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muddyorbsblr · 7 months ago

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the final Lady Sharpe part 6: dire consequences

Series Masterlist See my full list of works here!

Part of the 500 Follower Celebration Requested by: @ellooo0ooo

Summary: Things come to a head when you and Thomas arrive back at the manor and find Lucille waiting for you

Pairing: Thomas Sharpe x Reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: Lucille; ghosts; fight scene involving blades; injuries; brief mentions of murder and child sexual abuse (Lucille when I catch you--); mentions of scars [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: Thomas being a complete softie for his wife; idiots in love hours

"Do you suppose that Scotland Yard will be at the manor by the time we arrive, darling?" There was a palpable excitement in Thomas' voice as you two sat rather cozily together in the carriage, his arm wrapped around you as he lazily traced the tip of his finger along the detailing in your dress. "Perhaps we do not even have to deal with Lucille."

"Regardless, what's important is that by the end of the day this will all be over," you answered lazily, your eyes still not fully open, allowing yourself a final indulgence of settling into his embrace. Of lacing your fingers between his. "But in case they aren't, we have to keep the appearance that we have no clue what's coming. We shouldn't give her any reason to suspect something might be amiss."

He held you a bit tighter against him, squeezing your hand. "Of course," he sighed, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You sighed once you began to see the snow turning crimson from the carriage window, reluctantly working your way out of Thomas' hold and grabbing hold of your satchel to place your blades in your pockets.

"They weren't on you since yesterday?" he inquired, the lilt in his voice giving away his bewilderment at the realization.

"I saw no reason for it," you answered him simply, holding back the rest of your answer. The part that you dared not admit to yourself, let alone share with him. I only have them on me when I feel unsafe. "Now that we're about to be in the same vicinity as Lucille for at least the next few hours, I have every reason to have them well within my reach."

There was a familiar pit in your stomach as the carriage drew to a full stop in front of the manor. It was a feeling you'd grown accustomed to that made its presence felt every time you drew closer to the final stretch of a case, when you were minutes away from the arrest. And despite the solemnity of the snowy crimson fields, there was no calming the heavy disquiet in your gut that you'd learned to trust implicitly.

Just because this ordeal was nearly over didn't mean that you could breathe easy quite yet.

Even when Thomas helped you step down to the ground that was soft enough to give under the pressure of your feet, keeping his hands on you and leaning in to rub your noses together. You let out a giggle from the tender gesture, melting into his touch when he pressed his lips to yours.

"What was that for?"

"Can I not simply wish to celebrate with my wife--"

The rest of his words stopped dead at the loud bang of the manor's front door bursting open, the sight of Lucille emerging from the other side, crossing the distance between you in long and visibly raging strides, the massive sleeves of her sleeping gown billowing around her in a blasphemous image that resembled angel's wings. Your heart fell to the ground when you saw what she held in her hands.

A knife in one hand. And a cleaver in the other.

Before you could speak, Thomas stepped in front of you, shielding you from her path with his body. "Lucille. Sister," he said cautiously, holding up one hand in front of her to tell her to stay back . "What seems to have you so…perturbed?"

"Sist--" she scoffed, unable to even say the word. "I'd suspected that perhaps you've begun to lose perspective, Thomas. I hoped it wasn't true, but then I saw your workshop. Your sketchbooks filled with illustrations of that woman's face and it became suddenly so clear to me why your touch has felt…distant."

"That woman," he repeated, scoffing her words back at her. "I won't have you disrespect my wife like this, Lucille."

She looked at the two of you, the paranoid look in her eyes quickly giving way to something crestfallen and rageful when she caught sight of how his other hand had reached behind him fingers reaching out toward you as if ready to push you out of the way at any sudden movement from her. "Well then," she said with a sharp exhale, her eyes darkening as she looked into Thomas' eyes again. "It seems my fears have merit after all."

Lucille made her way over to the two of you, stopping a few feet short in front of your husband, holding up the knife with the handle facing him. In turn you reached a hand into your pocket, wrapping your fingers around the handle of your own blade.

"You have lost your way, sweet boy," she told him, placing the knife in his hand and wrapping his fingers around the handle. "Now you must prove to me that you can find your way back. To me. To us. Rid us of this hindrance so we may start from scratch. We shall find a way to start our new life together without her incoming inheritance."

"Lucille--"

"Vigorous as you might have been these past weeks when you would visit me at night, I could tell something was distracting you. Holding you back. You lacked…tenderness, sweet boy."

"Visits?" you spoke up, looking at her with widened eyes and tears that came from fearing the cleaver she still clutched tightly in her other hand. "Vigorous?" You looked to Thomas, shame coloring his features before he closed his eyes, his knuckles whitening from gripping the knife too tightly.

"Yes, sister," Lucille hissed, a sadistic grin spreading across her face as she watched you piece it together. "How naive of you, that you didn't once question how night after night you would sleep without your darling husband by your side, and yet--"

"I can't," you cut her off, squaring your shoulders as you stepped out of Thomas' hold, tightening your grip on your own blade. "I can't have you actually thinking you were able to slip this past me when you were so painfully, laughably obvious," you chuckled toward the end, smirking and haughtily scrunching your nose at her as her mouth faded into a grim line. "You didn't exactly make it hard to figure out, Lucille. What with the way you behaved as if you had to compete with me for Thomas' attention. His touch. Subtlety was not your strong suit, sister."

"So you know," she seethed, a cloud of smoke escaping her mouth as she let out a sharp exhale. "Then I suppose you can see that from where I stand, I cannot have anyone privy to our…treasured secrets. No matter how much you stand to inherit." She gave Thomas a single nod.

"How adorable," you teased, mimicking her tone from earlier. "You actually believed something was coming." Her nostrils began to flare at your revelation. "I'm not an heiress, you sadistic incestuous bitch. I am, however, friends with a good amount of people from the city. Scotland Yard, to be precise. And I ran into one of those friends yesterday. Told them all about my darling sister in law."

