#i got possessed yall

[risetherivermoon]

every now and then i go back to the disabled glenn, glorgan & cloakson oneshot/fic ive been writing since forever ago and feel the urge to post it, because its one of the best character studies ive ever done, but alas, it aint finished 😔

[bree-paints]

My copium where they all survive and they are an iconic one eyed trio

Also some random sketches because 266-267 have been killing me emotionally thank you

[xxplastic-cubexx]

Marvel Meow (2021), Nao Fuji | Professor X and Magneto

Bonus:

[ricky-mortis]

I was inspired by @tapestryoftrauma ‘s wonderful writing, so here’s a drawing of Mark Chasity from his fic called Sink Into Me

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

got a little carried away with this one... outfit sent by @chocolategothwolfhorse <3

[ccieatchildren]

A Dance, Darling?

TW: Noncon Kissing, Implied Kidnapping, Almost Panic Attack, Intimate Whumper, Forced Relationship

Whumpee brought their fingers up to rest on the rubies encircling their neck. It was not as extravagant as they had expected from him, but it was still hefty enough to feel each individual jewel press into their flesh, a constant reminder on their skin.

Leaving the necklace alone, disturbed by what it represented, their eyes travelled up to their face in the mirror. Their makeup was all red. Lipstick, eyeliner, eyeshadow, each a dark shade that could only be accomplished by Whumper mixing some of their own blood into the cosmetics. They shuddered at the memory of the experience.

Whumpee groaned as he made another cut on their back, pressing the clear vial under the opening. The blood prickled their skin as it made its path down into the small jar.

Whumper brushed his lips against their neck, “we have to make sure you look your best.” He pressed on each side of the wound, drawing out more of the scarlet substance. The flow of red now rushed into the container. 

They sobbed, while Whumper watched in fascination.

Underneath the bandages, their spine pulsated at the memory, and they could feel the beginning barbs of phantom pain. Whumpee shook their head, freeing themself from the thought. 

Moving along, their gaze moved further up to their hair. Whumper had asked– told– them to put the small red jewel feathers he gave them in between the locks. In any other situation, Whumpee quite enjoyed the look of them in their hair, it was as if their hair was a flower sporting red leaves, but here, their image was immediately soured by who gave them to them.

They frowned. Another chain.

Their hands moved down to follow the curve of their dress. It was a deep crimson, matching their makeup and jewellery, and flowed down to their ankles. A hole was cut out at their chest, causing Whumpee to scrunch up their nose in distaste. It was shoulderless with a high slit on their right side, showing off their leg and the scars that adorned it. 

Whumpee hated it.

They were not very used to wearing dresses in the first place. They would thought it beautiful on someone else, but it felt foreign on their own skin. It complemented their figure too well, emphasizing their chest, hips, and waist in a way that made them feel like a piece of meat on display. The slit showed much more skin than they were comfortable with and Whumpee was paranoid that they would accidentally flash someone. They kept tugging the fabric down, but there was nothing more for it to do. Whumper’s intent with the dress was clear. Flaunt the prized lamb he bought in the auction. 

However, they would prefer the objectification over the reason he actually chose this dress for them. 

Easier access.

It made them nauseous. Their fingers itched to rip and tear the dress off themself. Strip themself of the shame and fear.

Whumpee slammed their hands onto the sink, pulling their attention away from their apprehension and resentment. In, out. In, out. In… Out… Drawing in each breath worked to ease their misgivings. A technique Whumpee relied heavily on throughout their time here. Inhaling fresh air, exhaling all theirworries. 

A few seconds and Whumpee was back to their original state. 

Not normal, not calm. But manageable. Never fully calm again.

Their eyes drooped down to the final piece tying their ensemble together, the gold band that encircled their left ring finger. Part of them enjoyed covering up the scar from his teeth, hiding how they were now permanently tied to him. The other part of them knew this was just a fancier shackle. A more obvious cuff for the public eye.

They fiddled with the ring, twisting it back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. God, they just wanted to throw it out the window and watch as it got lost to the city forever. 

They slowly pulled the bond up their finger, only thoughts of release and escape bouncing around their head.

“Do you like it?” 

Whumpee whipped their head around to see Whumper standing in the doorway. They shoved the ring back down.

He had pushed his hair back for once, the fluffy black locks smothered under a layer of gel. His suit was black, as was his tie, which were accompanied by a red vest and button up, matching their dress perfectly. He still wore the same three earrings, now pairing with their own red drops. Whumper had taken off his glasses, presumably switching them for contacts, emphasizing his dark lashes and ruby eyes.

He looked them up and down, unabashedly ogling, before finally settling on their face. “You look absolutely gorgeous, dear. Red looks nice on you.” 

“I prefer blue.”

Whumper’s lips twitched. “Are you ready? Best not to be late.” He swiftly turned around, ignoring the obvious last ditch attempt to rile him up, grabbing his keys and heading to the door. Whumpee trailed behind, already dreading the party.

————

The bright lights of the venue were the first thing to assault Whumpee’s eyes. They stepped out of the vehicle, admiring the show of excessive wealth, jumping at the slam behind them. Whumper tittered at their reaction; he had closed the car door behind them, chivalrous, as always.

Whumpee turned to glare at him, unamused. He initially looked surprised at their outward frustration toward him, before smiling once again.

Whumper offered them his elbow, red eyes boring into them, and Whumpee was quick to accept the proposal. “Off we go, my love.” Handing the keys off to the valet, he walked into the large building, practically dragging Whumpee with him.

It was an open ballroom, filled with people mingling, the low hum of talking almost overpowering the small orchestra playing music in the corner. It was decorated with an abundance of gold and white, adding to the affluent and lavish vibe. The middle of the room was open for couples who wanted to dance, the sides filled with tables holding various hors d'oeuvres and desserts. At the very end was a stage covered in balloons and banners, where the host would most likely give their toast.

Whumpee cringed at the overwhelming amount of people in the room. They had never been that much of a fan of parties, but now, their usual anxiety seemed to have increased tenfold. Their skin itched as if everyone was staring at them, checking them out, assessing their worth, finding their weaknesses. It reminded them of the tense stillness before a fight, not a party. The wounds across their back and stomach throbbed, their ever present pain intensifying, and making Whumpee even more self conscious. 

What if they could see them? What would they do then? Would they help them or find it amusing? What would Whumper do? 

This was too much. They couldn’t do this. Couldn’t pretend everything was fine. They needed to get out of here.

Panic crawled up their spine, and Whumpee slightly pulled away from Whumper, hoping to escape. But his grip was firm, and they were stuck pressed into him. Whumper’s body shook with light laughter at their alarm, peering down at them. Upon seeing their expression, however, he twitched.

Whumper pulled them even closer to him, “want to go back home, darling?” His eyes were softer than usual and his face contorted into a small frown, “do all the people frighten you?”

Whumpee nodded vigorously, pressing themself closer to him, trying to appeal to his affection for them.

Whumper placed his free hand on their cheek, and Whumpee nuzzled further into him. “Don’t worry, I’m here.” He seemed to think for a few seconds, watching them carefully, before his lips widened into a sharp smile. “As much as I would love to go back home with you,” he mockingly placed a hand over his chest, “and it truly does make me elated that you consider me your home now,” Whumpee flinched, recognizing their mistake, trying to draw back away from him, “but,” he wouldn’t let them go, “we prettied you for this. We can’t go before you meet everyone and indulge in the festivities. Can’t have it all go to waste, now can we?” He tutted at them.

Whumper continued to stare at them before they realized he wanted an answer. Whumpee slowly shook their head, accepting defeat, slumping down into themself.

Whumper patted their cheek before pulling back. “Kaip geras. Now let’s go, I already see someone I want to introduce you to.”

He pulled them along further into the room, and Whumpee took a deep breath, hoping, but failing, to prepare themself for the night to come.

————

The next hour or so was filled with Whumpee standing docilely next to Whumper, a smile plastered on their face while he spoke to everyone who came to greet him. 

It was the same thing over and over again. A name they wouldn’t remember, faces that blurred together, shallow compliments about their outfit, and, the worst of all, congratulations to the happy couple. 

Whumper keened at all the flattery, especially those of their dress and jewelry, making sure to pipe in that he was the one that purchased them for them, and, as they were expected to follow along, Whumpee thanked him for the “generous” gift from a loving fiancé. He always managed to squeeze in a kiss for the presents, tilting their head up and drawing Whumpee in whenever they expressed their gratitude. This only delighted the other guests, amused at the young couple’s public show of affection.

It was torture. 

Now Whumpee, thankfully, had finally gotten a small break from Whumper flaunting them off, standing on the sidelines and trying to drown their worries into a small flute of champagne. 

Never too far, Whumper was in the corner conversing with what they could only assume to be potential buyers, and, though he wasn’t facing them, Whumpee could still feel the ever present weight of his eyes watching them, making sure they didn’t run. As unnerving as it was, Whumpee preferred it over his stifling presence bearing down next to them. 

The hero scanned the room as their mind drifted. They could try to get help from the other people here, but Whumpee didn’t foresee much success through those routes. They recognized half the guests from files back in their old office, and those who weren’t publicly villains were most likely not much better either. 

However, even if they weren’t in the same circles as Whumper, what could Whumpee say that would convince them of their situation. Their last stunt as a hero left them humiliated and discredited; they looked crazy to the public eye. Someone who had lost their way and needed the guidance of some pristine charitable schmuck who graciously sacrificed themselves to help them. In the end, it would be their words against his, and no one would believe them. 

And on the small, small chance they did… Whumpee shivered at what Whumper would do to keep them with him, how he would take revenge for their defiance. They knew it wouldn’t just stop at them, and, as much as they despised it, the hero in them couldn’t let that happen.

As always, he had the upper hand. 

They were taken out of their musings by a gloved hand appearing in their line of sight, too deep in thought to notice Whumper had finished his conversation.

“Join me for a dance, mylimasis?” An award winning smile was plastered on his face, amusement obvious as he played the part of a perfect gentleman. Whumpee grimaced at the irony. 

Seeing no way out of it, Whumpee cautiously placed their hand in his, their trepidation bringing a small chuckle out of the man. Whumper gently brought them to the dance floor, joined by other couples who wished to sway with their partners. Whumpee brought their arms around his neck as he encircled their waist, skin crawling where he touched them. 

Whumper rocked them side to side at a slow pace, calming just by watching them. Whumpee scrutinized him, trying to understand his game; it wasn’t like him to do something so simple without an ulterior motive. 

His fingers started to tap along their waist, following the beat of the music in the background, while he continued to watch them. Whumpee stared back with the same intensity, struggling to smooth their face so they weren’t outright glaring at him. He seemed rather startled at their ‘sudden’ annoyance, eyes widening, before he sheepishly smiled at them. Their face must have slackened in confusion as he relaxed as well, returning to watching them. They continued like that, swaying in the crowd and looking at each other, for a small while. 

Finally, a blush spread across his cheeks, and Whumper quickly turned away. 

He’s like an embarrassed teen. 

They huffed slightly in disbelief, causing Whumper to turn back around at the sound. Realizing the awkwardness, he cleared his throat before asking. “Are you enjoying yourself so far?”

“Yes.”

He perked up. “Really?”

Whumpee sent him a dry look. Whumper visibly wilted and they scoffed, looking away. Seriously, again?

Letting their anger and frustration get the best of them wasn’t the smartest move, they knew that, but their proximity was putting Whumpee on edge, making them more irritable than usual. 

“You are going to have to get used to this,” Whumper said, breaking the silence. Whumpee turned back, shocked by his now blank face. “I’m tolerating your disrespect because we’re in public, and I recognize this is your first time being away from home in a long time. It makes you nervous, I understand that. But,” his fingers dug into their waist and Whumpee had to suppress a gasp, “when we’re officially wed, you’ll have to join me to these outings frequently as my wife.” He leaned down so their eyes were level, “I will not indulge this pitiful defiance of yours, then.” Whumper straightened back out, looking down at them, always able to make them feel small with just a glance. “So, I recommend you start familiarizing yourself with the appropriate behavior now.”

Fuck.

Whumpee gulped. They had screwed themself over.

Head bowed, Whumpee accepted defeat. It always ended like this, with Whumpee on their knees before Whumper, metaphorically or literally. They had no response other than to let themself be pulled every which way by Whumper.

Now pressed up against his chest, Whumper and Whumpee swayed as more and more partners made their way to the dance floor.

Leaning down once more, Whumper supplied their companion with more information. “Get ready, brangusis, it’s about to get fun.”

Noticing the crowd of couples, the small orchestra shifted into waltz, and everyone moved in sync. 

Whumper brought their clasped hands up and moved his other to their hip, brushing over an old wound. Whumpee harshly sucked in a breath before placing their hand on his shoulder. He commenced the dance, and Whumpee tried their best to keep up.

Step, slide, step, turn. 

