp. They used to lift her from the ground and swing her through the air with each other step. Now, she wasn’t sure she could even remember the last time one of her parents had picked her up. Not like that really mattered right now, anyway.

“You sure you don’t prefer Master? Maybe ‘Guardian of the Miraculous’ suits you better?”

She rolled her eyes at him before stepping in front of her full length mirror. Hair pulled back in a bun, but otherwise untouched. Her frame was hidden under a thick, heavy gray sweatshirt, which pooled just beneath her shoulders, exposing a black tank top underneath. She had abandoned the sweatpants in favor of an ankle length white skirt. The silver ring on her finger fit in perfectly.

“It could use more black.” Plagg commented, looking her up and down in the reflection.

Marinette smiled, made her way to her desk beneath her bed, and slipped a black messenger bag off a hook and over her shoulders. Plagg flew through the air to investigate it. After giving a few investigatory sniffs, he smiled and looked up at his holder.

“I’ll allow it.” He slipped inside the bag and curled into a black ball.

“Ready for our first day of school?”

“Your first day. I plan to sleep the whole time.” the black ball huffed without moving.

“Lucky you.”

She waved goodbye to the rest of the kwamis, smiling and nodding at their niceties and wishes for her to have a good first day back. It dawned on her as she left her home and began down the stairs to the bakery that this would be the first real time the kwamis were home alone. Marinette at school, parents in the bakery, they would have free roam of the home.

No, they know better than that. Or at least, Tikki, Sass, Wayzz, and Longg know better than that, and they could be trusted to keep the others in check. Right?

“Kid, don’t worry about them. They’re centuries old gods, they’ll be alright without you for a few hours.”

Marinette pouted her lip. “I wasn’t worrying about them.”

“You’re stopped on the first step and haven’t looked away from that door once.” Plagg yawned and poked his head over the top of her bag, peeking out at their surroundings. “Really, Marinette, they’re gonna be alright. Sugarcube knows how to keep them in line.” He chuckled.

She took a deep breath and continued down the stairs. “Sugarcube, huh? I think I’ve heard you say that before.”

“Little nickname I came up with a few decades ago for my Tikki. Fits her well, huh?”

“Perfectly.”

Plagg popped his head back in the bag as Marinette swung open the stairway door.

The bakery was bustling, as it always was the first morning of the week. People coming and going, buying their pastries and baked goods, or placing orders and grabbing business cards. Monday mornings were always Maris least favorite shift to work. Though she’d be willing to sacrifice her school day for a few hours work in the bakery right now, if her parents would let her.

“Good morning, Marinette! Hurry up to the school, it’s already nine o’clock— Your alarms have been going off for the past fifteen minutes.” Heavy emphasis on the if.

“Right. Sorry, Maman.” She was heading for the bakery doors when her father shouted out from behind her,

“Wait! Look sweetheart, I made you macaroons! You know, to take to school and share with your classmates,” Tom shifted from foot to foot as he spoke, a chunky cardboard box filed with macaroons balanced in his hands. “Since you’ve been- uh— well, you missed that first week and uh…”

Sabine softly jabbed an elbow into his ribs. “She’s already late, Tom.”

“Yeah, uhm, thanks Papa, but I should go—“

“Please, Nette? At the very least it’s… it’s a good conversation starter. You could even show off

the logo you designed.” He settled on, big bushy eyebrows pushing together in a conceded frown. “I also packed some of those gougeres you asked me to make, in case you wanted one for a snack.”

“Fine, fine, hand it over.” Marinette huffed, cheeks warming at her fathers show of affection. It wasn’t part of the plan, but macaroons can’t exactly hurt, and Plagg was sure to be elated by the pastries. As for designs, she hadn’t touched her sketchbooks since the night at the Pont des Arts, and she wasn’t sure when she’d find time to do so again. Designing wasn’t a priority right now. She took the box from her dad, was decently surprised by its moderate weight, and placed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Bye, love you guys.”

She hovered by the door a second more before deciding to add,

“Also, my room is a mess, cause of a– uh, new… science project… so, um, just please don’t go in there. I’ll clean it when I get home. Bye!” Then jumped out the door before they could question her.

Perusing through the treats her father had sent with her, Marinette started towards the neighboring school. She had always viewed her home's proximity to the school as a burden, like some kind of curse. It meant everyone knew where the weirdo-klutz-baker girl— a favored victim of the Bourgeois— lived, and with her own bad luck, it always meant she was late. Daily.

Popping a lemon macaroon in her mouth, Marinette ascended the school stairs and considered the thought that maybe being late every day wasn’t the worst possible thing.

“Well, well, well! If it isn’t the ridiculous, dusty, dirty baker girl, late as always.” Speak of the devil. Suddenly the tangy lemon flavor turned as bitter and foul as the blonde bully. “Y’know, I was really hoping you had dropped out Dupain-Cheng. Only you would miss the entire first week of high school, and have the balls to show your face right in front of me.”

Chloe stood, waiting for her prey, tucked behind the large entrance doors to the school yard. She wore an expensive, brand name dress that began with a warm yellow and slowly turned to a rosy orange as it flowed down her body. Her patent white and gold themed sunglasses hung from a hand at her hip while the other twirled a pale lock of hair. Hovering just behind her, as always, was Sabrina. Her very own henchman.

Marinette bit back the growing retort bubbling inside of her. Fighting with Chloe was almost entirely the opposite of the plan. “Yup, I’m back from the dead. Could I get to class now?”

Her attacker blinked, before scoffing and drawing her face into a scowl. She threw the sunglasses to the girl behind her, pushed a manicured nail against Marinettes chest, and used the other to smack the box of treats from her hands. “No, you can’t go to class, your pathetic ass shouldn’t have even come to school! I’m the boss of this whole loser school, and now that I finally got Adrien out of that despicable home, I won’t allow you to ruin it for me! For us!”

Marinette was about to ask who this ‘Adrien’ person was, when a new voice chimed in, smothered in ridicule. “Wow, Chloe, I knew you were a bitch but this takes the cake even for you. If you’re the ‘boss’ around here, why have I heard at least seven people refer to you as ‘Blondezilla’?” Now at Marinette's side, with an arm slung around her shoulder, the third girl stood nonchalantly with an award winning, shit-eating grin beaming at Chloe. “I’m gonna guess you’ll say they’re fired, utterly fired!”

Chloe’s face began turning a violent shade of red as she glared daggers at the two girls, mouth opening and closing as she fumbled with a response. “Mind your own business, four-eyes.” She spat out at the girl, reaching out a hand to flick the lens of her glasses.

“Ouch, you wound me,” The girl thumped a fist against her chest, as if she’d been hit by an invisible weapon. Then she wagged a finger at the bullies and said, “If anything that just makes me feel even more sorry for Sabrina back there.”

The sweater vested, red headed girl cowering behind Chloe ignored the comment, opting instead to fidget with her own glasses and have a strict staring contest with the floor. Sabrina said nothing as she studied her shoes.

“If you had any idea what’s good for you, you’d shut up, Césaire.” Chloe’s words came out as a hiss through gritted teeth.

“If only, Bourgeois.”

With a final sneer, Chloe turned and walked away, followed by her henchman and the tic-tac of her shoes against the concrete. Leaving behind Marinette, and her mysterious savior.