"You--!" she shrieked, her tone resembling a banshee's. "You fooled us. Exposed us. Exposed him." She gave your husband a pointed look. "Prove to me you can find your way back, my sweet love." You couldn't help the way you gagged at her endearment for him. "Do away with her and protect us. Protect our family. Our legacy. Our love."

His eyes snapped open and glared at Lucille. You reached into your other pocket for your other blade, taking deep breaths and doing what you could to mask how your heart was already splintering at the thought of having to defend yourself against the man you'd fallen in love with.

If you were being completely honest with yourself, it crossed your mind that this outcome was more than feasible. That when the eleventh hour struck his loyalties might shift and he would do what he could to protect his sister. This was the love that he'd known for his entire life, of course he would choose her familiarity regardless of what the alternative was.

"No," he snarled. For a passing moment your heart warmed at the sight of him tossing the blade that was handed to him into the snow as he stood to his full height, once again moving to shield you from his sister. "I will no longer be part of your schemes, Lucille. And I will not hurt my wife to please you. What we had is long gone. Our love has been dead for years."

Lucille visibly shook as she took in her next breath, her knuckles almost as white as the snow as she held her cleaver in a death grip, raising it in the air. A single tear rolled down her cheek, her lip quivering as she whispered to Thomas, "Traitor." She took a step toward him, the cleaver aimed at his chest, and that was when you sprung into action, taking out your blades and parrying her before the blade got too close to him.

"Don't you dare touch him," you warned, fully stepping in between the two Sharpe siblings. "You wish to do away with me, Miss Sharpe? Pluck up the gall to do the dishonor yourself and have at least the tiniest shred of decency not to put any more blood on his hands."

You were a touch too late at deflecting her next strike, the blade nicking at your shoulder and slicing through multiple layers of fabric. Your outcry of pain filled the air; warm blood slowly began to ooze out from the wound. When she struck again, you made a point to return the favor and cut at her arm, using her shock to your advantage and kicking her squarely in her stomach, knocking her to the ground.

"When Jeffries and his squad get here, tell them we're inside," you told Thomas, keeping your eyes on his sister, waiting for her to rise. "This will all be over soon."

When she began to get back up on her feet, she clumsily charged toward you again. You kept deflecting her until you were walking backward toward the front door of the manor, your blades poised at the ready for her attacks at all times. Only once you were past the threshold of the front door did you sneak a final glance at your husband, trying to memorize his features as your eyes met his.

I love you, you thought to yourself before you sidestepped out of Lucille's way as she charged at you again. You'll be free soon.

"You turned my sweet perfect Thomas against me," she snarled at you, smirking when she successfully made another nick at your arm. "You poisoned his love--"

"What you had wasn't love, you psychopath," you hissed, deflecting blow after blow until you reached the hallway where Edith had guided you to the recording cylinders. "You assaulted his good senses. Suffocated him with your perverse attentions until that was all he knew. He's as much a victim as everyone you killed within the walls of Allerdale Hall."

Right as you said the words, a vase shattered on the ground close to where she stood, making her stumble when she charged for you again. Her bare foot had caught on a shard. She looked at the shards on the ground before looking back at you, the crazed look in her eyes worsening before she charged again. "You charlatan--!" The rest of her words caught in an incredulous squeak at the back of her throat, finding herself unable to advance a being made of what seemed like either thick, overly viscous blood, or the liquefied clay from the mines, materialized before your eyes and held her back with a talon-like grip to her shoulder and her forearm.

"I don't think so, demon child," the spirit hissed, forming into a shape that painted a gruesome sight of a woman about Lucille's height, a weapon that was shaped exactly like the very cleaver she wielded now sticking out from the top of her head. "You've corrupted my boy for too long."

"Hold on, you're--"

"Their mother," Edith's voice finished, sounding as if she were right beside you. "Smart of you to lead her here, my friend."

You took a deep breath before turning to your side, a horrified cry slipping from your lips when you saw her own crimson silhouette where the shape of the cleaver stuck out from her upper back. "Edith, I'm so sorry," you whispered, tears filling your eyes and blurring your vision.

"Oh don't sound so sad, sister," Lucille seethed as more silhouettes formed around her, holding her back as she struggled against them. "You'll join them soon enough. Because I won't stop. Not until you kill me. Or I kill you."

"I won't kill you, Lucille," you told her plainly, bravely walking closer to her when one of the spirits managed to yank her cleaver from her hand, the blade clattering to the floor. "You don't deserve to die. You deserve to rot. In a prison cell for the rest of your days. Suffering as the law sees fit for all the atrocities you've committed since you were a maniacal bitch of a child that molested her kid brother."

She let out a strained yell, still trying to fight against the hold the spirits had on her. "You foolish girl, you've hurt him, too!" she shrieked, finally starting to show a shred of genuine emotion when she started talking about the consequences your efforts would have on Thomas. "They would hang him for what he's done."

"For what you've done, demon child," the elder Lady Sharpe's spirit spat back. "What you've made him do."

"And I will see to it that he doesn't suffer any more for any of the crimes you've orchestrated, Lucille." She glared at you, no doubt wishing that the spirits would let her loose so that she could detach your head from your body. "Because unlike you that placed him in harm's way time and time again, making him do your bidding in the name of more money and more status all in the name of the horror you manipulated him into thinking was love? Unlike you, I will do what I can. Sacrifice my security and my leverage in exchange for his freedom and his safety. That is protection, Lucille. That is love."

The manor doors burst open once more, multiple voices filling the air as Jeffries and a good handful of officers from Scotland Yard announced their presence. The spirits surrounding Lucille suddenly dispersed into the air, allowing her to charge at you again and wrap her hands around your throat, her long sharp nails digging into your skin.