Whumpee hyper focussed on their feet, trying to match his movements. They didn’t have much experience with ballroom dancing, having only taken a few classes as a joke with Bestie, and the one time Caretaker tried to teach them, though it hadn’t ended very well. Whumpee smiled at the memory: them and Caretaker a mess of limbs on the floor as Whumpee had slipped and doomed them both to a few more bruises across their body. They had been so out of breath from laughing when they couldn’t untangle themselves from each other. It had been a spur of the moment idea, some stupid thing meant to bring them closer together. It worked.

“Something funny?” 

Whumpee broke out of their reverie, not even realizing they had zoned out. Whumper’s mouth was a hard line, displeasure at not being the center of their attention apparent. 

It irked them how needy he always was. Kidnapping, experimenting, torturing, and assaulting them wasn’t enough?

They mumbled a quiet apology, peeking up at him through their lashes. It worked and Whumper eased with a blush. 

The musicians kept a steady adagio tempo, giving any more couples who wanted to join an extra moment. Whumpee slowly acclimated to the rhythm, matching Whumper’s moments not long after. 

“You were always a quick learner,” he laughed. Whumpee grimaced. 

As they danced, he squeezed and kneaded along their side, curious of their reactions. His fingers pressed into an old bruise and Whumpee staggered. He kept them balanced, yet began a game of finding where else he could push to get a pained response.

They tried to pull away from the pokes and prods, tottering with each failed attempt. They whined when he reached a fresh stitched gash. Whumpee could feel the meager string split under his pressure, spilling blood that wouldn’t be noticed under the crimson of their dress. 

Whumpee startled when their dance faltered for a moment, for once not because of them. They peered up at Whumper, surprised to find dilated eyes trained on their throat. 

“Don’t do that.” He ground out. 

Ah.

Whumpee was more than happy to obey. That train of thought would lead nowhere good for them. 

Screaming in pain would also most likely not bode well with the other guests. Whumpee sighed, nodding and gritting their teeth through his subtle exploration. Their head throbbed. 

The music picked up, pushing them to move even faster. Whumpee already felt dizzy from the quick paced movement, and Whumper’s tight hold over their still healing cuts was not helping. “Smile, love. People are watching.” He purred.

Heeding his warning, Whumpee stretched their mouth into some semblance of a smile, lips twitching from the strain, and kept dancing. Whumper relaxed his grip slightly, pleased with their obedience. 

Step, slide, step, turn.

Just as they were getting used to pushing the pain down to the rhythm, Whumper let go of their waist, spinning them. Whumpee stumbled, but he kept them moving, pulling them back in after they completed a turn. He seamlessly continued their dance, not giving Whumpee a break to get their bearings, delighting in their increasing disorientation. 

Step, slide, step, turn.

He continued to spin Whumpee every few steps, quietly laughing at their mounting nausea. However, each time their expression began to display their discomfort, Whumper would lean down to mutter a reminder of what would happen if they didn’t keep up the facade. His own twisted form of encouragement. 

“I don’t like to share, sweetheart. Those expressions are only for me.”

Step, slide, step, turn.

“Many guests are watching us love, don’t disappoint them with your sour countenance. I don’t want them gossiping about how I have an unruly wife.”

Step, slide, step, turn.

“You look marvellous when you spin. My pretty little thing. Keep going.”

Step, slide, step, turn.

“Your dress makes me want to add more red. How about the blood of everyone here, ęh? Do we want to see?”

Step, slide, step, turn.

“Don’t fall. I’ll get jealous. And we will have to fix that by adding bruises of my own.”

Step, slide, step, turn.

Vomit slithered up their throat. Their eyes burned with the effort to keep it down, despite the writhing of their stomach and the taste of maggots in their mouth.

A particularly fast whirl caused Whumpee to lose their footing, almost bringing them both to the floor. Whumper was quick enough to avoid disaster, but it put them out of sync with the music for several beats. 

“Watch it, Whumpee. You will not ruin this for me.” He said harshly. “Keep slipping and I’ll snip your legs.”

The again didn’t need to be said. 

But, Whumpee was trying their best, except every movement only exacerbated their aches and exhaustion. Their breathing became laboured and their limbs felt heavy, their beaten body unable to keep up with the overexertion. 

They wanted to tap out now. 

Whumpee tried to pull away, releasing his shoulder and stepping out of his grasp, only for his grip on their other hand to constrict. Whumper drew them back in, gracefully spinning them as he did so, and pulling them up against his chest in a flourish. They gasped as he once again agitated their wounds.

“Where are you going zuikutis? We’re not done yet.” He pinned them even closer to him, leaning down to whisper in their ear. “I can hear your heart hammering. Does our dancing make you that excited?” Whumpee tried to pull away, but their efforts were fruitless. Their body was drained and Whumper was holding them too tight. 

They were about to slump against him, give in and let Whumper sway them on the floor, accept whatever punishment he saw fit, but before they could fully relax, he pulled back, placing their arms once again in the position for a waltz. His expression was harsh, “I said we weren’t done yet, mielasis.” Whumpee flinched, eyes shifting to the people outside the dance floor, but he started to move them once more.

Whirling and pulling. Twisting and pulling. Spinning and pulling. Pulling. Pulling. Pulling.

They can’t keep up.

The music seemed to intensify with their panic. Whumpee could hear their pulse pounding in their ears. The sound of their harsh breathing contrasted with Whumper’s controlled ones. The voices at the edge of the room grew. Tapping of shoes on the pristine floor echoed in their head.

Each sound pushed against their skull, battling one another for space in their mind. Whumpee began to wobble more, unsteady feet tripping their partner. Hands clawing at whatever they held. Chest tightening. Vision blurring. Throat closing. Tired. Hot. Dizzy. 

Let go. Let go. Let go. Let go. Let go. LET GO-

“Breathe, it’s over.”

A hand rubbed soothing circles along their back. Whumpee blinked rapidly, vision and mind slightly clearing. They found themself leaned down, hovering over the floor.

The song had finished. Whumper had dipped them. 

The crowd around them released small whoops and cheers for all the dancers, surrounding the couple with the sharp clap of applause. Whumpee tensed. Whumper hurried to calm them.

“Ramiai, ramiai vargšas.” He slowly pulled them back to their feet. “I see I got carried away. This was too much for you.” Whumper told them softly. “We’ll work on it.”

Whumpee couldn’t process what he was saying, too busy trying to return to the world around them. They were pliant as he led them off the dance floor.

They spent the next few minutes leaning into Whumper as they calmed themself down. If they could think clearly, Whumpee would have pulled away from him long ago, but they simply did not have the mental capacity for hatred or fear right now.

After they reached a more coherent state, he spoke. “I’m going out for a smoke.” Whumpee was still breathless from their dancing, barely able to catch up to what he was telling them. “You don’t have to join me, I know how much you hate it. But,” Whumpee suddenly grabbed their arm, throwing them off balance once more.

“Stay here.” They didn’t think they could anywhere if they wanted to, they were too light headed from dancing. That was probably the point. “I’ll be back in 10 minutes.” 

Whumper examined them a final time, before nodding to himself. He steered Whumpee to a corner, despite their, almost drunken, stumbling. Then, they were on their own. 

They felt the need to cry, the tears pressing against the back of their eyes, but they- they just- it wasn’t working. They couldn’t. Not here. They just needed to focus on their breathing. 

They leaned against the wall, thankful for its cool surface, hoping to steady themself. 

In… Out… 

In… Out…

In… Out… 

Rhythmic breathing slowed their racing heart. Air stopping its fight in their lungs. Muscles no longer protesting as loudly. Whumpee’s body finally calmed from the stress of his waltz. 

They took a few more moments to themself, forehead pressed firmly against the plaster. Just breathing. Mind emptying. Preparing for a few more hours of struggle.

They could do this. 

“Whumpee.” A hand landed on their shoulder, warm and familiar. They jolted, spinning around. They froze once their gaze landed on Caretaker.

Her dress, a fitted corset around her middle that flowed out into a long skirt, was a striking cerulean color that complimented her eyes. There was a large collar that covered from her neck to her shoulder, decorated with sapphires, holding a sheer cape that flowed down to trail behind her. Her makeup used only various shades of blue, highlighting her dark skin. 

They felt their eyes water faintly at the sight of such a familiar face. It had been too long.

“C-Caretaker!” Whumpee cringed at their own voice, simultaneously too rough and too bright. “Wh-what a surprise. It’s been a while.” Whumpee tried to keep their cool. They couldn’t drag her into this, they wouldn’t, no matter how much they might want to.

A whirlwind of emotions flashed through Caretaker’s eyes, too quick for Whumpee to tell what she was feeling, before hardening, anger and determination shining through. “Where were you! I- We kept looking for weeks.” Her gaze saddened slightly, “I- I thought something had happened to you. When you didn’t answer after you went in… I was worried, and then the incident-”

“Well!” Whumpee clapped their hands together, effectively cutting off the woman. “As you can see I’m fine. Didn’t they tell you where I was? My comm broke, nothin’ serious.” They told her carefully. “And, you know I had that vacation lined up,” their lips stretched into a shaky smile. “That’s all. Nothing to get so worked up about!” They laughed. Whumpee hoped their expression was convincing enough.

“But-”

Whumpee sighed. “Look, I know I never reached out-”

“What- Never reached out! I sent you so many messages, you missed all my calls.” That was because Whumper had taken their phone. “You never miss my calls.” Whumpee stiffened. That was very true. They made sure to never miss a call from her again. “Then one day you just told me to stop contacting you completely!” They hadn’t known about that, though Whumpee wasn’t very surprised. 

Caretaker averted her gaze. “D-did I do something wrong? I would’ve left you alone if you had just told me what really happened.” She grabbed Whumpee’s hands. “I just- I-…” The woman paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “You’re someone I care deeply about, I thought we were close. I-I needed to make sure you were okay… I’m sorry.” Her body slumped, the rage and conviction seeping out, dropping Whumpee’s hands. All that was left was a tired, worried friend.

As they watched their partner deflate, Whumpee realized something. Here she was, one of the few people willing to look for them, and all Whumpee could do was brush them off. As much as they hated it, however, they were firm in their belief; they would not rope Caretaker into this. It was not safe. They had faith in her ability as a hero, but Whumpee had seen, had experienced, what Whumper could do first hand, and they would not take the risk. They would never forgive themself if something happened to her.

But they would not leave Caretaker with nothing either. 

Whumpee bent down, hoping to console their companion. “No, Caretaker, I-”

“You never introduced me to your lovely acquaintance here, dear.” Whumpee bolted back up, putting as much distance between the two of them as they could. The man now next to them, leaned down, extending a hand to Caretaker while the other wrapped around their waist. “Whumper. Whumpee’s fiance .”

Caretaker’s eyes widened in shock, recognition flashing, before she smoothed her expression out into a smile. “I see! It’s nice to meet you. I’m Caretaker, Whumpee’s friend, their partner.” She took his hand, squeezing tightly. They silently stared off at each other, before Whumper drew his hand back and straightened. “Y’know, Whumpee never mentioned they were dating anyone.” The accusation was clear in her tone.

Whumper’s fingers twitched. “Well, we wanted to keep our relationship a secret. Taking the time to tell everyone would be a hassle if we weren’t sure. And you know how annoying those pesky reporters can be.” The arm around their hips tightened slightly, a warning. “Right, Whumpee?”

Whumpee straightened, trying to school their face into that of a happily engaged person. “Y-Yes- yes, of course. Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. A-as you can see,” they waved in his direction, “this was also part of why I took that time off.”

Don’t ask more. Do not ask more. Please.

“Huh… Then, when you set the wedding date do tell me Whumpee. I would love to come.” 

Whumper twitched again, his eyes darkening. “When we do, I’ll be sure you are the first one to know.” He shifted, turning slightly, planning to drag Whumpee off with him. “Now, there are-”

“Oh!” She grabbed Whumpee’s arm to stop them. Whumper glared at the offending limb, and Whumpee could practically see the violence run through his brain. “One more thing,” Caretaker’s smile became strained and her eyes narrowed. “Whumpee, when do you plan on getting back to work? I know you said you were taking a vacation, a very important one at that, but all vacations end, right? You’re very important to the agency, and the boss is starting to get worried. You’ll have to come back soon, you know how they get-” 

Whumper cut in, pulling them out of her grasp, not giving Whumpee a chance to speak, composure slipping. “No.” He glared down at Caretaker, who stiffened and glared back in response, fists at her sides. Whumper cleared his throat. “Now if you’ll excuse us, there are more introductions Whumpee and I must make. Come along, darling.” 

Whumper bent down, cupping Whumpee’s face and smashing their lips together. Instinctively, their hands went up to rest on his chest, neither pushing away nor pulling closer. The acrid tang of smoke invaded their nostrils and the sour taste of tobacco stuck to their tongue. Their eyes scrunched close, they didn’t want to do this in front of Caretaker. Whumper felt their resistance, tightening his arm painfully until they finally kissed back, instead wrapping their arms around his neck. 

Just sell it.