“Thanks.” She said as she bent down to gather the box and its contents Chloe had spilled across the floor. Thankfully, a few macaroons had been spared, and the gougeres had been placed in their own packaging within the box.

“No problem. You’re, uh— fuck what was it… Mariette? Right? I’ve heard a lot about you in the past week. Everyone here missed you, a lot.” She stuck out a welcoming hand, helping her stand up. “My name's Alya, I’m a new student in your class.” Alya had warm brown skin, and thick, brown, curly hair down to her shoulders. The ends of her hair were dyed a soft orange-red color, and resting on the bridge of her nose were thick black glasses frames.

‘You haven’t heard enough to get my name right, apparently.’ She thought in passing annoyance before clearing her head with a soft shake. “It’s Marinette, nice to meet you Alya.” She shook Alyas hand with a polite smile. “Thanks for standing up for me, but you don’t have to. Chloe just likes making my life miserable, so I’m used to her bullshit by now. It doesn’t bother me anymore.”

“That’s because you let her, duh! It’s stupid.”

“Excuse me?”

Alya flinched back. “Sorry, that was kind of a mean way to say it, but it’s true. Have you ever heard the quote, ‘All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good people do nothing.’?” She didn’t wait for a response as she continued, “Its from the greatest superhero ever, Majestia. It means a lot of things, but I like think the most important are; leaving or ignoring someone in need of help will only fuck everyone over in the end, the only way to take down a bad guy is doing it yourself, and if someone’s being a dick you’re allowed to make fun of them for it.”

Marinette blinked, stunned by what she’d just heard. She was not expecting some kind of lesson on the ‘triumphs of evil’ this early in the morning, or from someone taller than a soda can. ‘Alya and the kwamis would be sure to get along.’ She thought for a second before sighing, “I can understand that, but still. I don’t need a new student getting caught up in my drama.”

“Are you kidding?! Please let me get involved in your drama! I’m well aware I don’t need to, I want to.” Alya slung her arm across Marinette's shoulder again, slithered a hand into the box of treats, and returned victorious with a pomegranate macaroon between her fingers. She took a bite and smiled, “That’s what friends do. Friends, right?”

Marinette froze, the question bumbling around her brain. The light kick to her side from her bag told her Plagg thought she’d be stupid to decline, but the word ‘Yes’ wouldn’t quite come out. “Acquaintances, for now. Let’s see how the rest of today goes.”

Alyas eyes widened with surprise, then she looked at the half eaten sweet she was holding, and back to Marinette. The panic and mild guilt was evident in her expression, eliciting a genuine laugh and smile from Marinette.

“Have as many as you want, don’t worry about it. The baked goods don't cost any kind of friendship.” She said, opening the box lid as an offering. Alya helped herself, plucking another three macaroons from its confines. “I should probably get going to class.”

“You mean we.” Alya added quickly.

“Hm?”

“We should probably get going to class. I’m with Mme. Bustier too.”

“Oh, right.” Marinette yawned, still tired from her extensive learning and practice throughout the past week. She took a nibble of another macaroon, this one, strawberry. “I keep forgetting everyone else started last week. I know it’s not that long ago, but— I don’t know— I feel like an intruder. It’s weird.” She said as they began walking through the quickly clearing school yard.

“I’d feel the same way if blondie treated me like that the moment I stepped foot in the school. Don’t get me wrong, she hasn't been friendly, but she's been nowhere near as mean to me as she was to you today.”

“Yet.”

“Yeah, yet.” Alya waved a hand in the air, like she could shoo away the idea of Chloe. “Anyway, don’t let her get under your skin. This is your school too, same way it’s mine.”

Marinette's eyes stayed glued to her feet as they climbed the stairs and headed for the classroom door. “I’m not worried about Chloe anymore. I have bigger problems under my skin to deal with already. I just want school to be school.”

“You…do know this is the start of high school, right? A.K.A the period of time people make entire movies, shows, and books about?” Alya questioned in a teasing manner before swinging open the door and stepping into the busy atmosphere. “The dramas going to happen anyway, might as well try to enjoy it!”

No one stopped to acknowledge their entrance, no burning stares turned onto Marinette and no one was whispering about why she was only just now starting school. ‘Maybe it’s a bit egotistical, thinking everyone in class would spend all their time thinking about you.’ She thought, taking another bite of her macaroon and timidly following Alya to an open table, towards the front-right part of the room.

Alya took her seat and excitedly patted the space beside her for her new acquaintance. “I was told to save you a spot last week.”

Marinette paused, casting a glance around the room at the bustling students and landing on a table in the second row, on the left side of the room. Where she had sat through all of last year, with Soqueline. Now Chloe and her drone resided in those seats, while Nino and…some new blonde boy took up the table in front of them. Marinette gave Nino a sympathetic frown, though he wasn’t looking anywhere near her. He hated sitting in the front of the class.

“Earth to Marinette!” Alya snapped her fingers mere inches away from Marinette's nose, capturing her lost attention. “You do that a lot, don’t you?”

“Sorry. I try not to, just get lost in thought.” Marinette inspected her new spot, noticing the small addition her table mate had added. A bright pink sticky note that read ‘MLLE. DUPAIN-CHENG’ was stuck onto the back, like she had reserved it ahead of time.

“Fancy, huh?” Alya asked, eyebrows jumping up and down with amusement. It was easy to see she found herself hilarious.

“How much did the reservation cost?”

“You don't want to know.”

Marinette rolled her eyes playfully and took her seat with a smile. “I think it's very fancy, thank you Alya.” She removed the sticky note from the back of the chair, folding it carefully to tuck away for later. As she fiddled with the small paper, her attention wandered around the classroom.

Juleka and Rose, sitting together like always, although now with a lot less space between one another. Mylene and Ivan were on opposite sides of the room, but it didn’t stop him from stealing quick glances at her. Kim and Alix were arguing about who’d win in an arm wrestle, while Max provided the possible outcomes of said wrestling match. At the back of the classroom, Nathaniel was bent protectively over his sketchbook as he drew. She watched him for a few moments before her gaze went back to the table she used to occupy, and its two newest occupants.

Alya stared at her with a weary look, before tapping her shoulder in quick repetition. “I get that he’s handsome, and a famous model, but you can’t be into him that fast, girl.”

Marinette looked back at her, one eyebrow arched in complete confusion and her mouth hanging open, awaiting an explanation.

“Weren’t you just gawking at Adrien?”

Adrien? Adrien. Adrien! “That’s Chloe's boytoy or whatever, yeah?” She questioned, swiveling her head back to the two boys across from them, trying to catch a glimpse of the blonde one— Adrien’s— face.

For a model, his outfit lacked any kind of style. An open, white button up overtop a cool gray shirt. A boring teal pair of pants, though they were leaning more towards a turquoise. And to top it off, orange converse that burned into her memory like a red, hot branding iron. She could ignore all that though, because of his face. His resplendent expression. His laugh that made her tune out any other noise. His golden hair that looked like he’d been blessed by King Midas himself.