"I told you this will not end until you kill me, or I kill you. Stupid girl," she whispered, her wicked smile growing wider as you struggled to fight and pry her fingers away from your neck.

Just as she squeezed harder, your lungs screaming for air, something pulled at her and your feet, bringing you both down to the ground and making her slip from her hold on you. That was just enough for you to take in a deep gulp of air and kick her off of you. The sound of pounding against the floor alerted the officers to your location.

"Over here!" you heard Jeffries shout, loud footfalls fast approaching before you heard Lucille's incredulous tone as she protested against the men that hauled her to her feet.

You spied a quick flash of red at the corner of your eye while you rose to your feet, whispering a 'thank you' to Edith and the other spirits in the manor for helping you how they did. Despite how your altercation with Lucille weakened you, you were determined to see her whisked out of the house in cuffs, an officer on each side making sure that she was unable to get a single move in edgewise and attempt an escape.

You wanted to see for yourself that Thomas' nightmare truly had come to an end. That he was free. You both were.

"And I told you…" you said, your voice raspy and your throat hurting from forming words after her final attack. "You deserve to rot in a cell for your crimes, Lucille Sharpe. Death is a kindness you don't deserve."

Thomas barged into the manor, his expression the picture of panic as he scanned the room, trying to look over the officers that fought to keep Lucille in line. "Where is she?" he huffed out; you could see even from this distance that there were tears in his eyes.

"Close your eyes, sweet boy," his sister told him shakily. "I don't wish for you to see me like this. You do not deserve this discomfort."

He hardened his gaze on her, looking as if he fought against the urge to so much as blink as the officers escorted her across the threshold and into the biting winter cold. "Seeing you finally get what you deserve could never be a discomfort, Lucille."

Her protests faded into a muffled cry the further she got away from the house, and the worse that your pulse thundered in your ears. You were all too quickly becoming acutely aware of the wounds you sustained from your fight with her, adrenaline finally subsiding and letting you feel the complete aftermath of facing the murderous bitch head on.

"Where's my wife?" You vaguely heard Jeffries point your husband -- for the next few hours, at least -- in your direction.

"Thomas," you breathed out, unable to hold back your smile as he started to walk down the hall toward you. You tried to take a few steps toward him, meet him halfway, but the moment you let go of the wall, it was as if the manor itself began to tilt in your vision. "Is the room spinning?" you slurred before you began to fall to the floor.

You braced yourself to hit the ground hard, with a dull thud and a slight rattling in your brain that you'd grown familiar with from getting thrashed around by particularly rowdy suspects. But the contact never came. Instead you were held in a pair of strong arms that you'd grown so familiar with in the weeks past. Your tired gaze found his wide shot stormy eyes, tears starting to roll down his pale cheeks.

"It's alright, Thomas," you whispered, straining to give him a smile. "It's all over now."

He didn't say anything in response, choosing instead to pick you up in his arms and carry you to the main living area of the manor and laying you down on a chaise, careful not to touch any of your injuries. Once he rested your head on the cushioned end of the seat, he took a moment to brush your hair away from your face before pressing his lips to your forehead. You could feel him trembling when he did so.

"I'll get something to dress your wounds, sweetheart," he told you. Even his words came out shaky. When he stood, he shrugged off his overcoat, draping it over you and briefly touching his fingers to your chin before he went off into the house.

"You gave your husband quite a scare there, Sharpe." You could only let out a mirthless chuckle at the sound of Jeffries' voice, footsteps drawing closer to you. "He looked like a right ghost when my men and I arrived here, telling us his wife went in and faced off with a homicidal lunatic."

"Have a bit of care with your words, Jeffries, that homicidal lunatic is still his sister, you know."

"Those were his words, Y/N. I don't think he gives a damn what happens to her��not after she hurt you." You tried not to wince at his words, not to read too much into what he was telling you. After all, he didn't know what he was talking about. "There is the small matter of his involvement in these cases, though--"

"No," you cut him off. "Scotland Yard will leave him out of this. I did not put in all this work just so that he would have to relive this horror in any degree after today."

"We can't just turn a blind eye to his participation in this. He was still at the very least an accessory to murder by poisoning. Marriage under false pretenses."

"You can and you will, Jeffries. Because Scotland Yard owes me," you told him shakily, your body struggling as you tried to hold your head up while you spoke with him. "Years worth of cold cases, you lot have told me that time and time again. Now I'm collecting."

Jeffries pinched the bridge of his nose, the image of frustration that you'd grown familiar with after years of collaborating with him. "Stubborn as ever," he grumbled.

"More so now, my friend," you clarified. "You'll understand better when you fall in love. The lengths you would go to keep them safe." You weakly raised your hand to him. "I'll see you all again in a few weeks."

"Very well then," he sighed, taking your hand in his and giving it a firm shake. "Take care of yourself, Sharpe. We'll see you when you recover." He looked to the arch that led to the kitchen, a smile playing on his face as he saw your husband. "Looks like you'll be in exceedingly caring hands, my friend."

"Detective," Thomas acknowledged him once he'd made his way back to you, bandages and a bowl of hot water in hand. "I suppose I'll need to give you a statement--"

"No need, Mister Sharpe," the detective waved off the offer. "The documents along with your wife's testimonies are more than enough. We can see ourselves out." He gave you both a little wave before making his way to the main door of the manor. "Take care of each other, you two," were his last words before closing the door behind him.

Now you were left all alone with your soon ex-husband. And you surmised that the sooner you could liberate yourselves from this sham of a marriage, the happier he would be. You made a motion to sit up and reach for the items in his hands. "I can handle it from here," you started. "You don't have to--"

"Don't be absurd, Y/N," he said in a rush. He placed everything down on a nearby table and moved to kneel on the floor beside you, placing his hand on your head. "Lay back down, darling. Let me take care of you. Please."