Whumpee felt Whumper instantly soften at their touch, as always, relaxing into the kiss. He kept them there together for another few seconds before they broke for air. 

When they turned to look at Caretaker, her face was filled with horror. Her arms were limp at her sides and she gawked at them with dread. Whumper smirked, a cat who got his cream, before turning and taking Whumpee along with him, the arm around their middle again a vice. 

While they walked away, Whumpee turned their head one last time to look at Caretaker, silently pleading that she didn’t pry even further. Caretaker nodded, hands once again fists, with determination in her eyes. 

Whumpee didn’t think that Caretaker understood what they were asking her to do. 

This wouldn’t end well.

[iloveacronix]

A RONIN I MADE 4 MY POOKIE @wingsofmystery RAHHHH

[stuffeddeer]

i came across your blog a few days ago and all i could think of is deerlike/fawnlike darling 😭 someone who’s sensitive and shy, a bit vulnerable !! would go so well with any of the dazais omg

YOURE SO RIGHT imma delve into a few different variations :)

Deludedly obsessed Dazai would view your deer-like traits as something inherently weak. It’s something that makes you sensitive and ill-equipped for the cruel world he grew up in. Since he’s well versed in the cruelties of life, Dazai can make sure you stay safe, right? He takes it up as his job to look after you and keep you safe, remaining close at all times when he can be. If you work in the agency alongside him, he makes sure to pull you onto missions that he’s already leading or will pawn off whatever he’s working on to join yours. He works at the agency, sure, but his job is to look after you. If you find him scary, that's merely because of how many people must have been able to wrong you in the past! It's not like it's hard to, in fact, he could easily— no.

That's why he needs to protect you, to keep you away from people like himself. Oda would want him to help out the poor and defenseless, right? Even if you can't accept that yet, you'll understand in a matter of time. Or you won't, and Dazai will have to take more... drastic measures.

-

Dazai who knows his obsession for you is wrong will start out thinking similar things — how easy you would be to manipulate (he hates that that’s his first thought), how much he should make sure to keep you safeguarded and out of harm’s way — but try to put a stop to it. If you work in an office job or something similar, he’ll be sure to remind himself that you’ve made it this far, and it’s not like you’ll be stumbling into trouble any time soon. To keep his mind from unraveling and his obsession and anxieties from worsening, he’ll follow you home after work under the blanketed night sky, reminding himself the whole time that you’re safe. And if anyone tries to harm you? …

He’d have such an urge to just keep you at his home, safe and away from the cruel outside, but he knows that’s wrong; Dazai knows how sad you’d be and while you’d have no way to fight back, he’d feel so guilty watching you break down in front of him. Looking after you is all he wants to do, including emotionally. But maybe feeling a little sad at the beginning is better than someone hurting you…

As much as he tries to fight it, Dazai knows you’d be better off staying by him all the time.

-

Manipulative and harsh Dazai who gets some sick joy out of your timid demeanor. He’ll want to crush your spirit, prove that your invulnerability is nothing more than a weakness he intends to exploit. You work in some sort of cozy shop mainly by yourself (ie coffeehouse, flower shop, something cutesy) and it almost makes him sick - how can someone be so sweet and innocent? He wants that for himself and you make it far too easy to obtain. A few kind words and polite smiles and he knows he’s become your favorite customer, even if he never buys anything. He brings you a coffee one day out of the goodness of his heart and Dazai swears he sees hearts in your eyes. He builds up a rapport so quickly and smoothly you don’t notice the red flags (how he always seems to know your schedule, favorite coffee..) and dismiss your co-worker’s worries. There’s no way he could be so rude and flippant with them, it’s not in his nature!

And when you get fired after some anonymous customer continuously claimed you were horribly rude to them, Dazai was there to console you. You find yourself at his place much more often, spending time solely with him as your friends begin to ghost you. As thanks to the man who kept you afloat during all of this, you’d stay and help around Dazai’s apartment, cleaning up and bringing him food… and when he mentioned how lonely it gets, well, what kind of friend would you be if you didn’t stay the night? And the next one. And the next…

Once you’ve all but entirely been kidnapped moved in, Dazai reminds himself that the world out there is cruel. So, if you miss being outside so much, then he’ll gladly bring the harsh world to you.

-

Possessive loser Dazai who doesn’t want your vulnerability and (as he views it) “pureness” tainted by someone else, but is happy just watching you stumble from afar. He swoops in during your date with a friend, dragging you out claiming that they were planning on hurting you! He just wants to keep you safe, don’t you understand that? And you do. You so pliantly nod as you thank him, letting out a sigh of relief that Dazai saved you yet again. How do you keep picking these horrible people?

One night, last minute, you went out with a few friends, and Dazai found out the next day. He spent all day avoiding you, angry beyond belief that you could be so stupid! Don’t you know they’re all the same?! He’s just trying to keep you safe! You’re so sensitive, so malleable; the last thing he wants is for some assholes to make you do something you don’t want to (never mind you saying you had fun). You apologize profusely, because of course you do: Dazai is your best friend.

-

Port Mafia Dazai whose only basis for relationships comes from Mori and his ability. He knows it’s wrong, right? But when he sees you, so shy and easy to scare, his mind is made up: You are too good for the Mafia. He takes you back to his small shipping container and decides he’d be the one to take care of you, like Mori does with Elise. His paychecks begin to go towards frilly outfits and soft pajamas for his darling, expensive cakes he wants to see you try and the same kind of crayons he saw Elise forcing the Boss to buy a few days ago. You’re well pampered and still so shy and polite, which is why Dazai is so aggravated when you finally ask to feel the sun on your skin once more. He’s sacrificed so much to keep you happy and spoiled, but you still ask for more?…

…He buys you a big house away from Yokohama’s port with big glass walls for you to enjoy the sun.

-

I imagine a more work-oriented or apathetic Port Mafia Dazai would be the only rendition that doesn’t treat you like a frail doll. Your vulnerable and shy side is cute, sure, but that can be a skill. He’d send you on missions to lure and attack like Kyouka or undercover, as no one expects such a shy person to be apart of the feared organization. He would spend his time training and mentoring you like Akutagawa, but he wouldn’t be nearly as harsh. You don’t have the ability and skills Akutagawa does, but you still should know basic self defense. Who knows? Maybe one day he’ll wrap you up in bandages and train you to follow in his footsteps.

[frenchfrywrites]

it keeps repeating, will you please complete me?

MINORS DNI

Warnings: top cis male reader (implied switch), bottom Leona Kingscholar, internalized homophobia, self discovery, mild angst maybe?, gay awakening, very lowkey armpit/scent kink (?), blowjobs, eating ass, safe sex (a lil? Could be safer lmao), situationship turned relationship

“You've been staring at me a lot lately,” you'd meant it playfully, flirting with him as you've been doing for months, finally working up the nerve to call him on it. It started with little glances now and then, but for the last few weeks he's hardly taken his eyes off you. You've jerked yourself off too many nights in a row thinking about his beautiful brown eyes staring you down in the locker room.

Leona only ever willingly studies if you're there with him. He's a godawful study partner, when he does cram with you. He'll do anything but study. Usually he sleeps or bitches about something unimportant, but today he's been gazing at you— nearly unblinking— for the last 5 minutes. It's distracting.

You'd meant it lightly, trying to be cute, expecting him to blush and confess, but Leona looks scared. So often he boasts about being a predator, but right now he looks like a deer caught in the headlights.

“No I haven't,” he growls, “I'm not-” he swallows, his gaze hardening, “I haven't.”

This is not the reaction you'd thought you'd get, so your brows furrow in confusion.

“Uh yes you have? It's okay,” you smile, touching his hand with your own, “I've been looking too, you know” Leona jerks his hand away.

“I'm not gay,” he insists. And that makes you pause.

“I never said you were,” you reassure, “I only said you've been looking. That's okay,” relief slowly returns to his body. He clears his throat,

“Yeah? It's not weird?” He asks, sounding so unsure it makes your heart break. You remember this, what it felt like to start looking— so to speak— for the first time.

“Not at all. You can look all you want,” you hum, smiling softly, “I'd let you touch if you wanted, too,” you admit with a hum. Leona flushes, gazing at you openly now that he has permission.

The two of you leave it at that for now. You'll bet money that whatever this is will snowball into something more, but you're content if all he wants to do is look for now. 

-

The conversation comes back up again, as you thought (hoped) it might. Leona comes to you after gym, once the locker room has been cleared out. His hair is up, which is an unnecessary detail to note, except for the fact that it makes him look all the more handsome in your eyes. It also reveals his face to you, leaving him nothing to hide behind. 

He stands there silently for a second, completely still beside you, his gaze heavy and predatory. Your bag is packed, and you go to grab it and leave, since he hasn't said or done anything, but the sound of Leona's voice stops you.

“You said it was okay to touch.” It isn't a question. Confusion lasts for a second and then you're nodding, remembering exactly what it was that you said to him.

“Sure.” You set your bag down and turn to him, offering your body to his curious eyes and hands.

“It's fine, as long as we don't kiss,” he decides, placing his hands hesitantly on your pecs. You hum, absentmindedly. Whatever it takes not to scare him away.

“Take your shirt off,” he demands, tugging at the fabric. You do as you're told, your hands trembling slightly and your cheeks hot with flush.

Leona pokes and prods, pressing a finger against your nipple, cupping your chest like they’re boobs, feeling up your biceps, then lifting your arm to inspect your pits. He steps into your personal space— so close you could kiss him, but you won't— squinting at the hair there.

Then his face is pressed oh so close to your armpit, and he's smelling you. You almost can't believe that he's doing this and claiming not to be into you, or men in general. It takes everything in you not to laugh at how this seems like a bad gay porno come to life.

“You smell so much different than the girls I've been with,” he hums, pulling away to look at you as he says it.

“I imagine,” your voice comes out deep and quiet. Leona licks his lips, his tail flicking from side to side. Before you can say anything more he busies himself elsewhere, taking notice of your cock tenting your gym shorts.

He tugs your pants open, peering inside, then hums, impressed. He looks up at you, seemingly for permission; you nod, granting it.

Tugging your waistband down, he wraps his hand around your cock. You sigh softly, leaning against the lockers, and reaching out to hold onto his arm to ground yourself. As if magnetized to you, Leona leans further into your space, so close you can feel his breath against your skin as he holds you in his hand.

“It's weird touching another guy's…” he trails off, leaving the words unfinished as he rubs his thumb over your tip.

“None of the girls…” he trails off again, “well, maybe some of them did have dicks, I dunno,” he seems to be talking to himself, but you hum as if you're listening, “sometimes they just wanted to suck me off, y'know?” Your heartbeat is pounding so hard in your ears that you can barely even hear him, but you nod anyway. You choke on your spit before stammering,

“Is that something you'd want to do?” And you know you're pushing hard against the lines of the imagined box that Leona has trapped himself in, but the look he's giving you right now emboldens you.

He holds you tight in his fist, glaring you down, thinking it through, and then he's shrugging and falling to his knees before you.

“Whatever, sure,” he scoffs, “I just want to see what all the fuss is about.” You nearly laugh at that, instead giving him a sincere smile.

“Yeah, I get it,” you reach over to dig a condom out of your bag, “I like giving head,” you add, passing it to him. Shock morphs into frustration on Leona's face so quickly, if you blinked you would've missed it. He snatches the condom from your hand.

“Whose dicks are you sucking?” and oh, ain't that cute. He's jealous.

“Nun'ya,” Leona scoffs, and opens the condom, ignoring your bait. As he rolls the condom onto your length you mumble “nun'ya business,” to yourself, despite him not falling for your bit.

“If you keep annoying me, I'll bite you,” he threatens, smirking while showing off his canines. You tug on his hair, and Leona laughs out loud.

“So…” he hesitates now that he's so close to your cock, “what do I do?”

“What do you like?” you prompt, holding his head softly, mostly to have something to do with your sweaty, shaking hands. Leona returns his attention to your dick, sizing it up, before kissing his way from your tip down to the base. His hands station themselves awkwardly on your thighs, his thumbs digging into your inner thighs, causing a tingle to run along your skin.

Leona inhales your scent, completely beside himself, then sucks your head into his mouth. He'd joked earlier about his teeth, but he's very conscious of keeping them clear of your dick as he sinks you deeper into his throat.

He's a natural, taking you deep into his throat, sucking and swallowing around you like he's been dying to get a taste of you. His eyes flutter shut and his tail sways steadily from side to side as he begins to bob his head up and down along your length.

“Fuck,” you hiss, “feels good.” Leona hums at the praise, laving his tongue along the underside of your cock. He pulls up to suckle on your tip, taking a moment to catch his breath. His hand comes to stroke the bit of you that's not occupying his mouth.

You're unable to hold back soft moans and whimpers as he sucks you off, and they echo along the locker room walls. Thank god you're the only two in here.

Leona's quick to get you back down his throat, choking a bit along the way, but quickly recovering. If you weren't so focused on him you might've missed it, but you catch the soft purring coming from him. You rub the spot behind his ears, far too affectionate for what he's doing and how he came about doing it, but Leona leans into your touch, moaning along your length.