He was definitely handsome, and he was definitely a model. Adrien Agreste, famous model and teen heart-throb, son of the beloved late actress Emilie Agreste and the globally revered fashion designer Gabriel Agreste— one of Marinette's idols in the world of design—, was a new student in her class. She’d have recognized him faster if he’d been wearing one of the famous designs he’d so often advertise, but that wasn’t exactly conventional school attire.

“She’s dating him?”

“It definitely seems that way from her behavior, but the first day she made a big deal about how she and her ‘Adrikins’ are childhood best friends. They practically grew up together, so they’re family to each other. She said something about having to convince Adrien’s dad to let him attend public school for the first time, called him ‘Uncle Gabe’ or something.” Alya said with a nonchalant shrug. “But that did all come from Chloe, so take it with a grain of salt.”

“What the fuck.” Marinette stated with blunt disbelief, making Alya burst out laughing. “That’s literally Adrien Agreste. I had no clue they were so close— shit, I didn’t even know he was going to the same school as me, until now.” Marinette sat back in shock, mind running through all his fathers designs she’d looked up to over the years. “No wonder she took my seat.”

Alya gave her a quizzical stare, one that said ‘Do you not see the amazing chair you’re currently sitting in?’

“For all of eighth grade, me and my best friend sat where Chloe and Sabrina are right now. I thought they’d taken it just to bother me, but I guess even Chloe takes a break from her evil ways.” She explained “I know it’s kind of ridiculous, but I was honestly looking forward to having that seat again. That’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“Only when you compare that seat to your new fabulous one!” Alya joked, but quickly recoiled when Marinette didn’t laugh in return. “Sorry. That’s not ridiculous, if I’d known I would have reserved that spot instead.”

That one did make Marinette chuckle. “I’ll live, but I appreciate the thought.” She rubbed the iridescent ring with her thumb, eyeing the flower centerpiece. “Anyways, it’s like I said earlier. I have bigger problems than Chloe Bourgeois.”

The bell rang out, and class began, cutting off the conversation. The rest of the day passed along at a sluggish rate, each hour-and-a-half long class slowly boring Marinette to death. Mme. Mendeleiev had rambled on and on about the periodic table without even pausing for air, M. D’Argencourt made the class run laps all period long because Kim wouldn’t stop cracking jokes, and to top it all off, Plagg had eaten all the gougeres by the time lunch eventually came around. So, she sat with Alya, sharing a few pieces of her lunch.

“How do your parents run a bakery, and you don’t have lunch for school?” Alya teased as she ripped open a small bag of salted potato chips, then popped one in her mouth.

“Poor time management skills.” Marinette shrugged, reaching over and snatching a chip for herself. “When we were in second or third grade, Chloe used to steal my lunches.”

“That’s so fucked.”

Marinette let out a small laugh, “Right? Jokes on her though, my mom would make me traditional chinese meals. Imagine eight year old Chloe eating tofu for the first time.”

Alya snorted at the thought, then looked around the room with realization. “Speaking of, where is she? She almost always comes to bother me at lunch.” ---

Public school was almost nothing like he had expected. Even after everything Chloe had told him throughout all the years, nothing would have prepared him. It was… weird being recognized in public. The first day people had flocked around him in crowds, all pleading for pictures and autographs. When class began, he would mess up attendance out of pure confusion, or he’d get lost trying to find a book in the library. Adrien stuck out from the rest of the class like a sore thumb, even though he had joined at the beginning of the school year like everyone else.

Truth be told, he mostly had himself to blame for the latter problem. After a week of his childhood friend endlessly berating his father, Adrien had been allowed to attend school. He had stayed by Chloe’s side each day like she was his security blanket, and when he wasn’t stuck to her, she was undoubtedly stuck to him. Walking beside him in every hallway, sitting beside him in every class they had together, and practically hissing at anyone that approached them.

The other students had been nice enough, asked his name if they hadn’t already known it, and said good morning when they passed by, but they all seemed a bit weary of him. Like he was someone to avoid, to be scared of. Someone you didn’t want to be around. It wasn’t the impression Adrien had been wanting to give.

Despite that, he had made one new friend. In Mme. Bustiers class, a person besides Chloe finally took the seat beside him. Granted, it was because he was assigned to sit there, but he was next to Adrien nonetheless. Nino had been closed off for the first half of that beginning week, but he had slowly come around to the new boy. What started with frustrated grumbles about being moved to the front of the room and untrusting side eyes, slowly turned to sharing music recommendations and watching videos together in the mornings before class began. Adrien wasn’t sure what he’d done to get on Nino's good side, but he was happy to have him as a friend.

Chloe wasn’t as thrilled about sitting behind the two of them, but it wasn’t enough to stir her to action. She still got to be near Adrien, and she had Sabrina right at her side. Not to mention, it was a… refreshing break from her constant presence. Sometimes Adrien felt like her very own real life Mr. Cuddly, the stuffed bear Chloe has clung to since they were toddlers. He preferred when they felt more like cousins, siblings even.

That's what made him wander back to the classroom early, with a handful of minutes for lunch still to spare. Chloe was nowhere to be seen the entire meal, which in Adriens experience, meant only bad things were happening.

He came straight up to the door, then leaned his head carefully against it to listen inside. After a few silent seconds, he slowly opened the door– just an inch– taking the utmost care to remain silent.

Chloe was perched atop the table where Marinette and Alya sat, with Sabrina kneeling on the ground by her feet. “Ready?” she asked the girl accompanying her.

She nodded, to which Chloe fished the gum out of her mouth and into her friends' waiting hands. Sabrina carefully took the chewed wad of gum, obviously hesitant to even touch it, and practically threw it onto the seat. She pressed her thumb against it, then smeared the sticky substance across the surface. Her eyebrows were quivering with nerves as she did so.

“Perfect, Brina! God, this is going to be so funny.” Chloe clapped her hands in quick succession as she praised, voice thick with amusement.

“Chloe? What are you doing to Marinette's seat?” Adrien interrupted, stepping inside the classroom with a concerned expression. The two girls turned to look at him, first both in surprise, then one in guilt and the other is annoyance.

“I'm just commanding a little respect from certain brats. Go back outside, Adrikins, you’re not involved in this.” Chloe rolled her eyes as she disregarded him.

“What? How is this about respect?” Adrien asked, walking closer to the bench. He kneeled beside Sabrina, nudging aside Chloe to reach the tampered chair. “I thought you were above childish pranks, Chlo.” He frowned at her, inspecting the gummy seat with a cautious hand.

“I’m not above anything when it comes to Dupain-Cheng.” She grumbled in response, but made no effort to stop the boy.

“Nino told me about your weird vendetta against her. Is she that girl in all those stories you’ve told me? The one that you say hates you?” Adrien huffed, now prodding at the gum with a tissue covered finger.

Chloe shuffled her feet uneasily in response.

“I thought so. I love you Chloe, but the only brat I see here is you.”

The classroom door swung open behind them, followed by an exasperated gasp. Before Adrien could turn and open his mouth to explain, Alya had pulled him from the floor, first clenched into the neck of his shirt. The rest of their class stood behind her in the doorway, eagerly watching.

“What are you blonde bitches doing now?!” She demanded. Chloe stepped back, shielding behind Sabrina as Adrien was ambushed. Seeing Alyas' furious expression only made the two girls laugh.

“I wasn’t—!” He began, only to get interrupted.