His breathing went ragged as he peeled off the blood-soaked fabric that clung to your skin, starting to cry again as he assessed the damage Lucille had dealt you. You almost had to look away when he'd wiped the blood away and horror colored his features as he discovered there were more scars on you from prior altercations. Prior cases.

"This isn't my first time being attacked by a suspect, Thomas," you mumbled, bracing for some offhanded comment about how the scars further diminished what little beauty you possessed. You'd heard it before. And while it would particularly hurt coming from the man you'd come to love, the words from his lips wouldn't surprise you in the slightest. "This might have been the closest I came to actually losing, however…"

He said nothing, only grimaced again when he picked up the bottle of disinfectant and soaked a rag with it. "This is going to sting. Rather harshly. You'll need to bite down on something--" His eyes widened when you waved your blade in response, seeing the wooden handle. "No. That is not an option, it's too hard for--" He let out a sigh, moving to take off his belt and loop it around his hand a few times before presenting it to you. "This would be softer, less harsh on your teeth."

You talked him through bandaging the worst of your injuries, and when he'd finished he insisted on carrying you upstairs to the bedroom you shared. Once he sat you down on the chair in front of the vanity, he took great care to take out the pins that held your hair up, brushing out any knots that might have formed earlier. He helped you into a clean underdress, making a point to shut his eyes when you were exposed and offering his hand for you to steady yourself if you needed it.

When you'd finished, he lifted you into his arms again and carried you to the bed, gently laying you down. "You really don't need to dote on me like this, Thomas, I can walk," you told him, a traitorous giggle escaping you. In truth you rather enjoyed the attention; your stomach was all a-flutter with how delicate he made you feel ever since you two were left alone.

He sent your heart in the same violent fluttering state when he placed his hand near your head, bracing himself to lean over you and bringing your faces inches apart. "Did it ever cross your mind that perhaps I want to take care of you, sweetheart?" he said softly, taking you aback when he closed the distance between you, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. "You've done so much. And you've suffered a great deal today. Taking care of you and seeing to your recovery is the least I could do."

You had to put in the effort to even out your breathing as you watched Thomas walk over to his side of the bed, shrugging off his waistcoat and pulling his white shirt over his head before laying down next to you. A new pit had settled into your stomach now, not quite the same as from earlier but just as foreboding. He must be anxious to start his new life, we should work on settling away with this divorce as soon as possible.

"I think you should refrain from going out until your wounds have healed," he said softly, gently positioning you so your head lay on his shoulder and he could wrap his arm around you. "Whatever's left for you to do can wait until you're better."

"If you're sure," you cautioned. Your exhaustion from the day finally betrayed you when you relaxed into his embrace, his free hand finding yours and lacing your fingers together. "I can imagine you would be as eager as I am to have all this finished--"

"There's no rush. That is if you could endure having a wretch like me as a husband for a few more days." There was a strain in his voice as he said the words, almost as if he wished he could take it back. As if the utterance physically pained him.

You gave him a small smile, doing what you could to hold on to him just a touch tighter. "It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. And you're no wretch, Thomas Sharpe."

For the second time today you found yourself taking a moment to commit his features to memory, along with how treasured you felt under his caring gaze, his face somehow even more hauntingly beautiful with the way it was illuminated by the pale winter light. The pit in your stomach gave way to an ache in your heart, remembering the words you uttered to him the night before. Yet another moment with him that you would forever strive to keep in the very forefront of your mind.

One day he truly would make some fortunate woman know what complete, overwhelming happiness felt like. To have a husband that would treasure her and pleasure her with every ounce of devotion he was capable of giving.

And every day moving forward you would live with that ache throbbing away at you, burdening yourself with the infallible knowledge that that woman would never be you. You wouldn't just simply miss him, you would yearn for him.

"Then stay…for as long as you need." His voice hitched toward the end, and he held you a touch tighter before kissing you softly. "There is absolutely no rush, sweetheart."

A/N: omg they're freeeeee 🥹 but also…we all know what's coming next 🥲

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover @dryyoursaltyoceantears @herdetectivetheorist

#thomas sharpe x reader #thomas sharpe smut #thomas sharpe x female reader #crimson peak fanfic #crimson peak fanfiction #the final lady sharpe #muddyorbs writes #fic requests #500 follower celebration

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fkmarrycill · 5 months ago

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WIP

🔞 for descriptions of BDSM, sensory deprivation, and drugging

I've been wanting to do something dark and sweet with Dr. Crane, and an idea clicked recently. This is all I've written so far, but I think this is gonna be the next story I finish. 🙏🏽

Thanks for reading! 🫶🏽

There must've been one of his concoctions in the water he gave her when she sat in the car, because she felt groggy right away, and that's all she remembered until now.

She could feel the cool silk touching her closed eyes. Blindfolded, she realized. But she knew she was indoors...perhaps in a lab? Somewhere where the lights were very bright, if the haze that penetrated the fabric on her face was telling the truth. And somewhere cold–the cold in the air felt just as cold on her skin as the metal table she lay on. Clearly she was naked, judging by how much of her skin was making contact with the table.

She tried stretching her arms and legs but soon learned that she was bound in place, by the wrists and ankles, in handcuffs.

At least he remembered to bring the faux fur-lined ones this time, she thought, almost smiling.

He also thankfully hadn't gagged her, remembering when she wanted to take it off the menu after their last scene. He took her boundaries very seriously when they played, since the play was so unconventional, but she knew his dark side was never too hidden. The thing that made her adore and fear him was how loving and thoughtful he could be to her, and how equally deadly things could get when it came to his enemies.

Rather than focus on the darker experiments that they never talked about, she decided to listen for any signs of him in the room. But she soon came to realize that all she could hear was the ocean. This was new–white noise coming through earbuds that he'd placed in her ears. It kind of sounded like the waves in Aruba, where they'd visited earlier this year, bit she couldn't tell for sure.