“Shit, I'm not gonna last much— hah — longer,” you confess. Leona hums in acknowledgement, bringing one hand to fondle your balls. “Leona,” you gasp, warning him as a shudder courses its way through your body, and then you curl forward, caging him in and holding his head flush against your cock while you fill the condom.

It's only when your body feels limp and sluggish with post-orgasmic haze that you release him and lean back against the lockers.

Leona coughs once your soft cock leaves his mouth, peeling off the condom, tying it off, before tossing it into the nearest trash can. You reach a hand out to help him up, and Leona takes it, shakily rising to his feet. He's hard, his cheeks flushed as he wipes drool from his chin. Pride is radiating from him as he gives you a smug grin.

“Yeah,” he coughs again, his voice thoroughly fucked, “I get why girls wanna do that.” Again, Leona doesn’t give you the chance to get a word in edgewise before he's turned around, and is swiftly making his way out of the locker room. “Thanks,” he calls just before the door can close behind him.

You stare at the door for a solid minute before tucking yourself back into your pants and sighing so loudly it echoes against the walls. You're so fucked for indulging in whatever the hell you've got going on with him. But if it leads to him blowing you more, you really can't complain.

-

“You said you suck dick?” Leona's question comes so suddenly out of nowhere, and he says it so nonchalantly that for a moment you honestly believe you've misheard him. The two of you are in the middle of a chess game in Leona's room, having not spoken about him sucking on your dick since it happened a couple of days ago. If it weren't for the evidence of your missing condom, you might've written it off as a particularly good and realistic wet dream.

“Yeah,” you move your rook, capturing his knight. Leona growls at your success, and goes quiet as he thinks. Naively, you assume that's the end of it.

“You'd suck mine?” he asks, finally moving his bishop near one of your pawns. It takes everything inside of you not to rush out a “yes,” showing him just how desperate you are. You pretend to think about it for a moment.

“Yeah,” you push your chair away from the table, “right now?” Leona shrugs,

“If you want to.” He sounds like he's doing you a favor, but his tail wagging excitedly and the excited grin on his face gives him away. He pushes his chair back and you get yourself between his legs.

Gently, you undo his pants, and pull his cock out. You drool, finally getting a good look at him. All you've had up until this point are crumbs, glances when he's changing before gym, and the tent you caught when he'd walked away with a hard on after sucking you off.

“Nice,” you hum, to quell any insecurity he may be having. Leona grins, his chest puffing up with pride. You stroke him to full hardness easily (a little too easily. You seriously wonder how long he's going to claim he's not into men).

“You got a condom?” you ask. Leona bristles,

“Shit—”

“When's the last time you had sex?” you ask, despite part of you not wanting to know the answer. He avoids eye contact,

“Been a couple'a months,” he huffs. You continue stroking him,

“You've gotten tested?” He nods,

“Yeah, 'm good,” you grin up at him,

“Me too,” you state before taking him into your mouth. Leona swears, his hands flying to your head. Hid dick may be impressive, but you're a good cocksucker, and take him down your throat with ease.

“Oh fuck,” he groans, staring down at you with wide eyes as you start sucking him off properly. Your hands roam, massaging his hairy thighs, rubbing circles into his flesh as you drool and swallow along his length. Even if you weren't harboring a dangerous crush on him, you think you'd worship Leona's cock all the same; his dick fits so nicely in your mouth, and his reactions have you hard and leaking in your pants, it'd only make sense to give him your best.

He's moaning your name, his voice cracking and pleading, leaking pre into your mouth, his hips jerking involuntarily, his hands tight on your head, purring up a storm. Selfishly, you want him changed from your blowjob. You don't want him looking at girls any more, you want him addicted to your mouth. You want to do something special for him.

You pull off his cock suddenly, and Leona whines openly, a “please,” nearly falling from his lips. He swallows his words when you rub his tip against your lips, stroking him, then kissing his groin. Your other hand, the one not stroking his cock, presses lightly against his rim.

Leona twitches, looking down at you with wide eyes. He looks fucked dumb just from having your mouth on him. Sweat drenched hair clings to his forehead, his mouth is open and panting, his chest heaving.

“Anyone ever put their mouth here?” you purr. Leona shakes his head dumbly. “Want me to?” He audibly gulps before nodding.

With his permission, you nestle yourself under his dick, and lick his hole.

“Fuck” he gasps, pre leaks like a faucet from his tip as you lick and massage his rim. You get him wet with saliva and drool. It'd be better with lube, and you'll apologize for the dull ache that will come later, but you're able to slip in a finger. At first, Leona tenses at the intrusion, and then as you lick and wiggle your finger he relaxes and opens up for you. He melts into the chair, his cock twitching as you continue to stroke him off.

He's close, and you'd rather not get cum in your hair or on your face, so you keep fingering him as your mouth returns to his cock. You take him down your throat, and curl your finger towards his prostate.

“Fuck— fuck, oh god, cumming, gonna cum, ah,” his orgasm must've sneaked up on him, because that's all the warning you get before he's filling your mouth. He flutters around your finger, his hips weakly thrusting his cock further down your throat as he rides out his orgasm. You steal a glance up at him as you swallow his cum, and you know you're going to be committing his face to memory, and jacking off thinking about it later.

“Off,” he murmurs softly once he goes soft in your mouth. You let his cock out of your mouth slowly, gently pulling your finger from his ass.

“Good?” you check, doing him the favor of pulling his pants up. Leona wipes the sweat from his brow, nodding.

“Yeah, you were alright,” he states. You laugh (because you know damn well that was better than “alright”) getting to your feet. Leona immediately looks at your hard cock tenting your pants. You almost expect him to ask to return the favor, but he pulls his gaze away from you, and back to the chessboard.

“Your turn,” he mumbles.

With a smile, you sit back down in your chair, and think about everything and anything that'd make your erection go away.

-

It only takes a day for Leona to knock on your door. He looks slightly awkward, a little embarrassed, but not ashamed.

“Can I come in?” he asks. You step back to let him in. He's quiet for a good second, avoiding eye contact.

“I can't stop thinking about it,” he finally states.

“It” of course being your finger in his ass.

“Neither could I, when I first tried anal,” you admit, plopping yourself down on a chair in the living room. Leona follows you, sitting stiffly on a chair close to yours. His typical lazy attitude is all gone right now, and honestly it's a little unsettling.

“You've tried it?” He asks.

You give him a look, one that says “are you kidding?” without you ever having to say the words. Leona huffs, knowing the question was a dumb one.

“How 'm I supposed to know you bottom,” he mumbles to himself, then turns to you, trying (and failing) to look smug and confident, “can I fuck you?” His lack of tact makes you crinkle your nose with ire.

“No,” you pause for a moment, considering it, imagining it. Your cock twitches with interest. “Not yet at least. You've done enough of sticking your dick in holes,” and now Leona's looking more comfortable. He looks hungry, staring you down. You try not to think too hard about how that’s all this all started.

“Anyways,” you rest your head on your hand, looking him down, “aren't you here to get fucked?” He chokes on his spit,

“No,” he snaps, then swallows and looks away, “I mean, I don't know, maybe?” and then he's looking at you all hopeful. He's so cute it makes you want to scream.

“C'mere,” you pat your lap, testing him. Leona does as he's told, straddling you, clearly very unsure of himself. You can't have that.

You let one hand hold his thigh gently, as one goes to touch the spot behind his ear, the place you petted when he sucked you off and purred. That seems to calm him down a bit, and he looks at you expectantly.

“Listen, if you want this, that's alright, but you gotta stop pretending you're something you're not,” Leona bites his lip, “I don't want you acting like you don't want this.” He nods, understanding. He swallows heavily,

“I don't know what I am,” he confesses quietly, barely above a whisper, “I don't know, I just know I—” he nearly looks like he's going to bolt. “I just like you, and I like how you make me feel. I want this,” with a shaky breath he continues, “I want you to fuck me.” You give him a reassuring smile,

“That's all I needed to hear, sweetheart,” Leona visibly relaxes at the pet name, “you don't have to know what you are, or whatever, I just needed to hear you be honest with yourself,”

“Fuckin' corny,” he huffs, but he's smiling down at you, more relaxed than you've seen him in weeks. You think he needed to be honest with himself more than you needed to hear it. You squeeze his thigh and ignore his comment,

“I like you too, and I want to kiss you,” you add. Leona nods, leaning down to capture your lips. It's sweet, and you're grateful you're able to do this before you fuck him stupid.

He takes the lead, deepening the kiss by licking against your lips. You tug on his hair, pressing your tongue into his mouth, licking inside until the two of you are panting. When you pull back to get a good look at him, a string of saliva connects your mouths. Leona's pupils are blown wide, and his hands hold onto the front of your shirt.

“I couldn't stop thinking about your mouth,” he whispers, whimpering when your hand comes down from his head to cup his face. He leans into your touch, opening his mouth when you press your finger against his bottom lip.

It's astounding how much more eager and pliant he is now that he's open with how he feels. He wants you bad, and it's obvious.

“Tell me more,” you prompt, caressing his face as your other hand presses against the tent in the front of his pants.

“As soon as you left, I had to jerk off again. I—” he hiccups a moan, grinding into your touch, “I tried to put my fingers inside again, but it didn't feel the same. It was good, but not enough,” his claws dig into the fabric of your shirt.

“Cute,” you murmur, and Leona's eyes widen. You wonder if any of the girls he's slept with ever dared to call him cute before. “I wanna take my time with you,” Leona whines at this, shaking his head in protest, “hey,” you squeeze his cock roughly, and he keens, “I said I want to take my time with you, but I guess I'll go slow next time, because you're aching for it, huh darling?” you coo, teasing him. Leona nods all the same, letting out a purr at the promise of a next time.

“You've waited so long already, haven't you?” you murmur, tugging on the hem of his shirt. Leona practically tears it off for you. The hand that was on his face moves to play with one of his nipples as you kiss him again.

“Fuck me,” he demands, against your lips, “fuckin' please,” he adds, halfheartedly.

“Get undressed for me,” you help him off your lap, smirking at how he takes a moment to find the strength to stand, and leave him— with a kiss before you go of course— to grab condoms and lube. Before you know it, you're naked on the chair, with Leona in your lap, holding onto your shoulders, slightly digging his nails into your skin.

“Alright baby, lift your hips a bit,” you instruct, so you can slip your now lubed fingers between his cheeks. Leona does as he's told, sighing when you press your fingers against his hole.

“Gotta relax,” you remind him, moving his hair to the side so you can kiss at the place where his shoulder and neck meet. Leona wraps his arms further around your neck and slumps his weight against you, his cock hard and leaking against your abdomen.

“Yes,” he gasps as one finger slips past his tight ring of muscle and inside of him. “Yeah,” he moans, as it sinks deeper into him. You rub and press against his insides, and it's not long before you can slip in another finger.

“Ungh,’ he chokes when you scissor and fuck your fingers deeper into him, curling into his prostate, “yeah, yeah, more, fuck,” he babbles, grinding himself against your hand. His tail flicks from side to side, and he nuzzles into your skin, letting his canines graze your flesh as you stretch him open for your cock.

“Fuck me, I want it, I need it, please,” he whines once you get a third finger inside of him.

“Just a little longer,” you promise, feeling him rut and leak against your stomach. Leona growls, his patience running thin. You keep your word, and after a minute or so you slowly slip your fingers from him.

Leona sits back on your lap, quickly tearing open a condom and sliding it over your cock. He messily slathers lube along your shaft and then hoists himself up. With your help, your cock slides between his ass, and the tip presses against his hole.

“Let me know if it hurts,” you state, kissing his cheek gently. Leona purrs, lowering himself onto your cock. He cries out when the tip of your cock pops into him, and slides down fairly quickly onto your dick. He takes it like a champ, gasping and moaning like a bitch in heat as you fill him up.

“Oh my god,” he whispers once he's fully seated in your lap. You bite your lip, using every inch of energy to not thrust your hips up and fuck him. You let him adjust to the sensation.

Leona clings to you, panting, eyes wide. “Oh my god,” he whines again, “there's so much— it feels so— hah,” he buries his face into your shoulder, moaning your name, “move, please, fuck me,” he begs softly.

“Leona,” you moan, holding his hips gently and bucking your hips into him. Leona goes limp on top of you, which you expected. Part of you wishes you'd moved this to the bedroom, that you had him in missionary, or even doggy style instead, because fucking him like this is a lot of work. Luckily, you don’t think either of you will last long. 

“You’re doing so well for me,” you pant, squeezing and massaging his hips, “taking me so good, like you’re made for takin’ my dick, baby,” Leona flutters around you, keening at that. He’s purring and moaning and drooling on your shoulder, taking all you give him. 