“Oh, really mature you three. Gum in her seat! What’s next, gonna start pulling her hair and stealing her lunch too?” Alya shoved him backwards with a pointed look at Chloe, throwing the boy into Ninos arms, who jumped to his defense.

“Woah, woah! He didn’t do anything, Adrien’s a good dude, alright? Just hear him out.” The taller boy argued, helping to steady his friend with two hands on his shoulders. Adrien shot him a grateful smile.

“I saw it with my own eyes, he was literally sticking it to her chair when we walked—”

“I was trying to remove it!” Adrien stressed, hands raising to pinch and pull at the back of his neck. A nervous habit he’d developed since Maman passed.

“See, he was just trying to help.”

“We didn’t ask for his help.” Alya was inches away from Ninos face, with clenched fists at the ready by her sides.

Marinette stepped behind her, hand tugging gently at her arm in an attempt to alleviate the tension. “It’s fine, Alya. The damage is already done anyways, just leave it.” She whispered into her ear, eyes glued to the two boys. Adrien stared back at her, his eyes a mixture of cautious hope and guilt-racked pity. Even if he was telling the truth, and removing the gum, part of him still felt responsible for it.

Alya gave her a unsure side eye, but ultimately heaved a frustrated sigh. “Fine, fine. Just get out of our way.” She huffed, waving away the two boys with a scornful glare. Nino gave her a weary look before leading Adrien away to their respective bench.

The growing crowd of students dispersed, settling into their own seats with nosy whispers as the passing period transitioned to an end. Marinette reached down to inspect her side of the bench, now ruined with seemingly invulnerable gum, and frowned as she quickly gathered tissues to layer over top of it.

“I’ll clean it off, I swear.” Alya said, reading her expression. She reached out a hand to rest on Marinette's shoulder in a friendly gesture, something that said ‘I’m sorry, that sucked.’ or ‘Don’t worry, it’s okay.’, neither of which Marinette needed to hear.

“Don't worry about it.” She sighed, taking her seat with great care to avoid the gum. "Thanks for standing up for me again, Alya." Marinette turned to look at the girl as she took her seat beside her, "You're a good friend."

Alyas mouth formed a small 'o' in surprise, then spread into a big smile. She hooked an arm around her new friends hip, and pulled her into a tight bear-hug. "Of course, girl!" ---

Normally, rain wouldn’t deter her from the quick minute long jog across the street to her home. But this was a steady downpour, bringing fat drops that bounced off your head like marbles. Dirty water pooled at the curbside and threatened to flood the streets. A few seconds out under the clouds would waterlog her, undoubtedly.

Accompanying the constant drumming of the rain was the frequent crack and boom of thunder in the distance, paired with a bright flash of lightning. Each time another light struck, it would reflect from the sky onto the wet pavement, followed by the familiar thundering clap ringing out soon after.

It was the kind of storm Marinette would love, were she nestled away safely in her room, watching through a closed window. Now, all she could think of was that she hadn’t asked if any of the kwamis were scared of loud storms. Dogs will sometimes freak out from thunder, could Barkk be cowering under her bed? Was Daizzi rolling in mud puddles outside, forgetful of the rules Marinette had put in place?

Suffice to say, some separation anxiety had blossomed in her weeks with the kwamis.

“Marinette?”

She jumped in surprise, somehow managing to suppress an involuntary squeak. Adrien stood behind her, inquisitive expression burning holes through Marinette's skin.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Adrien.” He stuck out a hand in greeting, eyes never wavering from her face.

She squirmed under his direct gaze. “I know you're Adrien. Do you need something?” She asked quietly, avoiding meeting his eyes with her own. Briefly, she considered whether or not ruining her sweater in the rain was worth the escape after all.

“Oh, no, no, I— Well, I just— I just wanted to say sorry.” He stumbled over his words, clearly struggling with what to say. When it became clear she wasn't going to shake his hand, it anxiously found its way back to his neck. “For the gum, and not explaining properly, and… Chloe. I know she’s been horrible to you.”

Marinette watched in silent awe, not daring to speak. Bullies didn’t often apologize in her experience.

“For what it’s worth, I really was trying to remove it. Chloe isn’t perfect, believe me, I know that better than a lot of people— Well, probably not you— and…and she can be childish and petty, but I can't throw her under the bus. I know she can be good too,” Adrien rambled, free hand motioning in the space between them. “Before last week, I had never been to school before. Because I’ve known her since we were little kids, Chloe had been my only friend. She was the one that was able to convince my father to let me go to school.”

The rain continued in the background. What had been a persistent pounding of water against earth was turned into white noise around him.

“The only new friend I’ve made is Nino, and I don’t even know how I managed that.” He chuckled, pulling aside his bag and taking an umbrella from it. “It’s all sorta new to me, you know? I’m still trying to figure it out.” he opened the umbrella and peeked out to the street. “Is your ride getting here soon?”

“I-I’m walk... doing walk—The walking thing — Me t-that. No car.” The word vomit poured forth without control, leaving Marinette in a daze. What had she just said? Doing the walking thing?

Somehow, it didn’t affect Adrien. He looked up at the still darkening clouds with a frown, “You’re going to get drenched if you’re walking.” They stood in silence for a few moments, the only sound between them being the timely rumble of thunder. Then, a sleek, dark gray limo pulled to the school's curb, fitting neatly over the intimidating puddle. Adrien pursed his lips in thought, then stuck out his hand, with the umbrella in his grip. “I think you need this more than me.”

Marinette blinked in confusion, eyes bouncing between the outstretched hand and its owner's face. “No, I’m-I… it’s just a-a cute— quick walk, really, I—”

“Consider it an offering of friendship!” He pressed the handle to her palm before she could refuse anymore than she already had, then turned, raised his bag over his head, and ran out into the storm. It was like he passed through a waterfall, the way the rain soaked him through in a few seconds. Halfway to the fancy car, he looked back over his shoulder, rain water dripping from his hair despite the desperate cover he’d attempted. “It was nice to meet you, Marinette!” He shouted over the hissing of the rain.

Her eyes wide, still in shock, Marinette opened her mouth to yell back, maybe something like ‘Thanks, Adrien! I forgive you!’ or ‘Do I need to give this back?’, when the umbrella folded inward on her. A loud burst of laughter followed, and when she raised the plastic covering from her eyes, Adrien was standing at the open car door with a delighted smile, taking his time in the downpour. He raised a hand, waved goodbye, then climbed in the limo to the tune of his disgruntled chauffeurs complaints.

“Hello, Adrien, how was your day? Who is that girl there?” Nathalie asked politely from the front seat, eyes fixed on him through the rear view mirror. His bodyguard grumbled and frowned, grumpy about the soggy teenager sitting in his pristine backseat, but pulled the car back out into the road and back to the Agreste mansion.

“My day was incredible, Nathalie. That’s Marinette, a new friend of mine.” He said, eyes filled with joy.

“That’s wonderful, Adrien. I’m happy to hear you’re doing well in all aspects of school.” She praised, then turned her attention back to the tablet in her hands. ---

Marinette waved a shaky goodbye, which continued long after the limo pulled away and out of sight. With a long— and exaggeratedly loud— stretch, Plagg flew from her bag to float by her side. “First day back and you’ve already found yourself a boyfriend! Good job picking a rich one, it’s exactly what I woulda done.” He purred with an affectionate tease.