He could take away her sight and hearing, but he couldn't block her sixth sense. She knew he was in the room, or someone else was in there with her, at least. She could feel it.

She was vindicated when she suddenly smelled his cologne, a soft, woodsy musk that was only perceptible when he was very close. A split second later, hands were resting on her shoulders. His hands, by the way he gently squeezed her shoulders–it was established shorthand for his affection.

He kissed her forehead and drew his hands up her neck, over her chin and jawline to her ears. He pulled out the earbuds, and the ocean sounds were replaced by his rich voice: “I'm glad you're awake, my love… Are you ready to begin?”

#wip #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane #batman begins #cillian murphy

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cheollipop · 2 years ago

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welcome home

navi | taglist

pairing: puppy hybrid!san x fem owner!reader

w.c.: 1.9k

tags: smut, fluff, established relationship

the thought of his owner coming home after a long week drove san straight into an early rut, and the scent of her pillow was too inviting to brush aside.

warnings: dom!reader, sub!san, pillow humping, plushie humping (I'm so sorry), so much cum, san is in a rut, animal -puppy- characteristics (tail and ears), fingering (f receiving), handjob, mommy kink, breeding kink, impreg kink, bulge kink (idk wtf this is actually called), unprotected sex (👎🏼!), knotting, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, begging, one (1) chomp, nicknames (pup, baby, sannie, love, darling, good boy; mommy)

A/N: I feel the need to issue a formal apology to shiber. I'm so sorry.

nsfw under the cut - minors dni!! 🔞

⊹₊┈ㆍ✿ㆍ ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈₊⊹

You weren’t sure what to expect coming home from your business trip. Perhaps a home-cooked meal; or maybe a pillow fort in the living room with the movie you'd been dying to watch waiting for you on the TV, your favourite snacks laid out over the blankets. You pondered over every possible scenario during your flight back home, and decided that seeing San's face – his tail wagging in excitement as you finally walked through the front door – was all you could ever ask for.

Standing in the doorway to your shared bedroom, you realised that you’d thought about every possible scenario but one:

Coming home to a dark apartment, soft mewls and cries escaping through the open bedroom door, you rushed in, worried that San might’ve hurt himself in your absence. But two steps into the room, you found yourself rooted in place, watching as your puppy hybrid repeatedly slid his cock over the drenched pillow – your pillow. Even when his ears perked up at the sound of your footsteps and he raised his head to meet your eyes – his own lidded and glazed over – San’s hips continued their furious humping, desperate moans flowing freely from his parted lips. His hands gripped the pillow, veins protruding from his sweat-clad skin, the only sound in the apartment a mixture of San’s reckless thrusting and his needy moans.

San’s innocent excitement over his owner coming home after a long week drove him straight into an early rut, his cock growing painfully hard with no relief in sight. Shiber’s soft material instantly drew him in, and he found himself sliding his cock over the back of the plushie, biting down on the comforter as his continuous orgasms shook his whole body. He then caught a whiff of the pillow in front of him, your scent rushing through his nostrils and straight down to his core. Growling, he threw Shiber to the side, instead grabbing your pillow and bringing it down to his needy cock. Sweat dripped down his temples, his thighs shaking as he drenched the pillow with his cum, realising he won’t be appeased until he knotted you.

“M-mommy... you’re finally back,” San lowered himself until his chest was flush with the pillow, shooting another load of hot cum between his bare skin and the soft cotton, his whole body shuddering with the force of his orgasm.

Your lips parted and closed, unable to form words, while your eyes wandered across the room, taking in the clothes haphazardly thrown to the side before zeroing in on Shiber – the plushie’s velvety fabric a dark brown, drenched in San’s release. Looking back at the hybrid, you noticed the lust-filled eyes, his tail swinging uncontrollably behind him as he arched his back to further grind over the pillow. The scene felt familiar – clear signs of an incoming rut.

You dropped your bag, quickly moving to San’s side while ignoring the wave of arousal pooling between your legs. Placing a palm over his slick forehead, you watched him lean into your touch, your hand cool against his heated skin.

“Sannie? Darling, does it hurt anywhere?” You ran your fingers through his hair, holding his cheek with your other hand and angling his face towards you.

He mumbled something under his breath, his hips slowing down their furious pace.

“Speak up for me, pup,” you encouraged him with a few scratches behind his ear.

“D-down there... It hurts,” his hips picked up their pace again and he nuzzled his nose into your outer-thigh, inhaling your scent. “Wanna knot mommy, please, can I-I?”

---

San’s cock was heavy, hot as it glided over your skin. Straddling one of your thighs, San rutted against the soft skin while his fingers pounded into your g-spot, scissoring them to prepare you for his knot.

“I need you, mommy… Can I knot you now?” He pleaded, his eyes glassy and his bottom lip quivering.

He knew you were weak to those eyes, but you learned the importance of proper prep when it came to taking his knot in the past, and were glad he was clear-headed enough to offer you that. You reached a hand behind his ear to scratch at the skin, smiling when his eyes drooped at the added stimulation.

“Just a little longer, baby. Can you be a good boy for mommy and stretch me out properly?” You cooed when San’s ears perked up, his tail standing up straight before continuing to wag excitedly.

He nodded his head eagerly, stuffing his fingers into your cunt and curling them until they brushed against your sweet spot. Your head rolled back over the pillow, your breath quickening as San sent shocks of pleasure soaring through your body. He added a third finger, and then a fourth, fucking them into you until your back was arching and your vision darkened, pushing you over the edge unexpectedly. San’s other hand moved to your clit, rolling it between two fingers as you rode out your high, thigh twitching under him and drawing out a whimper from his lips.