It doesn’t take long at all for Leona. You wonder if he’ll be embarrassed about it later, but he cums within minutes, without warning, spilling all over your stomach with a weak moan of your name. You fuck him through it, and then still when he shivers. He moans, then whines, then finally groans, 

“Don’t you dare fuckin’ take your cock out of me.” Your hips twitch at his words, and lust pools within your loins. You don’t know how long you sit like that, with Leona warming your cock, catching his breath. 

“Keep fucking me,” it’s supposed to come off like a demand, but it sounds more like a plea. You obey, slowly fucking him, getting closer and closer to finishing. “Cum, inside of me, fuck me ‘til–” he chokes as your head brushes against his prostate, “until you’ve cum, fuck me,” he moans. 

“Gonna-ah cum,” you murmur, as you fuck him faster with each thrust, chasing your orgasm. Leona whimpers, 

“Please,” and it sends you over, lodging yourself deep inside of him and fucking your cum into the condom. 

“Good?” you ask once your hips still and you find your voice again. Leona nods, 

“Yeah, I guess,” he finally dislodges himself from your shoulder, leaning back and smiling at you, “I don’t know though. Maybe you should fuck me again so I can see if I really like it or not,” he flips his hair over his shoulder, and you’re half surprised he doesn’t wink to really sell the act he’s putting on. 

“You’re lucky I like you,” you huff, slapping his thigh gently. Leona laughs, his nose scrunching up cutely. “Let me clean you up, and then I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll forget your name.” 

Leona stops laughing at that, and instead licks his lips. “I’ll hold you to it,” he says gruffly, sealing the promise by leaning in and kissing you.

[sinnabee]

"Never Love an Anchor" by The Crane Wives

@ranchdiip posted the next chapter of his fic the other day (tumblr is being ranchphobic and wont let me link it >:( ), and had the GALL to name the chapter after one of my FAVORITE songs by the crane wives!!!! I AM FERAL RN. these aren't even the lyrics from the chapter title but the whole song is just;;; so good

this could be a lot of things;;; sun and moon speaking to each other, or to you, or maybe to one of the kids they take care of. (or maybe took care of - maybe they don't get to anymore...)

the next line was what ranch used for the title, and yeah;;; thats moon

I am selfish, I am broken, I am cruel...

I am all the things they might have said to you

Do you ever think of me and my two hands, and wonder why?

They never soothed your fevers

And wonder why

They never tied your shoes

And wonder why

They never held you gently

And wonder why

They never had the chance to lose you

And wonder why

They never had the chance to lose you

[starwarsmum]

I made a thing! Just a silly drabble.

Alfred's Appreciation Party

Summary:

Just a fun little supposed-to-be crack fic.

The bat boys decide Alfred deserves to know how much they appreciate him and are throwing a party. Fluff ensues when Damian contacts an internet famous baker that Alfred likes and convinces her to come and cater the desserts for the party.

Notes:

Hi! Welcome to my first Daminette fic, inspired by the song "Bread" by Anya Nami.

It started as something that was supposed to be light and funny and then spiraled into a whole 10k word fic. I'm not really sure what happened, I think I was possessed. Hope you enjoy it!

I'm not sure how in-character everyone is, but I think I stayed fairly true. Either way, aging up a little means they've had time for growth, so I think it's a reasonable progression.

Bold is messages, italicised bold is in French.

“Tt, I already know what I shall be procuring for Alfred, I do not need your input, Todd.”

The boys were crowded around the dining table, Alfred having gone food shopping half an hour prior and they were trying to coordinate gifts for Alfred's upcoming appreciation party. Jason had been needling Damian about his usual efforts in gift-giving, and he was determined to do better for Alfred.

“Oh yeah, demon spawn? You sound mighty cocky, what's your plan?”

“For your information, I am awaiting a response from Alfred's favourite online baker, whom I shall convince to come and make his gift.”

“Oooh, sounds fancy. What, did you message them yesterday or something?” Jason was mocking him and Damian bristled, a sneer working across his face.

“Do you really think I would leave it so last minute, Todd? I messaged her 3 weeks ago, and it is just as well as she is yet to respond.”

The silence in the room was nearly absolute, the only sound being Tim's fingers tapping away on his laptop. If Damian was a lesser man, he would have fidgeted.

“Why are you giving me that look, Grayson?” Damian ground out, trying to rein in his irritation. Dick was perhaps the only person other than Alfred that Damian would like to impress with his thoughtfulness and it appeared as though he was failing.

“Baby bird, if you messaged her 3 weeks ago and she hasn't responded yet, I don't think she's going to.”

“Tt, this is ridiculous, she is well known for her friendly manner. Why would she not respond to my request?”

“Well, what did you send her?�� Damian tutted again before pulling up the direct messages on his phone and turning it to face the others. They peered down, Jason choking back a snort and Dick glancing over at him in pity. It read:

Hello. I request your presence at a family event, to bake one of your masterpieces for my pseudo-grandfather. A timely response is advisable as the event in question is taking place in 8 weeks. Regards.

“...baby bird, this sounds like a bot.” Dick sounded exasperated and Damian huffed, snatching his phone back.

“How would you suggest one goes about requesting services via message? She is clearly a professional and therefore I have messaged accordingly.”

“I dunno, Dames, but it wouldn't be like this! You write like a stuffy 80 year old!”

“Jesus, demon spawn, don't you ever do anything like a human?” Jason added, half jokingly. Damian glared at him, making the taller man's grin widen.

“I do not see any of you coming up with something better.” Damian was already outside of his comfort zone, messaging a complete stranger even if it was for a service.

“I mean, I guess it depends how old this baker is. I wouldn't message the same thing to a 40-something year old as I would someone my age.” Tim said, interjecting to try and bring them back on point without a fight brewing.

“Elaborate, Drake.”

“Well, someone my age would probably work well with a funny meme or something but a 40 year old? Probably a cutesie video, especially if it's coming from someone as young as you.”

“Very well, Drake. How old do you believe her to be, based on her posts?” He knew that Tim was best versed in business, being co-CEO, and trusted him (in this) to give him the best advice.

“I mean, she's pretty proficient at her craft and she writes pretty professionally, but she also shared that whole bread meme thing, so…late 20s? Purely as a guess. I'd need to do more research to get an exact age but if I search it on the batcomputer, there's a higher chance of Bruce seeing it and it getting back to Alfred.”

“Tt, very well, we shall have to go with your initial assessment of late 20s then. What do you suggest I do to get a response?”

“I mean, you already tried to message once which means you need to prove you're not a bot…so a video maybe?”

“Drake, that sounds-” Damian was cut off by Dick, who squealed and bounced up in his seat.

“Like the best idea ever! Oh my god, Tim, you said she shared that bread song, right? Lil D should do a video with that song in it! It'll show he's paying attention, and prove he's a real person!”

“That's a bit of a leap, Dick, but it'll show he's not a bot I guess.” Tim had returned to being engrossed in his work, not bothering to spare any more time on Damian's problems.

“Didn't the original video have the singer in some kind of bread costume doing a dance? Damian, you should definitely do the dance! And then we can help you craft the message to send with it!”

“Grayson, I do not think that a damning video of me doing what I am sure is a demeaning dance is a good ide-” Damian said, beginning to get frustrated with his favourite older brother, only to get cut off again.

“Come on baby bird, this is for Alfred! I know none of us can do a cake justice and you've already started a conversation with this woman. You don't want his big day to be a flop, do you?” Dick’s eyes were wide and he had a slight pout. Damian sighed internally.

“Tt, fine. Show me this cursed video and I shall endeavor to replicate the dance.”

“That's the spirit, Demon Spawn.”

_ _ _

Damian sat in his room, glaring at the video paused on his laptop screen. It was just as horrendous as he had assumed it would be. How could anyone find this amusing, let alone a professional baker?

He scrolled further down the page, looking for any alternative videos that she seemed to enjoy but most everything else was professionally made cakes, breads and desserts. He was about to give up when he came across a post she had shared about an animal shelter and commented that she would be attending and providing goods for the charity event. He smiled slightly, a plan beginning to formulate.

_ _ _

Marinette was working on her latest masterpiece, a suit for Jagged which had an English theme - she had run with it a little, adding little embroidered crowns and clock towers. A few of her friends were there, working on various homework pieces and revision for tests, but they were working in amicable silence.

She stretched when a chime sounded from her phone, allowing her concentration to move over to it as she had finished a particularly stubborn section. Rolling her shoulders, she saw that someone had messaged her through her baking channel. She had set it up on the American part of the site so that she could spread her expertise further than France and it had been well received. She opened the message, frowning as she recognised the chat name as one she had received a suspicious message from just shy of a month before.

*video file attached

Greetings again. I have yet to hear back from you regarding my request for your services at my pseudo-grandfathers party. It has been brought to my attention that you may have believed my message to be a ‘bot’, which is not the case. I have attached a video of myself, and two of my pets, to prove that I am serious about requesting your services. I am now 1 month away from the family event and need to know whether you would be willing to come and prepare the aforementioned baked good(s). I look forward to your timely response.

Marinette sighed and clicked onto the video, after making sure it wasn't sending her to a different site. She raised her eyebrows as a familiar song started up and a tall Arabic boy (man? She couldn't tell but she thought he might be just slightly older than her) began to sing along. He looked uncomfortable but determined, a very attractive look for Marinette and her jaw dropped as a black and white cat sat regally beside him, its tail seeming to swish in time to the music. And then a great dane joined on ‘thick and fried’ which made Marinette giggle.

“Dupain-Cheng, I thought we agreed that you were not allowed to play that ridiculous song any more?” Chloe groaned, dropping her head into her hands as everyone else laughed.

“This is not my fault, Chlo!” Marinette squeaked, flushing and pausing the video. “I can't help it if someone else sends me the song! I was just trying to be responsible and check my messages for the baking channel I run.”

“Wait, someone other than you likes that song?” Alya said, leaning over to take a look. “Is that English? Why are you getting messages in English? Like you're not famous enough in France, you're spreading to America? Damn girl!”

Marinette giggled and shushed her, biting her lip as she read over the message, then silenced the sound on her phone so she could watch the video again without annoying her friends. She contemplated the message and decided to write back immediately, getting carried away in her enthusiasm for his video.

>>

Oh my God, that video is my new fave thing!

How did you get your dog and cat to do that??

Wait, wait, sorry, I'm supposed to be professional on this profile, dammit.

Let me start over.

Hi! You were correct in guessing that I thought you were a bot, sorry about that. I would love to offer my services to you, but I will need to know what it is you want so that I can plan accordingly.

Also, there's not much on your profile, so I can't work out where I would be coming to? That's also kind of important information, so I can plan around my other commitments.

>>

Damian hadn't expected her to answer so quickly but was pleased that the video had done as intended. He pondered how to continue the conversation before responding.

Thank you for your responses. I am based in Gotham, New Jersey and the event is being held at a local hall. Such an important event would normally be held at the manor but Alfred would become too aware and that would spoil the surprise.

>>

Rose squealed, reading the messages over her shoulder, before turning to tell the others that Marinette was being commissioned for cakes in America. Everyone else started chattering at this point, excitement building as Alix counted forward the dates from when Marinette had received the messages.

“That means you'd be over there just before the end of November. We don't have any big tests or anything planned for then, do we?”

“Hn,” Marinette confirmed, still slightly in shock. Her mind was racing and she was already flying through some websites to look for cheap flights, and whether she would be able to take the baked goods from home or if she'd need to be there early for set up and baking itself. She found reasonably priced flights and a hotel near the airport that she could use, but that meant more traveling on the actual day…

New Jersey USA? Uh, sure, I mean, I am based in Paris, France so it'll be a little harder to get there but I think I can get some cheap tickets. When exactly is this event?

>>

*picture attached

Please find all the relevant details on this invitation. The distance is of no consequence, if you are amenable. I can provide transport to and from the event, as well as somewhere to rest.

>>

Okay, that sounds fine. Is there any chance we can change from a text conversation to a phone, or video call?

>>

That sounds agreeable, is now convenient?

>>

Marinette excused herself from the room, running her fingers through her hair and making sure it wasn't standing up on end as it tended to when she got too deep into her creative groove. She wanted to make sure she looked appropriately professional as this was technically a client call, even if it had started with a silly video.

When she was slightly calmer, she settled herself onto the kitchen stool, with the laptop on the bar and clicked the video call icon. It rang twice before connecting to a much darker room, the sun just beginning its path into the sky. Marinette gave a little squeak as a pair of green eyes connected with hers and she felt herself flush lightly.

“Greetings, my name is Damian. You are…much younger looking than my brothers and I had assumed.” The Arabic boy began, brow furrowed in thought.

“Oh, uh, hi, I'm Marinette! And, um, thank you? I mean, I'm nearly 18 but people do think I'm much younger. It's the height usually, I think.” She fidgeted slightly, wondering if he was going to change his mind. If he had thought her older, perhaps he was uncomfortable with having a seventeen-year-old work on such a big event.