“No, no, no. No way. He’s—He’s just a friend, and that’s it, and that’s all he is! I do not have a crush on him. I don’t.” Marinette's brain instantly went into panic mode, alarms ringing off in her head at the idea. She had no time for romances, she barely had time for friendships.

Plagg flicked his tail from side to side, saying nothing, but staring her down with an eyebrow that said ‘Really?’

“I don’t!” She insisted, umbrella waving wildly as she motioned with her entire body. Marinette let out a long, frustrated groan, then closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she let it out, she turned back to Plagg, face serious and focused. “The miraculous has to come first. Above everything else, everything, I need to be the guardian and the black cat.”

She walked forward without waiting for an answer, umbrella partially shielding her and her kwami from the rain as she made for the bakery across the street. The stoic expression plastered on her face was a good try, but the way her eyes kept darting back to the street the gray limo had sped away on was betraying her thoughts.

“I ever tell you how brave you are, Kid?”

“You can tell me once I’ve beaten my first akuma.”

The bakery door swung open with the sing-songy ‘Ting!’ of its bell, announcing a visitor. With a storm like that, it was no wonder the bakery was empty of any costumers, and Marinette quickly made her way up to her home. Inside the living room, her parents were cuddled on the couch, both asleep in front of a long ended movie.

“Now I see where you get it from. What a bunch of lovebirds.” Plagg gagged quietly from beside his holder.

She shot him an exhausted glare, silencing anymore playful attempts on his behalf. Marinette gently laid a blanket across her parents, turned off the tv, and climbed the stairs to her room.

Inside was a mess. Craft supplies and decorations were scattered across the floor, the cat pillow she kept in her bed was propped at the computer like a person, and the kwamis were wreaking utter havoc. Some swinging from light fixtures and railings, others painting and drawing on the pale pink walls, and she thought she saw some quickly hide a game of cards.

Not as bad as she had imagined.

Tikki flew to her guardian with urgency, face fraught with worry. “Oh, Marinette, I’m so, so sorry! We tried to keep them all in line but—”

“Master Fu would contain us all within the miracle box for this very reason! Some kwamis are not to be trusted on their lonesome!” Longg interjected, his usually calm face pulled down into a disappointed frown.

“We will clean it all, don’t worry, young Marinette.” Sass reassured her with a solemn expression.

Marinette nodded, observing the state of her room. It would take a few hours, if not an entire day, to bring back to its original state. “Everyone’s inside, all safe, no worries?”

The kwamis she had left in charge looked between each other before the bug spoke up, “Well, yes, but—”

“Then it’s okay. Just—just clean it all up, and it’s okay. You guys did a good job being in charge.” Marinette complimented with a smile, then walked across the room to her desk, and to the bonsai set atop it, just beside her sewing machine. She pulled it forward, studying it as it sat in front of her. The Miracle Tree had sprouted a few new buds of growth. “Are you ready, Tikki?”

“Do you think it’s time?” Tikki chirped, flying into place above the plant. She must be so impatient, so antsy without her old guardian and no new holder, yet she hadn’t made a single complaint. Marinette thought of how she would manage being guardian without the little bugs support in her ear. It was going to be hard without her.

“Yeah, I do.” She decided, fingernails digging into her palms. It wasn’t an easy decision to make. Tikki flew effortlessly through the yin-yang symbol marked in the tree stump, phasing through the wood with a hazy pink light. She reappeared moments later, small jewelry case in hand. Marinette took it slowly, hesitant to remove the earrings from the safety of the tree, scared to let them out into the world where she couldn’t hide them away.

Still, that was one job she couldn’t do herself. “I need a ladybug holder, and fast.”

#carpetbug writes #ml au #ml feline blue au #ml fbau #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #ml #miraculous fic #marinette #marinette dupain cheng #adrien #adrien agreste #kwami #Miracle box #finally done with this chapter holy fuck

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withonly-sweetheart · 3 months ago

Text

Back to the Sea

The mysterious stranger on the boat happens to be your roommate and you can't help but wonder who he is. Something about him captivates you, but what happens when an artist loses his brush?

a/n: so... this is all @chesue00's fault. dont get me wrong ilysm pookie but i cannot tell you how much this was going through my head the entire day like i wanted to get home so badly and write this i almost told my teach to fuck off... but thank u ur so talented it hurts like that inspired me sm and thats what art should do! ty! <333

tw: angst?? bc its not my fic unless its got angst (hopefully...) uhm mentions of like illnesses and the flu and stuff but idk help

wc: 5.2k - yes im not even kidding i wrote this all tdy and its not even grammar checked will do that later hehehehehe <333

As the sun dips below the horizon, casting a warm golden hue across the vast expanse of the ocean, you sit at the edge of the ship, gaze fixed on the endless waves stretching out before her. The gentle sway of the ship beneath you, the salty sea air mingling with the haunting cries of the seagulls soaring overhead; it all served as a reminder of sorrow and loss that clings to you like a heavy shroud.

You take it between your fingers, as if you can feel the harsh, unforgiving ivory material form under your hand, and wrap it around yourself tighter, cherishing the small bursts of warmth you get from sitting up here.

Each wave that laps against the side of the ship fails to cover the whispers of the crowd steadily disappearing around you, pointing fingers shamelessly, wondering why a girl your age is sitting, all alone, staring wistfully out at the cerulean abyss.

Someone clears their throat behind you. The last thing you want is to be bothered, so you twist over your shoulder to dismiss them, but somewhere up your throat, the words clump together into a soft gasp.

You have seen him around the ship, when you were first boarding, but you didn’t get the best look at him. Now that you do, you know one thing as true as the sky is blue.

He’s breathtaking. His eyes, reflecting the azure of the ocean, flash with lightning quick irritation, as if your presence inconveniences him. The curve of his lips set in a straight line, tightening almost imperceptibly, jaw clenching ever so slightly.

If you weren’t looking so hard, you could’ve missed it all.

But how could you miss anything he does, when each ripple of his feature is like a brushstroke? An artist’s slow, deliberate intentions, painting the man in front of you.

“You are taking up the seat,” he mumbles, so quietly you almost don’t catch it. “Apologies,” you respond, shifting to make room for him. The dip between his eyebrows deepens and you find yourself frowning back. “Is something wrong?”

His gaze clouds, turning a muffled shade of gray. “No.”

You hum in response before turning back to the ocean. The heavy silence writhes between them, its unseen grip tightening with each breath. Your mind churns, sensing dark depths his haunted eyes warn away.

So you stand and stroll away, not sparing a glance at the brooding figure. You don’t wish to descend into his sorrow. You have enough of your own, and the tension crackling between you is nearly tangible.

You know well that behind every handsome man, there is a troubled mind.

And the windows to those thoughts are the eyes.

<><><><>

“If the brothe bee to sweete, put in the more wine, or els a litle vineger.”

You recall this line from a cookbook your mother once owned as you stare down at the barely distinguishable liquid in a bowl in front of you. Chips of wood flake off and dissolve into the mess of what you think are minced vegetables pooling at the bottom. Though the bubbles of oil faintly remind you of home, nothing else is the same.