You took a few breaths before sitting up and flipping San over, straddling his hips and wrapping your hand around his aching cock, pumping it roughly and taking in how he writhed under you.

“H-hurts! It hurts- hnngh-“

“Shh,” your thumb rubbed soothing circles over his nipple and you leaned in to press feathery kisses to his jawline. “Give me one more and then you can have me, okay?”

You watched as tears and drool ran down the sides of his face, his face scrunching up as he released all over your hand and his lower belly, his cum translucent and watery.

It took San a few seconds to recover, quickly flipping you over and nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, his canines running over the delicate skin. He ran his cock – already hard and leaking over your lower belly – through your dripping folds, his head brushing over your clit.

“Please, p-please- Let me fuck you, please, c-can I?” He panted, raising his head to look at you with drool flowing down his chin. “Nghh- ‘Wanna breed mommy- N-need it-”

A guttural moan echoed in the room when San finally pushed his cock inside of you, sheathing the whole length between your fluttering walls in one go. You tossed your head back, hands flying to San’s shoulders when his hips urgently snapped against yours, the base of his knot pushing past your entrance then back out.

“Fuck, San! A-ah- s-slow down-”

“C-can’t- I can’t- Hnnngh! Mommy’s pussy feels so good-” San’s hips were relentless, starting off with rapid, shallow thrusts before shoving his cock so deep inside your cunt you saw stars, grinding the tip into your g-spot before pulling out and slamming back in. “C-can I breed you, mommy? ‘Wanna knot you and fill you up with Sannie’s cum, please, can I?”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull, pleasure shooting up your spine every time San drove his cock inside you, releasing breathy successions of ah’s that San didn’t hesitate to lean down and swallow. He moved his lips over yours, hungrily licking into your mouth, his tongue moving with fervour and coating the lower half of your face with his spit.

“Please, you feel so good, mommy- h-hahh-” San muttered against your lips, nibbling on the bottom one while he spoke, the base of his knot tugging at your entrance every time he pulled out before snapping it back in with a throaty moan. “Let me breed your hole; I'll be good, I promise. ‘Just want mommy to have my pups.”

Your own cries of pleasure turned into silent gasps as San rammed his cock inside you relentlessly, your orgasm washing over you and jolting your whole body every time he pushed his cockhead into your g-spot. Your fingers gripped the slick skin of his shoulders, nails digging into the flesh. You were delirious, wanting nothing but to feel San’s hot cum flooding your insides.

“Fuck, Sannie, give it to me, pup- hnnghh-” Your jaw went slack, San’s canines sinking into your shoulder with a husky growl while he continued pumping his knot inside you. You tangled your fingers in his hair, roughly scratching at his scalp while you regained your breath. “Y-your cum- Be a good boy and give mommy your cum, darling-”

San let go of your shoulder, sticking out his tongue to lap up the blood leaking from the wound. “Gonna cum inside mommy… Ah- ‘gonna look s-so pretty when you’re swollen with my pups-“

“Yeah… you’ve been so good for me, love,” you panted, the overstimulation nearly unbearable with the way San’s knot lugged at your entrance. “Come on, baby, do it for mommy-”

With a final thrust, he sheathed his whole length inside your used cunt, his knot locking in place and stretching out your fluttering walls. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your vision went black when San’s hot cum began pouring into you – rope after rope of white painting your insides until you truly believed that you couldn’t fit any more.

Pressing his hand to your lower belly, you felt him shoot more of his load into your womb, breathing out a curse when it bulged under his palm from all the cum he was emptying into you, his swollen cock twitching between your walls as you milked every last drop out of him.

“San- wait, d-don’t- It’s gonna spill!” Your back arched, feeling so full of San you actually believed you were going to get pregnant.

San released a strangled groan into the crook of your neck when your cunt pulsed around him, licking over the bitemark he’d left there before pressing tender pecks over the wound. “Sannie’s cum isn’t going anywhere. I won’t let it,” he smiled against your heated skin, an innocent blush coating his cheeks, and he pressed his knot further inside you. "I gotta make sure I breed mommy properly.”

The following few hours were a pleasant ceremony of aftercare – you basked in the loving kisses San littered all over your face, your neck, your chest, anywhere he could reach, taking in the his soft giggles at your repetitions of I love you and good boy.

When his knot finally went down, he pulled out of your weeping cunt, his release flowing out of you in one stream. Before you could complain or feel embarrassed, San instantly began doting on you, carrying you to the bathroom and washing your hair, then cooked you dinner while dressed in the pink apron you had gifted him for his birthday.

You savoured these peaceful moments during San’s ruts – the calm before the storm. You rarely ever caught it in its early stages, when his head was clear enough to tend to you instead of solely focusing on himself. You didn’t mind, knowing he didn’t have much control over it, but still cherished when he would cater to your needs as well as his own.

You watched the hybrid’s chest rise and fall, his arms secured around your waist while he slumbered, his face resting peacefully. You knew he’d soon wake up hot and desperate again, but knowing that tranquillity resided within him even during his toughest ruts flooded your chest with searing warmth. Your body moved on its own, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the plush of his lips, smiling at how his mouth formed a pout when you pulled away. With fondness swarming through your body, and love nearly bursting through your chest, you allowed San’s steady breaths to lull you to sleep.

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seeingivy · 2 years ago

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mastermind

satoru gojo x f!reader

in which you confess to satoru that your meeting wasn’t accidental

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

You massage the serum into your face, the tips of your fingers soothing your cheek muscles - sore from smiling all night. Your boyfriend, no fianceé, Satoru, had taken you to a gala tonight, hosted by his filthy rich parents and their even worse friends.

You knew he wasn’t a big fan of the scene, his parents strict, cold, more demeaning than most. How their son turned out to be a literal manifestation of sunshine shocks you every time you meet them again.