“I did not intend to make you uncomfortable, my brothers and I merely thought you were older based on your skills and manner of conduct. But if you are not yet 18, I am not sure whether we are able to conduct business.” Damian's brow was still furrowed and Marinette struggled to get a read on him. She wasn't always great at reading boys, especially ones she found attractive- no, bad Marinette, stay on topic.

“Oh, no, that's fine, my honorary uncle has been commissioning me for things since I was 14 and he's based in America. And my parents are bakers, so I think they'd rather I'd rep them internationally.” She was babbling, but all of her words were coming out in the right order at least. She thanked every kwami in existence that she had been taking English lessons from Felix since she decided to go international with her brands.

“Excellent, then the next thing we will need to discuss is the actual request. Alfred is very important to our family and so I would like something equally special for this occasion.”

They chatted for half an hour, discussing Alfred's favourite foods, drinks and hobbies. Marinette gathered that whilst he wasn't a blood relation, he was important to Damian and that meant she needed to get this right if she wanted to impress him. Not that she wanted to impress Damian for any reason other than professionally!

When the call finally ended, Marinette promised to send him an email with her final designs for the desserts as well as an estimate on price. Once those were all finalised she would send him a list of ingredients she would need on the day. He in return would make sure her flights and accommodation were arranged and send her all the details for those.

As Marinette turned back towards her loft room, she saw the trap door snap shut and heard giggling. She groaned before going to face her friends. She glared at Alya and Rose, the two most likely to have been spying on her conversation with Damian and only got smirks back.

“So, he was cute,” Rose began, squealing when Marinette blushed. “I knew you thought so too! And his voice sounded so…” she sighed and waved her hands gently.

“Rose, he's a client,” began Marinette, turning resolutely back to her work station. She only had a few finishing touches to add to Jagged's suit, so she wanted to push through and finish it so she could turn all of her attention onto Damian's request. “Regardless of his voice, politeness or eyes, I am going to be professional and work on his commission without making a fool of myself, I hope.”

“His eyes, huh girl?” Alya interjected smugly, making Marinette flush again. “Let me guess, if you were distracted by his eyes, they must've been green, and he was super sunshine-y? You so have a type.”

“For your information, he was perfectly polite and not sunshine-y at all. So clearly I don't have a type-”

“Oh, so you are interested in him?” Alix piped up, glancing up from her maths homework. Seeing Marinette turn an evening deeper shade of red she chuckled before turning back to her work. “Whatever, I'm not interested in forcing you to admit it.”

Marinette grinned at her gratefully before turning the topic forcefully onto the coming week's events at school. There were a few more good-natured jokes but they all knew that Marinette did things in her own time. Even though she and Adrien hadn't worked out, she had managed to start dating him eventually and they had remained amicable even after the break-up.

_ _ _

“So, baby bird, did you get a response from the bakery woman? We've managed to book the entertainment, the rest of the catering, all the invitations are back so it's just the cake! We just need to know if we need to arrange an alternative.”

Dick had come to Damian's room and they were sitting on his bed whilst Damian groomed Titus. Damian had been chatting with Marinette regularly for the past 3 weeks and felt confident that come the following week, Alfred would be both surprised and pleased with his gift.

“Tt, that will be unnecessary, Grayson. She responded and I have arranged for her to come the day before and for her to have access to an adequate cooking space.” Damian gave Titus a final brush before ordering him to lie down. He turned back to Dick and pulled his phone towards himself. He could see the light indication showing that he had a new message, which he was sure would be from Marinette.

“Wow, seriously? Way to go lil D! Is she aware of the amount she'll need to bake? We, uh, kind of went overboard on the invites.”

“I have made all necessary arrangements, Grayson, I do not appreciate your lack of confidence,” he snapped back, a slight sneer curling his lips. His look softened however as he opened his chat to see the final designs of Alfred's desserts. He turned the phone so Dick could see them, huffing. “Do you see? Marinette has adequately captured the theme for the event and I have no doubt that she will be able to perform exceedingly well on the day. Was there anything else you required?”

_ _ _

Back in Marinette’s room, she was chatting on the phone, holding up the suit she had created so that it could be seen in all of its glory.

“Yes, uncle Jagged, I have your latest commission ready to go! I didn't realize you had another concert already, are you going on tour?”

“Rock n roll M! It looks awesome, better than I could've hoped. And nah, it's not really a concert, an old family friend is throwing a party for his butler and I grew up around him so I offered to rock the house for them.” Jagged gave her a thumbs up through the screen and played a riff on an imaginary guitar.

“He's throwing a party for his butler?” Marinette blinked several times, shooting him an incredulous look. She knew Jagged was eccentric but it sounded like his family friend was equally, I'd not more, so. She tried to imagine Chloe, even after she had made vast improvements to her personality, doing anything remotely nice for her butler and drew a blank.

“Well, he's more of a father for him since his own mom and pops passed away. Old Alfie P has been with the family forever and the kids decided he'd earned a little party. So I'm headed back to Gotham next week to rock out.” Marinette was nodding along to this until she did a double take.

“Wait, Gotham? You don't mean Alfred's appreciation party, do you?” No way, there was no way that Jagged was talking about Damian's party. She knew it wasn't his actual grandfather but he had spoken about the man with such warmth and affection that Marinette had assumed it was an old family friend that had been around enough that he was basically family. Like Jagged now was for Marinette.

“M, how the heck do you know about a party halfway round the world?” Jagged was laughing again, although he looked incredulous.

“Jagged, I'm making the party cake! I got a request from Damian ages ago, he's flying me over and putting me up for a couple of days so I can sort it out.” Flabbergasted, Marinette immediately started thinking about how she could avoid people making the MDC connection if Jagged was at the party too. She had no idea how popular he was in the states and didn't want to be outed before she turned 18.

“Well hell kid, small world I guess! Rock n roll, if you're gonna be there it'll be the party of the century!”

_ _ _

The flight had been long and Marinette struggled to sleep thanks to an older man snoring loudly only 2 seats from her. She was sorely regretting insisting that Damian only pay for standard seats instead of business but she hadn't wanted to take advantage. As the plane landed, she rushed to get her belongings and get out of there, hoping she wouldn't be too delayed by customs.

As she wheeled her carry-on suitcase through the arrivals area, Marinette could see the tall, dark and broody Arabic boy standing primly to the side. He held no sign but was wearing the agreed upon colours so she would be able to spot him easily. She felt her heartbeat pick up as he spotted her and clipped a nod in her direction and she let a smile spread across her face.

“Hi Damian, thanks for picking me up, this airport is bigger than I expected! And you are way taller than I thought you'd be.”

“Tt, I imagine you think that of many people. You are much more petite than I had assumed as well.”

“Wow, rude! I'm just compact,” Marinette laughed, before taking his proffered elbow delicately with her hand. She felt how tense he was

“Apologies, I merely-”

“I'm kidding, Damian, I know I'm short. But you're still way hotte- taller, way taller than I thought you'd be.” She blushed at her slip, looking away, missing the slight pink tinge making its way across his own features, though she did feel how he relaxed and allowed herself a moment of relief.

“Ahem, yes, well, we should make our way to the car, my acquaintance is likely growing bored.” He had taken hold of her suitcase and wheeled it along. She beamed at him again, embarrassment pushed aside by the news of meeting one of his friends.

“Oh, sure, let's go! Do I get a name for this ‘acquaintance’ of yours, or do I have to guess?” she said teasingly, watching as he rolled his eyes but allowed his mouth to upturn slightly.

“Tt, Kent is of no importance, you need not concern yourself with acquainting yourself with him. You will likely have to interact with many imbeciles in the next 24 hours, there is little point in beginning your torment early.”

“Kent, huh?”

_ _ _

“Hi there! So you're the mysterious baker from France that Dames has been chatting with. Did you have a good flight?” Another tall, dark-haired boy was leaning against the car, although he was much more smiley than Damian. Marinette smiled up at him and extracted her hand from Damian's elbow to offer it for a handshake

“And you must be Damian's acquaintance, Kent! The flight was okay, just very long. I'm very relieved to be back on the ground for the next 24 hours.” The boy’s grin widened and he took her fingers in a light grip. He shot a hurt look at Damian, although I was tempered with exasperation.

“Acquaintance? Damian, buddy, that hurts.”

“Tt, your feelings are of no consequence to me, Kent. If it were not for the fact that Alfred cannot know of this collection, I would not have involved you.” Damian had looked away and Marinette stifled a giggle. She was trying very hard not to find him overwhelmingly attractive but it was cute when he squabbled with his friend.

“Wow, just wow. I'm gonna tell Dick that you were mean to me again, and in front of company as well!” Damian opened his mouth to say something scathing but Marinette felt it was time to get them back on track.

“Sorry to interrupt, but it really has been a long day for me, any chance we can wrap this up and head on over to my uncle's place? I already messaged him to say I'd landed.”

“Of course, allow me to take your luggage and settle yourself into the car, please.” Damian immediately opened the trunk and slid her suitcase in. He then held open the back door for her before gently closing it. Jon was shooting him a raised eyebrow over the top of the car but he chose to ignore it, settling himself into the front passenger seat.

But in spite of this, he couldn't help the red tinge to his neck and ears that crept slowly and stayed for the duration of the drive.

_ _ _

Marinette had spent most of the morning prepping in the kitchen of the party hall. She had known there were going to be quite a few guests but the size of the hall had still shocked her. But once she was in the groove of baking, she had forgotten about what she was baking for.

So when Jagged and Penny showed up, early so that he could put on the suit she had made and set up, she was once again blown away by the grandeur, as well as by the decorations which had appeared in the interim.

“Wow, this is a gorgeous set up! And that backdrop is exactly Jagged’s style! Penny, did you see the backdrop?”

“Yes, Marinette, I saw. The tables for the cakes are through here.” Penny was smiling indulgently, much as she did when Jagged was getting overexcited, as she steered the younger woman towards a group of ridiculously attractive men. They all had dark hair, although their ages seemed to range slightly, and Marinette was relieved to see Damian standing with them.

“Oh my God, lil D, is this her? The baker? She's so adorable! And tiny!” The oldest looking one positively bounced towards her, holding out a hand that she accepted gracefully.

“Hi, I'm Marinette and this is Penny. Are you another of the hosts for this evening?”

“Eep! Too cute! I think I'm gonna combust.” Dick felt like a tensed up coil, practically vibrating with enthusiasm as Damian maneuvered himself beside the tiny French girl and glared at him.

“Tt, Grayson, calm yourself. Yes, Marinette is the baker and Penny is her aunt. We still need to set up so if you are capable, you can carry some of the boxes through from the car.” He continued to glare at Dick, although it only seemed to make his grin wider, before Marinette interjected.

“Thanks Damian, but we can do it ourselves. I'm sure he has plenty of other things to be getting on with.” Marinette beamed up at Damian and he relented, huffing. Dick's smile only grew until he was beaming too, watching as his baby brother took hold of the girl’s shoulders and began steering her away from them all.

“Tt, then he should be getting on with them, whilst we finish preparing your uncle’s set.” Jason and Tim eyeballed Damian as well, although they were still fairly engrossed in their heated debate over which of Jagged's songs he would be playing that night.

_ _ _

“Rock n roll, M! Those cakes look incredible, and the macarons are perfect. And the suit fits perfectly, just like always!” Jagged hung himself over Marinette's small frame for a moment before removing himself and draping an arm over Penny's shoulder.

“Jagged, please, you're embarrassing me!” She flushed, burying her face in her hands as Jagged chortled and Penny smiled. She was smiling though, she knew the cakes looked incredible, macarons arranged by colour to make a picture of Alfred’s face, a cake in the shape of Buckingham Palace, which Marinette had been reliably informed was where he had worked in his youth and an assortment of sweet and savoury scones.

“Nonsense, Rockette, you should be proud of what you've done! Penny, isn't Marinette just too shy of how good she does?” Jagged ruffled a hand through Marinette's hair, making her squawk and flap his hand away.

“You really are, Marinette, Jagged wouldn't have such an iconic look if not for you.” Penny chided, pulling Jagged's hand away herself as they were approached by Dick and Jason.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! You're Jagged Stone! Like, really, actually Jagged Stone! Jason, did you see who's here?” Dick was flapping again, bouncing up onto his toes and gesturing wildly.

“Shi-”

“Language Jay-bird! There are cute little ears around,” he said, gesturing to Marinette, who pouted adorably.

“Believe me, I've both heard and said worse. There's a reason people say ‘excuse my French', Grayson,” she snarked back, folding her arms across her chest.

“Oh, please, call me Dick, Grayson is just what lil D calls me. My name's Dick Grayson,” he said, ignoring her attitude.

“Wait, does the little French chick know Demon Spawn? How? Isn't she way too sweet to be anywhere near him?” Jason eyeballed her, taking in her messy hair, jeans and apron.

“Marinette here is the dessert caterer for the evening! And she makes it possible for me to be on stage, like, ever,” Jagged said, nodding sagely. He was beaming with pride.