You can’t remember the last time you had traditional soup, from the homeland, where everyone's the same as you and food is plentiful, rich in the scent of tangy spices and fresh vegetables and ripe fruit, where the forest birds sing sweet melodies in your ear.

But you are no longer there. It will, as all things do, fade with time, resolving as just a landscape drawn in your head, reduced to nothing but scribbles.

With a sigh far too troubled for your age, you gingerly push the bowl away, careful not to slosh any of it over the edge. You know you are being picky; food is food, and starvation will slowly creep up on you when you least expect it.

But it is better to starve than throw yourself from the starboard, letting the choppy waves consume you. Hunger takes time, crescendoing pain and ache until you cannot bear it. Suffering will suffice, at this moment.

And across the dining hall, the small room housing yet a few late night eaters, you spot him saunter in. Long, black trench coat brushing his ankles, a hat you did not see that now casts shadows upon his chiseled face.

His overalls strain with effort and crumple into wrinkles as he sits a few tables away, raising a hand, wordlessly summoning a bowl of soup that carries from tentative hands. He waves the aged woman away, and perhaps he does not catch the longing look in her eyes.

She has not seen a man so divine in years. Her time at sea has clouded her judgment. This is yet another reason why you must traverse the ocean blue, to prevent the jobs piling up at what you thought was your home, near the port, where the docks carry back the ashes of your family.

You used to love the ocean, the beach, the shores. When the sea hurt you, your father would kiss the tears away, murmuring soft assurance in the shell of your small ear. Although she was nearly a decade older, your sister would never decline an offer of yours to hunt for the little creatures that popped up from the swirling sand, watching them disappear underneath your slow hands.

You miss them. Influenza never failed to take, take, take; the greedy fingers latched on to your family before you could arrive home that day to sick corpses so pale you could not recognize them.

The doctor had suggested a traditional burial,but you knew there was one more thing the sea needed. You lit the pyres, watched their souls mingle with the smoke that gasped for the clouds, and waited.

When all that was left of your loved ones was charred, ivory dust that seemed to sparkle back at you, unaware of its fate, you gathered it into a pot that your grandmother gifted you.

The ocean rejected your offering, at first. It veered away, pulling water from the shore lines, but you stood fast. And it came back, gathered what was already gone, and took it away from you.

The sea never fails to remind you of what you’ve lost.

But here, on the ship, a marvel of engineering, keeping you afloat, you are not truly with the sea. You will not make yourself mold to the pitiful, lonely girl everyone expects you to be.

With that resolve, you cradle the soup back to your chest, staring it down with defiant eyes. The ocean will not have another victim, you will make sure of that.

It burns your throat all the way down, saltier than the sea. Bile raises to combat it but you force spoon after spoon into your stomach. All that remains from your battle is the wood, which you tried your best to separate from the soup, but you are sure that you definitely swallowed at least some of it.

As the thinnest definition of dinner warms your insides against the cold that threatens to seep in, your eyes find him across the galley. He sits alone, as always, nursing a tin cup and gazing into its contents as if answers lay within.

You recall your chance encounter in the night, the rare moments of grace amid tumult never far from his eyes. Though he often keeps away from the streams of people, you have the feeling it has less to do with aloofness than wounds not easily unveiled.

As if finally sensing your gaze, his eyes lift and meet yours across the dusty space. There seems to be no cracks in his steely expression, his stormcloud eyes, but there is a flicker of emotion - curiosity, or perhaps kinship's first stirrings.

You offer the barest nod before returning focus to your meager meal. Yet all the while, currents stronger than the sea pull at your thoughts, drawing them ever back towards that quiet figure and mysteries that beg to be revealed. You tilt your head to the side, rubbing fingers down your neck, feeling your pulse race underneath your skin. Massaging the area, you force yourself to relax.

You force yourself to believe that those eyes haven’t jarred your thoughts.

<><><><>

“I must… have the wrong room.” Those same eyes stare back at you, hands trembling slightly around parchment yellowing at the edges, swirling with confusion. “I apologize.”

“It wouldn’t, by chance, be 930, would it?” you ask.

“Er… yes,” he admits with a dip of his head, looking almost embarrassed by the situation. “I suppose I’ll go request another-”

“It’s quite alright,” you race to say before you can stop yourself. “I do not mind.”

A small corner of his mouth lifts, if only for a second, and when his expression goes back to being neutral, you find yourself wanting to coax more emotions from him.

You help him get settled in, telling him he could take the bed on the right. When he’s finished fussing with the sheets, you sit on your respective mattresses, awkwardly staring down at your hands.

"I... thank you," he finally replies, his voice soft. "I did not expect to find understanding here."

“Your name, sir?”

“Leon. Your name, I already know.”

“How fascinating.”

“You are a… popular subject of gossip upon this vessel.”

“Why are you traveling to England?” you ask, finding yourself making small talk to switch the topic. “Are you simply traveling?”

“Yes.”

“Where is your hometown?” His eyes glaze over with the familiar homesickness you can recognize.

"My home lies in a small village far from here," he replies, gazing into memories only he could see. "A quiet place, surrounded by green countryside and simple folks." His eyes find yours with rare openness. "And you? What brings one so young to cross the sea alone?"

“I’m paying my lovely aunt a visit,” you say vaguely, trying to make your voice light. But he must hear the undertones of it, because he cocks his head to the side, arching a golden eyebrow.

“Is that so?” he muses. “I hope you enjoy your trip.”

“I’ve noticed you carry that briefcase around quite a bit,” you say, quickly changing the subject. “Is it dear to you?”

He laughs, a warm, rich tone that sparks something in your heart.

Maybe… just… maybe?

“Not so,” he explains. He leans over to grab the case resting on the nightstand and clicks it open. “This is the reason I am traveling, you see.”

You peer over the top of the rusty case to reveal… pencils?

“You are… an artist?” you ask, slightly confused. You hadn’t taken him for a participant of the fine arts, but at your query, his eyes seem to light with an inspiration not previously there.

“I have lost my flame,” he says slowly, cautiously, as if placing his words carefully. “I thought England would fix… the problem… but perhaps… you could help me?” At your face, he bites his lip. "A smooth sea never makes a skilled sailor, as they say."

“Who has ever said that, and who am I to decline a stranger in need?” You chuckle, and his grin seems to usurp his entire expression.

“You need not do anything,” he rushes to say, hands flurrying to unpack the materials carefully stowed away in the briefcase. The determined, set look on his face is enough to convince you, and even if it hadn’t, realistically, would you be able to say no?

He stills suddenly, observing you, sweeping over you, drinking in everything, as if to absorb your being. When his gaze meets yours, he smiles and it truly reaches his previously emotionless eyes.

“You are… perfect,” he whispers. He holds his pencil up, bottom lip disappearing as he frowns, grumbling in frustration. “But this lighting is… not quite correct.”

Leon eyes the room, then stands suddenly. You watch him, watch him drag a chair from the small writing desk over to the foot of his bed, planting it firmly. He points a finger to the empty space, gesturing for you to sit there.

“What exactly are you planning?” You ask with a smile.

The one he returns matches your curiosity. “We shall see.”

And that is exactly how, a few minutes later, you sit with your legs crossed, hands folded over one another in your lap, with a soft smile decorating your face.