After spilling coffee on him and then running into you at the dorms the next day, he said your warmth, after a lifetime of cold, drew you to him. A smile glued on your face, your hair glowing in the sun, your eyes always sparkling when you talked to him.

“You’re the sun. To me anyways, angel.”

You close the bottle of the serum, staring down at the engagement ring Satoru had given you a few months prior. It was simple - a sparkling diamond surrounded by a simple gold band. Your love was warm, consistent, steady. Satoru said the ring reflected that, like the moon on a dark night. He was always corny like that, calling you the sun, the moon, the stars in between.

However, you didn’t miss Satoru’s aunt, Camilla, commenting that it was a little too dull for her liking. Satoru’s cousin, Yuki, had gotten his wife Diana a solitaire. You didn’t miss her twin sister, Cassandra, saying Satoru knew you were a gold digger, hence the need for the cheap ring, either. Satoru angrily shuffled you away before you could hear more.

Their comments didn’t bother you. Satoru hated his parents, his family, the so-called “clan” they clung to. If they were of little importance to Satoru, they were of little importance to you. What did bother you was what Satoru had said tonight.

He had pulled you aside, leading you to the balcony. You could feel him crushing you from behind, his chin resting against the top of your head.

“I’m sorry, angel.”

“Not your fault, ‘Toru. Let them talk.”

He turns you around, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. You figure this is less about you, but more about how frustrated Satoru can get with his family. You lean into his touch, rubbing circles into the small of his back. You feel him deflate against you at the motion, his forehead resting against your collarbone.

“They’re wrong. We both know we met by fate.”

“What?”

“You know. You know you spilled coffee one day and then coincidentally saw me in the dorms the next day. That’s fate, angel. Invisible string, soulmates, fate. I always knew you were the one after that.”

You pale against him, still clutched in his embrace. Fate? That wasn’t fate. And it wasn’t really an accident either.

“Angel, come to bed already. I miss you.”

His voice throws you out of your thoughts, the underlying uneasiness in your chest still there. You grunt in response, leaving the bathroom and climbing into the sheets next to him. You see a smile spread over his face at the sight of you finally joining him and feel your heart twinge. Were you really lying to him? Would he hate you if you told him the truth?

He opens up his arms, inviting you to rest against his bare chest. You nestle into his arms, your cheek pressed against his sternum. You can hear his heart beating faintly against your ear, his eyes fluttering shut. But you had to tell him. He deserved to know.

“Satoru?”

“Yes, angel?”

“Do you really think we met by fate?” you whisper.

He sits up, his hand cradling the side of your face.

“Of course we did, silly girl.”

“But what if it wasn’t a coincidence?”

He quirks his eyebrows, peering down into your eyes. You sit up, pulling away from him on the bed. He mimics your motion, his eyes bordering on concern as he looks into yours.

“What if I told you it wasn’t an accident that I spilled coffee on you? Or that you saw me in the dorms the next day?”

“What?”

“I saw you in the coffee shop. Every day, for two weeks. I liked you. You always got the same sugary drink and apologized for asking for so many add ons, tipped extra even if they were annoyed with you, and paid for the person behind you on Friday’s. So I spilled the coffee on you. On purpose.”

The look on his face is blank. No smile, no anger, just nothing. Fuck.

“And then. I found your dorm. I was a Resident Advisor so I checked for you on the system. I knew your name was Satoru from the cup of the coffee so I searched through all of the Satoru’s until I found you. I paced your hallway till you eventually left your dorm and saw me.”

He hops off the bed, moving towards the dresser you had placed to the side of your bed. No. No. You hop off, rushing to his side.

“Satoru, I- I wasn’t trying to be creepy, I just really cared. I knew you were the one when I saw you.”

He shuffles through the drawers, looking for something in them. What’s he looking for? His keys? Is he going to leave? He turns to face you, the blank look still plastered on his face.

“It’s just. No one wanted to play with me as a little kid. And no one picked me for school dances or wanted to talk to me at parties. I knew you wouldn’t come to me so I’d have to come to you. I schemed like that because I had to. I promise I wasn’t after you or your money or anything. I just really wanted you and only you.”

You’re not sure when you started crying, but he reaches forward, his fingers wiping the tears off the side of your cheeks. You don’t miss the small smile spreading across his face. He presses your face against his chest, crushing you in a hug once again.

“Always the crybaby, huh?”

“Hm?”

“I already knew that angel.”

“Knew what?”

“I knew that you did all that. Spilled the coffee on purpose. Came to my dorm the next day.”

Oh my god. This bastard knew the entire time. And he’s smiling about it? He lifts your hand up and places a light blue post-it note in your hand, your handwriting staring back at you.

Satoru Gojo. Glass Hall, Room 210.

You remember the note now. After looking him up on the database, you scribbled the room number onto the post-it note so you could double check that you were near the right room.

“You left that in my room when I let you in to get my number. You know, after you gave that whole winded talk about how crazy it was that we saw each other again?”

You stick your forehead against his chest, embarrassed that you were that obvious from the start. He knew from the second you met him and kept talking to you anyways. You can feel him laughing, his hands finding their way to your hair.

“Sorry, ‘Toru. Ruined your whole red string of fate fantasy.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s not really fate is it? I was plotting like some mastermind over here to end up with you.”

He laughs, squishing your face in his hands. You can feel your eyes still puffy from when you were crying earlier, your eyelashes wet from your tears.

“You’re so dramatic. Mastermind?”

“Shut up.”

“It’s still fate, angel. You just….pulled on the red string to get me next to you faster, that’s all.”

“That’s not how it works, Satoru.” you deadpan.

“Okay, I’ll just mention how you were a stalker in my vows instead.”

You frown, embarrassed at the fact that Satoru knew the entire time but that he could now tell other people too.

“Oh my god, calm down angel. It’s cute that you did that. Really.”