“Oh, does she provide you with snacks or something? You must be older than you look, those cakes are perfect,” Jason said, complimenting her whilst also fishing for information.

“Hmmm? Oh, yeah, little M’s in her last year of high school, loads of people think she's in her first though. But my niece is killing it, especially since old hawky got caught.”

“Jagged, don't you need to set up? Maybe do a practice song?” Marinette started prodding him towards the stage, trying to get them off of the embarrassing topic. “Sorry about him, he tends to get a bit dramatic,” she said, rolling her eyes as he finally sauntered away.

“You know he only does it because you sell yourself short, Marinette.”

“Penny.”

“What? You know, you'll be 18 soon, you'll need to come out with your brand if you want to make it more global. Commission-only might not work so well.”

“Wait, I'm confused, won't you just open a bakery when you graduate?” Dick looked confused, his gaze bouncing between the two.

“Bakery? No, Marinette’s a fashion designer. Baking is what her parents do, which is why she's so good at it. Her parents would need to disown her if she hadn't started learning as soon as she could walk,” Penny said, laughing at the mix-up.

“Oh, really? What sort of things do you design?” So sue him, Jason was increasingly curious about the kid.

“Well, everything I wear tends to be my own design and I make accessories too.” Marinette looked away, hedging around the conversation guiltily.

“Marinette, you're still selling yourself short! What she's not saying is that Jagged wears her brand exclusively on stage. Honestly, I think he'll be wearing her brand until he retires.” Penny's eyes gleamed as Jason's jaw dropped and he whirled to face Marinette fully.

“Wait. Wait wait wait. Wait. Are you telling me that you, small sunshine child, baker extraordinaire and that has been chatting with Demon Spawn, are MDC?!” he shouted, making several heads turn their way before continuing with party prep.

“I mean, my name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng, so it's literally my initials,” Marinette shrugged, cringing slightly. “I plan on going bigger with my brand once I'm out of school though.”

“Then why on earth are you here as a baker? Oh man, Timmy's gonna freak, he's been searching for MDC’s identity for literal years.”

“I mean, I have socials, why didn't he message me?” Marinette asked, bewildered. Whilst she wouldn't have shared her identity with an internet stranger, she would have been fine to take on a commission.

“Tt, because Drake is a caffeine addict who doesn't use his intelligence appropriately. I assume he only attempted to find your data instead of opening a dialogue.” Damian appeared at Marinette's shoulder, gently touching her elbow to get her attention. “I assume you would like to change before the event begins, Marinette? It will not be long before the guests begin to arrive.”

Marinette startled when she saw the time, cursing under her breath in French which made Dick and Jason raise their eyebrows, and Penny to laugh. Excusing herself, she started to pull the rest of her bun loose as she walked away, hastily untying her apron as she disappeared through another door.

_ _ _

The party was in full swing, Alfred having been suitably surprised and bashfully appreciative of their efforts. He had personally thanked all of the boys under his care - all of them, Bruce included, would always be boys to him - and mingled with old friends and family acquaintances alike.

Damian didn't smile at the result, but he did feel a deep-seated sense of satisfaction. He had already heard Alfred commenting that the dessert looked wonderful, and he was looking forward to telling his pseudo-grandfather that he had arranged for his favourite online baker to make them personally.

He spied Marinette near the stage where Jagged was crooning an old song, apparently from his earlier work. She looked beautiful, wearing a red dress that ended just above the knee, her black shoes comfortable but not visibly well-worn. She had redone her hair into an intricate bun, leaving her shoulders and neck bare. He flushed lightly as he caught himself following the lines of her neck, up to her sparkling smile.

He decided to make his way over to her, noting that she was chatting with Kent again. He was unreasonably pleased that she seemed to be getting along with his friend, although he hoped that they weren't getting along too well. “Marinette?”

“Hm? Yes, Damian?” She turned her smile towards him and he blinked as his heart stuttered. Jon gave him a curious look but he ignored him.

“I would like to introduce you to Alfred, as the main reason I sought you out is because he is a fan of yours. Would this be acceptable?” He offered his arm once more, trying not to preen when she took it without hesitation.

“Sure thing, Damian! Jon was just telling me about some of your pets, but I'm sure we can pick back up on that later?” She smiled back at Jon, flushing happily at how well her evening was going. She had mostly outgrown her awkward teenage phase so whilst taking hold of Damian's arm made her heart thrum pleasantly, she wasn't a stuttering mess.

“Tt, if you wish to know about my animals, I shall be more than happy to introduce you after this event,” Damian said, unreasonably pleased once again that she had been talking about him.

“Really? Awesome! Then I guess I'll see you around Jon, thank you for keeping me company.” She allowed him to pull her away, giving a small wave to a grinning Jon as she went. She leaned in to Damian conspiratorially and whispered, “So, how do I look? I don't want to meet your pseudo-grandfather looking messy.”

“Alfred will not comment on your appearance, regardless, but…you look…well put together.” He flushed slightly as his gaze flicked down and over her, making her skin buzz. She bit the inside of her cheek and refrained from squealing at the almost compliment. She had spent enough time chatting with him over the phone to know that true compliments were rare and he very much understated things.

“Oh, uh, thank you. You look well put together too,” she said, pulling slightly away without letting go of his arm. They were approaching Alfred, whom she recognised from the picture Damian had sent her in preparation for the macaron art.

“Tt. Marinette, this is Alfred. Alfred, this is Marinette, she is responsible for the desserts this evening. You may know her better by her online handle 'dc.boulangerie’.” Damian was a little stiff, feeling self-conscious even though he was only introducing her as the evening's dessert chef. It felt more momentous than it should and Damian felt an unusual amount of pressure building up inside of him. He wanted Alfred to like Marinette, and he had wanted to be the one to introduce her, whatever that meant for him.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Marinette. I have been a long time admirer of your baking. I would enjoy having a conversation with you at a more appropriate time and venue.” Damian let out a breath as Alfred inclined his head towards her respectfully and he felt himself relax.

“Well, Damian invited me to meet his pets, assuming you all live together, I'm sure we can find time to chat,” Marinette said, squeezing Damian's elbow gently as she leaned towards him. The conversation continued lightly and Marinette allowed herself to reciprocate Damian's dry humour, startling a chuckle from Alfred and a warm eye roll from Damian.

_ _ _

A short distance away, Jason, Tim and Dick were watching the pair with interest. Jason commented on it as Bruce joined them. “So…we all see Demon Spawn flirting with the French Pixie, right?”

"It's so adorable! And did you see him blush? I wish I'd caught it on camera.” Dick was watching them with a sappy grin on his face, squealing as Damian leaned down and murmured something in the girl's ear.

“Are we sure we weren't all dosed with something? Cos this is freaky. Either that or the world's ending,” Jason said, eyeing them more warily than any of the others. He grunted a hello as the Kent family came to join them.

“Well, you might be able to get something on camera next time Dick - he invited her to meet the other Alfred as well,” Jon said, not bothering with any preamble. He was both smug and floored that his best friend was showing interest in a girl - especially one as cute and friendly as Marinette.

“No way, he set up a second date? That's so smooth! Bruce, have you been teaching him how to talk to girls?” Dick was practically vibrating at this point, beaming at Bruce now.

“Dick, I wasn't even aware he was inviting Miss Dupain-Cheng this evening. Do you mean to tell me nobody here has been giving him pointers?” As everyone either shook their heads or gave a sound of derision (Jason), Bruce hummed thoughtfully. “Well, perhaps he's better socialised than we give him credit for.”

“No, that can't be it, he threatened a girl at school just last week for getting too close to his locker. It must just be Marinette, she's a total sunshine bomb on him.” Jon was cocking his head slightly as he very obviously (to them) eavesdropped on Damian’s conversation.

“Well, I think I’ll go and introduce myself and see it firsthand,” Bruce said, clapping a hand on Clark's shoulder in a friendly manner.

“I'll come with you, Bruce, Jason said something about her having an in with my favourite designer,” Tim said, as enthusiastically as he could manage with how tired he clearly was, before they made their way over to the pair in question. Marinette was speaking animatedly, clearly in the middle of a very entertaining story as Alfred had a small smile.

“...and that's when everything went downhill! I mean, who thought it was a good idea to put those colours, with that fabric?” Those around Marinette laughed out loud, even Damian giving a short bark. Tim and Bruce watched as Marinette smiled up at him, clearly delighted that she had produced that sound from him.

“Alfred, are you having a good evening?” Bruce and Tim had finally reached the small group, making their way to Alfred first and foremost. The older gentleman inclined his head to both of them individually as Damian leaned down once again to murmur something in Marinette's ear.

“Good evening, Master Bruce. It has been splendid, I must confess that I had not expected such a grand event for me.” Alfred was also eyeing Marinette and Damian, who had seemed lost in their own little world for the moment, although Damian proved he was listening when he rolled his eyes and responded.

“Tt, Alfred, that was the point of the evening. If you had expected it-”

“What Damian means is, you're welcome Monsieur Alfred. Honestly, Damian, can't you hear a compliment for what it is?” Marinette chided him, making him grimace in good humour. At some point during her story, she had let go of his elbow to gesture and his hand had found its way to her opposite hip and he gave her a gentle squeeze.

“...I am glad you are having a good evening, Alfred. Father, Drake, this is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She is responsible for the dessert catering this evening.”

“I'm Tim, and you must be the person with the connection to MDC! You're wearing an original of theirs this evening, aren't you?” Tim barrelled into the conversation intent on only one thing, making a pained expression cross Bruce's face.

“Ah, yes, Jason mentioned that you've been trying to track down Jagged’s personal designer for a while. What is it you want from her?” Marinette sounded politely bemused and Damian had to cough to cover a snort that tried to escape him.

“So you do know them! Oh my god, I can't believe I might know who they are soon! Okay, so, I've been hoping to commission a piece for the next Wayne gala.” Where he had seemed half asleep before now, Tim was wide awake and buzzing with anticipation.

“Oh, is that a big event?” Marinette asked, frowning slightly when they all turned to look at her in astonishment. She raised an eyebrow delicately at Tim, waiting for him to elaborate.

“Do…do you not know who the Waynes are?” Tim sounded dumbfounded and he was looking at Damian, who was looking uncomfortable suddenly, rather than Marinette. She glanced at Damian before responding.

“I mean, I live in Paris? I'm guessing they're American celebrities. And if they aren't a big name in fashion, I'm not really interested in celebrity gossip. I take it they're a big deal over here?”

“I'm surprised Damian hasn't mentioned them, at least once, given how vain he can be,” Bruce said drily, causing his only blood son to glare at him.

“Tt, that's enough, father. If I had thought it relevant or worth mentioning, I would have. Marinette, you said you wished to continue your conversation with Kent earlier, is that still something you desire?”

“Sure, it's been a pleasure to meet you, Alfred and I'll look forward to chatting with you tomorrow! If your kitchen is big enough, maybe we can do some baking together?”

“Our kitchen is of an adequate size and appropriately stocked. I shall look forward to it.”

Marinette gives a goodbye to Bruce and Tim before placing her hand back into the crook of Damian's arm and strolling away with him.

“Well, that was interesting. How did Damian get in touch with Miss Dupain-Cheng? She doesn't seem like someone he would normally spend time with.” Bruce was slightly blown away with the interaction: since when had Damian been willing to get to know other people?

“I mean, actually, he spends most of his time with Jon, and she seems a lot like a smaller version of him.”

“Yes, but he still complains about spending time with Jon, even if he doesn't mean it, whereas that? He was polite, let her touch him and chose to walk with her instead of dismissing her to get her away from us. And, apparently, he didn't tell her his last name. I would just like to know how he came to be acquainted with her.”

“Oh no!” At Tim's sudden outburst Alfred moved towards him, alarmed.

“What's wrong, Master Tim?”

“She didn't tell me how she knows MDC!”

_ _ _

Across the room, Jon glanced over at the trio before turning back to Marinette and Damian. “So anyway, Marinette, Damian never told me how you two met!”

“It isn't a very interesting story, I'm afraid,” Marinette said ruefully. “He messaged me on my baking socials, and then we did a couple of calls. Et, c’est l’histoire.”

“So Damian successfully navigated an online message? Well enough to get you to fly over from France for a single event?” Jon was amazed, Damian didn't really use social media, and he certainly didn't message strangers on the internet.

“Oh, no, he most definitely did not! I read his first message, he sounded like a bot and she ignored him.” Dick sounded gleeful as he pushed himself into the conversation. “So we told him he should send a follow up with a video to prove he wasn't a bot.”

“Mon dieu, so you're the reason for the video! I thought it was out of character for him after speaking with him for a while. I must thank you Dick, that video was the highlight of my year.” Marinette looked delighted and bounced onto the balls of her feet as she shook Damian's arm.

“Wait, you actually did the video?! How come I never got to see it, lil D?” Dick looked offended, pouting at Damian. Jon laughed aloud, quickly covering his mouth to stifle it.