“You must stay still,” he chastises, gazing at you with a languid look in his eyes, voice dreamy, as if he sees something in you that you can’t.

“You have not yet answered my question.” You ignore the red blooming up your neck at his fluttering gaze. He lounges further into the bed, hiding more of himself away, spinning the pencil between his fingers.

He looks almost thoughtful as he scribbles away, muttering to himself, lost in a trance. You lean against the dresser, resting your body weight on it, feeling yourself relax.

His eyes move back to you, and he jolts, like something drastic has changed. His hands fly rapidly across the paper, gaze locked onto you. He smudges something with his finger, erases something here and there, and eventually, he huffs a sigh and leans back, looking somewhat satisfied with the paper.

Intrigued, you stand from your position, stretching your stiff joints. “May I see?”

Leon snorts a laugh. “Of course not.”

“It is my portrait, no?” You grin. “Show me.” Without another word, you lean over the foot of the bed, over the elaborate carvings of wood, and try to sneak a peek at the paper.

He lets out what you can only describe as a boyish squeal, and yanks the pad away from you, clutching it to his chest. “I said no!”

Leon tries his best to play-keep away from your hands, folding the paper carefully in half as he stuffs it into an inner pocket of his shirt. When you try to reach for it, instinctively, he flushes a red hue that matches the crimson of your bedsheets.

“Apologies,” you whisper.

“It’s alright,” he whispers back.

The air has gone back to tense, anguish, as if you are both hurtling towards something you cannot stop, racing towards a finish line in a race you do not wish to compete in. When he climbs into bed, wordlessly, you wonder what you did to deserve this torture, to have a masterpiece sleeping a few feet away.

He purses his lips and blows out the flame in the lantern standing proud on your nightstand, murmuring a quick goodbye.

As your eyes adjust to the absence of light, you watch the blanket blow out around him, creeping over his body, hugging him tightly. His snores come quickly, gentle and quiet, not bothersome.

You sigh and close your eyes, wishing for the relief of sleep to come as fast as his.

<><><><>

Strangely enough, someone rouses you from your sleep, something you didn’t expect. Breakfast calls were a luxury reserved for those with money, but you weren’t going to complain. Missing the first meal of the day had serious consequences in your household.

This isn’t your household, though. These aren’t your rules.

And that definitely isn’t a handkeep’s fingers clutched around your arm.

“Leon?” you murmur, rubbing your eyes, savoring the fuzzy corners before every comes into focus with sudden clarity. He stands beside your bed, gaze darting here and there.

“Oh… you are awake,” he says as he isn’t the reason it is so.

“You woke me,” you state blankly, blinking up at him.

“I suppose… well,” he mutters, then sighs, shaking his head. “Never mind that.”

“How often does this happen?” you ask quietly, sitting up. “Are you plagued by night horrors?”

“I am not a child!” he snaps, then immediately softens, regret pooling in his eyes. “It is just… I thought you had left…”

“Yet I am here, no?” you say, slightly bemused. The tips of Leon’s ears turn a salmon pink as he lets out a shuddering breath, nodding.

“I see that,” he says with a small smile, sitting beside you, leaving enough space to respect your privacy. You return one with just as much carefully measured emotion, not wanting to scare him away, wanting him to open up.

As gray dawn spreads its thin wings slowly over calm waters, he recollects himself. He tells you fragments of his past, picking up pieces of his past until it fits into a puzzle perfectly. An orphan, talent stripped from him by the urge to survive.

You faintly think that he should also be a writer, because the way he tells his story is akin to the way an author paints a scene with just words. You can see his parents in the shadows, echoing in his laugh, in the slant of his nose, the pucker of his chin.

He shrugs, twisting to face you. “I almost died, there, on the streets.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

His eyes meet yours, “So am I.”

Seeing him in such a vulnerable state, you can’t help but feel inclined to share what truly happened to you as well.

“I’m not… just visiting my aunt.”

A ghost of a smile graces his lips. “I was thinking as much. Tell me, what is the true purpose of your visit.”

“My family recently passed from influenza. Only sorrow trails me in the States. Perhaps returning to my hometown will provide… solace?” You offer a dry laugh, but Leon’s expression goes stony as he takes your hands into his.

“I… did not know,” he says, sounding as sincere as you’ve ever heard him. “I made such a joke without understanding the full context… I apologize.”

“It is really nothing,” you rush to assure him, but more so because the crestfallen look on his face is something you do not wish to bring upon. “I forgive you.”

“You are still tired,” he says with another sigh. “I will wake you for breakfast. Sleep.”

He’s right. Too sleepy to protest, you clutch the blankets around you and shut out not only the slowly growing beams of sunlight from the window, but also the relief that emanates from Leon’s very being, flooding over you, bringing you the peace that lets you drift off.

<><><><>

You wake to frigid air seeping through cracks in the ship's walls, clouds hiding the sun’s bright smile. Throwing off your thin blankets, you grasp the warmth, hoping it still lingers. But your hand meets only cold, empty fabric.

Panic rises in my throat as you rush from the sleeping quarters. Out on the icy deck, figures hustle to and fro under a pale, stormy sky. Your eyes scan for one in particular, relief flooding through you as you spot his lean form near the rail, gaze lost to the sea.

"Leon," you call softly so as not to wake the other sleeping passengers. When he turns, worry is etched into his brows. You brush it off with a shaky smile. "I had feared the night's dangers had claimed you at last."

“At last?” His lips turn up in return, reassuring you with his movement. But you can see the shadow neither of you could outrun, not with Death stalking your decks in his grim dance.

Drawing near, you trace his stare to the horizon, limitless and cold. You stand in front of him as he lingers behind, hesitating, arms outstretched.

“I wish to fly, one day,” you say jokingly. “But I suppose for now, swimming will do.”

“I cannot swim,” he admits quietly. “I never will.”

“Of course you can,” you insist. “Anyone can-”

“Not everyone has lost their brother to the sea.”

The answer burns, searing your back in the way he delivers it, venom in his voice. But eventually, he sighs, as if giving in, and you can feel him get closer.

“May I?” You admire that he asks before anything, and when you nod, he wraps his arms around your waist, pushing you gently against the railing that you clutch tightly. He rests his head on your shoulder, craning his neck to stand comfortably.

Then he speaks again. “My deepest apologies. As you can tell… I miss him.”

"Then we'll face such fears together," you say with such finality you believe it yourself. "None are meant to wander depths of sadness all alone. But your brother's memory lives on you - a gift more precious than any sea could claim. I know this. And what are you doing now?”

Slowly, you can feel his lips curl upwards against your neck, sparking at your words, growing into that smile you’ve come to cherish.

“You wish to fly? This is as close as I can get you, beloved.”

With a grin of your own spreading across your face, you outstretch your arms, leaning into the wind, wanting to let it carry you both away. Your fingers trace the sharp line of his jaw, coming to rest on his beating pulse that lives on despite all the world has tried to steal away.

You don’t know what overtakes you, the immense feeling of admiration you feel for him, that might be what spurs you to lean in. And, much to your surprise and pleasure, as soft morning light limns sea and sky in a hopeful blend of blue, your lips meet in a kiss - brief, chaste, yet speaking everything you need to hear.