“Tt, because I only chose to embarrass myself for Alfred, not for your amusement. Marinette, I forbid you to share it with these cretins, or I shall be forced to rescind my invitation to the manor tomorrow.” Damian sounded annoyed but his neck and ears were red again, making Marinette giggle as she patted his arm.

“Alright, Damian, I won't share the video with your brothers this evening. I want to meet Titus and Alfred junior far too much to risk making you my enemy.” Damian allowed his mouth to turn up at one corner before he fixed his face back to neutral.

“Excellent. Which reminds me, we should arrange a suitable time for me to collect you tomorrow.” He had leaned back down to her, making it more intimate and she flushed again, although she managed to keep the conversation going.

“I can make my own way to you if you give me the address! It doesn't make sense for you to come and collect me if we are only going to return to your home.” She whisper argued back to him, her head leaning back so she could glare playfully into his face. It was entertaining, if a little bewildering. More bewildering was when Marinette was knocked slightly sideways by a purple haired man.

“Little M! My mate Brucie invited us to lunch tomorrow at his house, you're not flying back til the next morning, are you Rockette?”

“Jagged! Tu m’as fait peur! Oui, I am not flying until the day after tomorrow but Damian has already invited me to spend the day with him. You will have to go with Penny I'm afraid.” Marinette was holding her hand over her chest whilst Damian had a hand hovering nearby to her. Whilst she calmed down, Jagged threw himself back over her shoulders with a slight whine.

“Aw, c’mon Marinette, it's not every day you get to spend the day with Bruce Wayne! He's got connections which could help boost your brand, way better than I ever could. I know you do more than just my style so I can't be the only one repping you around here.”

“Mon dieu, alright, Damian, would it be alright to visit with you in the evening? We could have dinner together. I will just have to check with Monsieur Alfred in regards to his schedule.” Marinette turned towards him apologetically only to see a pained expression crossing his face again.

“Wait a second, Dames, does Marinette not know your full name?” Dick sounded delighted again, throwing his arm around Damian’s shoulders. Damian huffed angrily and jabbed Dick in the ribs to make him get off.

“Jesus, Demon Spawn, did you forget to introduce yourself to her? Normally it's the first thing you say. Or, well, the only thing you say.” Jason had a smarmy grin and he stayed just outside of stabbing reach, which Damian found irritating.

“It was not relevant, Todd,” Damian bit out, his jaw tight. Marinette looked at him concerned for a moment before the confusion on her face cleared up.

“Ah, I see why Tim was confused as well now. I take it you are a Wayne, Damian? I understand, many celebrities choose not to use their last names before getting to know someone.” Marinette shrugged delicately and took hold of Damian's hand.

“Rockette, are you telling me you flew halfway around the world to a party without knowing who you were with? Hardcore.” Jagged looked impressed which made Jason snort, breaking the tension again.

“It would hardly be the first time, Jagged. Marinette told me the story of when she first met Adrien, she-” Marinette squawked and flapped her free hand at Penny to quiet her.

“Merde, yes, thank you, Penny! I very much doubt everyone here needs to hear every embarrassing thing I have done. I have already explained to Damian that I don't follow American celebrities. The Waynes are not in fashion, yes?” She peered up at Damian with a grimace.

“Well, no, but they do have a hand in almost everything else. You're friends with Max, how do you not know Wayne Enterprises?” Marinette groaned at Penny, bringing her hand back to her face. She stood like that for a moment until she whined again, turning to bury her face into Damian's arm.

“Wait, so Bruce Wayne is from Wayne Enterprises? That's why Felix was laughing so much when I told him about the party! Oh, I will never live this down!”

That made everyone laugh and Marinette glared around at them all. She was muttering obscenities under her breath again, as she ran her hand through her fringe. She blushed as Damian squeezed her hand, before fucking it back into the crook of his elbow. Jason nudged Dick, motioning his head towards the pair which would normally make Damian glared at them, but it seemed as though he was too occupied.

_ _ _

Marinette nervously straightened out her shirt, checking her hair. She had 5 minutes before Damian arrived and she had been ready for at least 20 minutes already. He had told her to dress in her jeans today so she had paired it with a long sleeved green peasant blouse that she had made after the first time she video chatted with Damian. The fabric reminded her of his eyes, not that she admitted it to anyone.

When Damian arrived on a motorcycle, Marinette felt her face burst into flames. She had known he was attractive before - it was impossible not to know, he was over 6 feet of muscle - but his long legs flicking over the back of the bike before he sauntered over to her? That reverted her back to a stuttering mess, and she felt 14 years old all over again, instead of the confident, capable 17 year old she had been around him so far.

She remained unable to say a complete sentence to him, even as he handed her a spare helmet and helped her into a jacket. Then she sat behind him, holding tightly and feeling his chest moving with every breath. He wove through traffic expertly and she felt safe leaned against him, his warmth seeping into her on the chilly November morning. It was lucky it was dry, the air crisp and whipped against her clothes.

They pulled up to Wayne manor and Marinette temporarily forgot about how gorgeous Damian looked in the face of the enormous mansion. She swore softly, eyes wide as they removed their helmets.

“Mon dieu, I thought manor meant, like, gah, un maison? But this? C'est un château! Damian, mon cher, how do you find anything!?” The endearment slipped out of her but she was too amazed by the manor to notice.

“Tt, it is not as grand as you are making it. It has been in the family for many years, although it was rebuilt after the earthquake. But if you are uncomfortable, we can forgo lunch with my family and find somewhere quieter-” Damian was almost rambling, she thought, as well as slyly trying to get out of the family meal. His cheeks were dusted in pink at her slip and he found he did not want to share her time with the rest of his family.

“Of course not, Uncle Jagged would not forgive me if I failed to attend. Penny would be disappointed too, and I cannot stand when she is disappointed. Besides, if I want to spend more time with you, I shall just have to adjust. And…I am sure I would like to spend more time with you.” Marinette’s own cheeks reddened as she said this, stealing a glance to see the flush spreading up Damian's neck.

“I would like to spend more time with you also,” Damian said softly, offering his hand which she took gratefully. “Alfred has asked that we visit with him first, and then after lunch I shall take you to meet Alfred the cat, Titus and perhaps we shall take a walk so you can meet my turkey and my cow.”

“Will you be staying with me whilst I cook with Alfred? I would hate to have to try and find you in this giant house.” She tugged on his hand gently until he began leading her inside. Despite Damian's insistence that the manor was not as big as she was proclaiming, Marinette was awestruck by the gothic interior designs and knew that once she had her sketchbook available, she would be designing many new items. Perhaps she would talk to Jagged about a more gothic theme for his next show, or maybe she would make something for Juleka…

Time passed quickly in the kitchen with Alfred, friendly chatter and expert advice both given and received. Damian. Sat quietly to the side, sketching in his own workbook and adding his thoughts every now and again. Marinette couldn't forget that he was there but she did feel a fresh blush steal over her every time she looked towards him. Luckily, Alfred said nothing about it, perhaps not wanting to embarrass the young woman and man.

Eventually, everything was cooking, so Damian set aside his book and fully joined their conversation, starting a friendly debate about the merits of vegetarianism. The time passed even more quickly when Alfred announced that they should take their seats in the dining room as both Jagged and Penny should be arriving soon and the others would then make their way for lunch too.

As it turned out, Jagged had arrived about an hour before this and had been chatting with Bruce and the other boys as they were huge fans. He took the admiration on the chin, chatting amiably with them until Tim woke up enough to remember that he still didn't know who MDC was.

“What're you talking about mate, you met MDC last night!” Jagged exclaimed, slightly bemused when Tim went bug eyed. “Little Rockette is my one and only designer, Timmy. She has a wicked sense of style, she even made my suit last night.”

“Wait, Damian's new girlfriend is my favourite designer?! How has he hidden this from me?” Tim wailed, turning to the door as Damian and Marinette stepped through it. “How long have you known? Why wouldn't you tell me?”

“Tt, first of all, Drake, I was not aware that she did fashion until last night. Secondly, Marinette pointed out to me yesterday that I contacted her with relative ease and she has social accounts as MDC. Therefore, you should have contacted her yourself. Do not hold others to blame for something you brought upon yourself.”

There was silence for several minutes while Tim stared slack jawed at Damian. And then Penny stage whispered to Marinette, “I see why you like him, Mari. Do I need to have a talk with him?”

“Penny,” Marinette hissed, swatting her whilst everyone else laughed. “Oh, sure, laugh it up, everybody laughs at Marinette.” She pouted and crossed her arms, which made Damian glare at them, which only made them laugh harder.

_ _ _

After lunch, Damian led Marinette around the manor grounds, Titus on his leash, so that Marinette could meet Jerry the turkey and Batcow the…cow. She had giggled adorably when Dick had mentioned the name of the cow and promised that she didn't think less of him for naming his pet after a hero.

“Tt, Batman is a vigilante, not a hero. And if there had not been a batsymbol on her side, it would never have occurred to me to name her Batcow,” he said, grumbling. She giggled again, walking on the other side of Titus. Damian would never admit to it, but he wished he had offered her the leash so that he could walk next to her.

After the visit to his other pets, Damian led her back to the manor, releasing Titus from his leash and ordering him back to his room. Marinette cooed over him for another minute before reluctantly letting him leave. They chatted comfortably about different pets they wanted, which led into their future plans.

Whilst Damian didn't want the day to end, he reluctantly took her back to her hotel, with the promise to pick her up in the morning as her ride to the airport. As he walked her to the door of the hotel, Marinette screwed up her courage and pulled him down for a kiss on the cheek. Blushing furiously, she stammered a goodbye before rushing into the hotel.

Damian stood dumbfounded for more than a few seconds before shaking it off and climbing onto his bike with a small smile on his face.

_ _ _

“Thanks for everything, Damian. I wish I didn't have to head home so soon but what with lycée, I can't afford to stay any longer. But we can stay in touch, right?”

They were standing before the departure gates in the airport, Damian holding the handle of her suitcase whilst Marinette fiddled with her handbag strap. Her courage from the night before had fled in the morning light. As he handed over her suitcase, reluctantly, he grasped her hand tightly. He smiled as a blush worked across her face.

“Of course, Marinette, I shall await your message to say you have landed safely. I am certain we can find time to meet again before Christmas. Father has been saying that I should travel more to learn about his business and there is a Wayne Enterprises branch in Paris…”

“Then a bientôt, mon cher, I will let you know once the plane lands and when I get home.” Marinette felt emboldened with her hand in his and placed her other on his cheek. She brushed a kiss to his cheek, lingering slightly.

Unlike the night before, Damian retained some of his faculties and firmly placed his hand on her own cheek before leaning in to kiss her gently on the lips. Marinette froze momentarily, making Damian freeze and start to pull back before she flung her arms around his neck to pull him closer and kiss him back enthusiastically.

The end

[killrisma]

every age regressor watched stede treat the crew like his children in season 1 and went “yup that’s a cg right there” send post

[latenightsleeper]

Starvin

Hoizer music is something else, powerful stuff

Frames below!

[httpiastri]

Hi🤭👋

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGed83E5g/

You see It?! YOU HEAR IT?

He said he likes to be in control

Can you feed us a smut w dom Lando x younger sis of one of the drivers

Dom Lando🫠

i usually save requests in my inbox until i write them but i just had to share this

making me go feral honestly 🫠🫠🫠 what the frick? lando?? phrasing it like that???? oh my godddddd

[bookshopbentley]

can someone give my sweet aziraphale a break like hes constantly going through it if one persons not putting him down someone else is like FUCK he’s trying

[tired-demonspawn]

I CANNOT STRESS ENOUGH HOW AMAZING ZENO ROBINSON'S VOICE ACTING IS IN THANKS TO THEM

like it has always been a 10/10 with all them panic attacks and such, but now its like a 12/10?????

like here???

when luz said to "bring back the masked confidence" i didnt expect him to actually pull out the inflection he has at the beginning of s2!

absolutely magnificent!

and don't even get me STARTED on when belos starts possessing him and my guY FCKN BRINGS OUT BELOS' TONE, HIS INFLECTION. basically EVERYTHING that makes you think "belos" when someone speaks... WITHOUT THE ACCENT.

THATS THE BEST PART!!!

like okay THIS LINE specifically.

the lil thing he has before is also magnificent since even without the creepy music you can TELL smthn is up since the tone is a little off(+ he doesnt call flapjack by his name), but like not off enough that you feel like luz is weird for not sus(ඞ)sing it out.

BUT THEN, belos starts getting a little impatient, a little frustrated, since he's struggling for control, and THATS when the thing that i was talking about b4 fucking SHINES. like THIS is how you voice act!

and when its mixed with the video? oh there are no boundaries of just how massively cool this scene is.

like we can comfortably deduce that belos took over and was trying to act like hunter, then, when hunter tries to wrestle control from him he slips up a little. letting his own inflection shine through. then finally he gives up the illusion of being hunter altogether and trades it for more control over him(more goop over hunters body).

thank you for coming to my unhinged ramblings ted talk :)