“At least I’ll have you,” he says, melting back into your embrace, tightening his arms around your hips. “One thing the sea will never take.”

But you should’ve known.

The waters are never done taking.

<><><><>

You do not know when the screams started. All you know is that they came with the rough tides, crashing against the boat, with the crackle of thunder and smoke hissing in the air. Everyone rushes to cram into the sleeping quarters, but living near the port all your life, you know better. You know exactly what is happening.

The boat is sinking.

And strangely enough, your first thought is to find Leon. He had asked you to wait a quiet moment on the deck, and you had both dismissed the rolling clouds, steadily creeping towards you while he disappeared below the deck.

You had been hoping that he would show you his art. Now you hope that you can get him out in time. But before you can scrunch up your dress and scramble into the quarters, someone grabs your arm.

You do not see the face. You know it is not Leon, he is infinitely calmer and more gentle than the rough fingers of whoever your captor is. As you struggle to look up at the face, you are tossed into a boat that hangs on the side of the ship.

“Women and children first!” a gruff voice calls out, presumably the one that just manhandled you. You try to protest, saying you need to go back, but the small boat fills up quicker than you expect, and eventually you are being slowly lowered down onto the choppy waves.

You stand on tiptoe, trying to make out any sign of Leon on the ship, hoping he makes it out okay. The people rowing the boat harshly yank you down before pushing away from the boat. Every stroke they make takes you farther and farther away, until the dense fog shrouds the entire ship from your view.

And the unexpected happens. You hear a loud crack and the boat immediately splinters into two. The women and their children huddle to one side, the bigger side, while you and some other girls stay put, eyes fixed on where you last saw the ship.

With no one to steer, you veer back towards it and it comes into view, only this time, it is on fire. Flames lick the sides, hissing where it meets the salty sea, climbing up the ship. And you see the mess of blond hair that you so desperately recognize.

“Leon!” You shout, screaming for his attention. His eyes snap to your general direction, scanning the area with a wide, panicked expression before landing on you. Almost immediately his face softens before it returns to its stony, default look.

You are confused for a moment before he quickly surveys the area. A raft hangs from the side, unused, calling his name, and you realize with shame that your boat is starting to sink, dipping into the water.

You and the other girls lean to the other side, pleading for help. Summoning all fading strength, you yell his name once more as waves close over your head. Darkness swallows your cries, drowning them in the murky ocean depths, yet in your fleeting consciousness, your trust for him remains like the anchor you wish him to be.

Breathless, gasping, you break the surface amid a sea of shrieks and sinking debris. There through the smoke a ragged shape appears, slicing swift as any bird towards you. Strong hands grasp and haul you aboard the makeshift raft, lying there to cling and spend your remaining prayers in thanks to Leon as he attends each soul amid the roiling deep, ferrying them from the ocean’s inky grasp with steady hands and calmer gaze.

“Are you alright, dear?” he calls to you after the third and final girl is pulled to safety, gasping for breath. “I did not expect this situation whatsoever.”

“Neither did I,” you murmur, spitting the remnants of the salt in your throat back into the sea, like returning a gift. “I suppose we will be alright now.”

Leon’s face crumples. “I’m afraid not.”

You groan. “What is it now? Is it the sharks from the depths? I will fight them with my bare hands, just you watch!”

You watch his expression flash through amusement, then back to pain. “We… I…”

“What troubles you so?”

He gestures a hand to the sea around you, to the drenched figures, far too many for the raft to carry. You realize this with the drop of your heart.

“There are too many of us,” he says apologetically, like he’s only hurting you. “One of us must leave.”

For a second, you consider pushing one of the girls off. Anything to keep him. But you realize that your selfish thoughts should not take control. You grab his hands, clutching them tightly, holding them to your chest.

“Then it shall be me.”

Leon offers a weak smile. “No.”

“No?” you sputter. “What- it was not a question!”

“It will not be the answer either, my love,” he says gently, prying his hands from yours. “I will be the last. Please make sure of that.”

And before you can plead for him to stay, his weight shifts and you can feel the raft rising again. He casts one more, sorrowful look at you before he glides into the water, descending effortlessly. You reach for him, and your fingers brush his knuckles before he disappears forever.

Before he is gone.

Yet another loved one.

Lost to the sea.

<><><><>

You wait for an indeterminate amount of time, waiting for the news to arrive one day at your aunt’s doorstep, that he is still alive, awaiting your arrival in some uncharted region. But no such idea comes. And eventually, the denial washes away and you are left with the loss that nothing can fix.

You rock in the chair of your living room, the smell of your aunt’s soup no longer bringing saliva to your mouth, but tears to your eyes, because now everything reminds you of Leon.

The bell rings outside and you can’t bring yourself to rise and answer the door with puffy eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. Your aunt knows this, so without sparing you another look, allowing you your privacy, opens the door just a smidge.

She makes conversation with the person standing outside before turning back to you with a soft smile. She hands you an envelope, and you cannot lie when your heart races up to the sky, finding purchase in the fluffy clouds.

You cannot find the words to thank her, but she knows this as well, and walks away without another word. When she disappears behind the kitchen corner, you rush to open the letter.

The first words send your heart plummeting back to where it was, perhaps even crashing through the layer of obsidian and burrowing itself in a place where it will never return. But upon scanning the rest of the thoughtful, heartfelt message, there is a tug that forces you to check the rest of the envelope.

And when you unfurl a piece of paper, long since forgotten in your brain, you muffle a cry with the back of your hand, the parchment trembling in your five, shaky fingers.

It is the portrait Leon drew of you. It made its way back to you.

You know, after seeing this, there is one thing you must do. You lie the paper down on the round table beside you, careful to preserve it.

You wash up, put on a dress your aunt lent to you, a blue, rippling thing that seems to reflect the ocean waves back at you. You tie your hair up, wanting to look somewhat presentable.

And you call out a goodbye to your aunt, who’s smile you can hear in her voice, evident as she waves from the kitchen, ecstatic to see you out and about. But there is only one place you must go. One thing you must do to find the closure you are aching for.

Back to where it all started.

<><><><>

Tears that are the crystals of salt found in the ocean's depths stream down your face, as unnatural as the mixture of saltwater and freshwater, where one stops, another begins.

In the ocean, you slip from your skin, thoughts descending down a mad spiral, the spirits watching as you mingle with the essence of saltwater stinging your sunburned skin. The night air does little to nothing to cool your thoughts.

Is he there? In the droplets that cradle the back of your hands, trickling from the pool cupped in your palms. You can see him standing, just a few feet away, knee deep in the water, as constant as the waves and as calm as the tides.

Leon’s hair waves in the moonlight, a silent greeting to you, cerulean bathing his face in a ghastly blue, making him seem more and more like the ghost he is.

You raise a hand, out of instinct, choking back a sob.

A smile curves those salty, timeless lips.

“You left me too,” you whisper through tears, crystals disappearing under the crescents of water brushing against your shorts. “Why can life not just be… easy? Simple?”

Leon chuckles, face softening in sympathy. “Did you forget what I told you already?”

You lift your head, rubbing granules of sand against your nose to muffle your sniffling. “What?” His grin is somehow both brighter than the moon and darker than the water you can’t see through.

“A smooth sea never makes a skilled sailor.”

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