“I didn’t want to be creepy, I just knew when I saw you.” you whisper.

“And I knew when you left that in my room. Trust me. I knew the entire time.”

“I thought you were going to leave me if I told you.”

“You, unfortunately, are stuck with me. Even stalking me won’t chase me away.”

He smiles, leading you to climb back into the covers. You nestle in his arms once again, his heartbeat lulling you to sleep. Only he would find your intensity endearing. Maybe he was made for you.

You and Satoru make your rounds, thanking everyone for coming to your wedding. The event was small, hosted in Nanami’s garden with just twenty people in attendance. Satoru’s family was not invited, much to their dismay.

After talking to Satoru’s students from the college, you can feel your energy dying down, your cheeks hurting from smiling so hard, talking so much, being the center of attention.

Sensing your tiredness, Satoru drags you by the hand, to the end of the garden, towards the entrance of the hall. Propped up against the door is a white board, made by Nobara and Maki who said you simply had to have one of these at your wedding.

The board is covered with pictures of you and Satoru - studying at the coffee shop, making breakfast together, getting engaged. But there was a new addition to the board, one you’re almost positive wasn’t there two hours ago.

“I had it added. Don’t get mad, but I really do think it’s cute.”

At the center of the board, Satoru had tied your little post-it note to the board with a piece of red string. Corny idiot. You turn to him, feigning an angry look.

“Satoru.”

“Oh, don’t be mad angel.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“I’m not sure why it upsets you so much. I love it. And you.”

You crawl under his arms, burrowing yourself in his embrace.

“You owe me. This is still embarrassing.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll make it up to you the rest of your life, don’t you worry.”

the satoru as taylor swift songs series masterlist

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flurry-of-stars · 7 months ago

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⋆˖⁺‧₊☼𝓞 𝓢𝓸𝓵 𝓮 𝓪 𝓛𝓾𝓪☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Idol! Nikolai x Idol! Reader

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒: Fluff, romance, reader is a bit anxious/experiencing some self-doubts.

𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽: 3.2k 𝓐𝓾𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓻'𝓼 𝓝𝓸𝓽𝓮: I was possessed, trust. It's been a rough week so I'm writing something soft. This was only meant to be like 1k words so oopsss. Set a few years before this fic! Also this is my first time writing a proper dance scene so-- (ᵕ—ᴗ—) Also, also for the songs mentioned, the first could be any song of your choosing! I listened to like three different songs so ( ≧ᗜ≦) For the second, it's Señorita by Camila Cabello and Shawn Mendes. And the third is We're in love by Boygenius ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎

𝕽𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖘 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞 𝖆𝖕𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖉 ♡

You were like the moon. Mystifyingly bewitching, with an aura of mystery and intrigue that drew Nikolai’s gaze like a moth to a flame.

His heterochromatic eyes remain fixed on you as you twirl and dance to the pulsating rhythm of the music, following the choreography you’d meticulously crafted together over the past two months.

Your movements were graceful and energetic, your body gliding effortlessly across the stage as you immersed yourself in your performance, the ruffles of your short blue skirt and white blouse swaying with your movements.

From time to time, you lift a prop microphone to your lips, singing along with the song playing. Though Nikolai notices you mostly forget to lift the prop when you sing. But it’s not a big deal; not when your dance was flawless, every step executed with precision and passion. Not to mention the way you kept a steady singing voice while dancing across the stage like this. As you dance under the soft, white light of the theatre stage, bathed in the glow of the spotlight that make you shine like a star, Nikolai leans back in his seat, captivated by your performance.

The generic pop song served as the backing track for your stunning performance, it’s upbeat tempo driving the rhythm of your dance, filling the air with an infectious energy. He flashes you a mischievous grin as you walk up to the edge of the stage, crouching, pretending to reach out to touch his hand as if he would be an adoring fan.

He chuckles under his breath; well, he supposed he was technically your biggest fan.

A sweet smile adorns your face as you extend your hand towards his when suddenly, a devious glint flickers in his eyes. He suddenly seizes your wrist, pulling you off the stage with a playful tug. A surprised squeal escapes your lips, the prop microphone slipping from your grasp as he easily pulls you into his embrace. His grin widens as he nuzzles into the side of your face, the pop song fading into silence as your playlist comes to an end. “Kolya~!” You giggle as he peppers kisses the side of your neck and cheek, showering you with affection. Your hands find their way to his cheeks, cupping them tenderly as your foreheads press together tenderly. You whisper, “You’re supposed to be critiquing me…~” “Mmm, here’s my critique,” he murmurs,leaning in to kiss your nose fleetingly, “Perfect~”

He moves to your cheek, pressing a soft kiss against it, “Remarkable~”

And the other, “Dazzling~”

Finally, his lips hover just millimeters from yours, teasingly close. Your warm breath intermingles with his, and you catch the scent of the cologne he’s chosen to wear today. It smells rich and sweet, reminiscent of a sticky caramel apple bought fresh from the fair.

Your fingers tenderly caress his soft cheeks, your index finger tenderly caressing the bottom of the scar sliced down his left eye as he hums, moving in closer. “You looked like a true idol~” He finishes, letting his lips press to yours in a tender kiss. Your lips melt into his, pressing together like two pieces of a puzzle. As though you were meant to be. It lasts only a few seconds before he withdraws, pale blue and green eyes gleaming with a mixture of warmth and playfulness as he tousles your hair, earning another delighted squeal from you, “I don’t understand why you’re so anxious about the audition, songbird. You have a natural gift for this.” As you smooth down your hair, a lingering sense of uncertainty and doubt persists in the depths of your heart.

Nikolai had been saying that on repeat ever since you first shared the flyer for the auditions with him. He had been genuinely excited and eager to join you in trying out for this new idol company. You knew without a shadow of a doubt that Nikolai would shine.

As the university’s most known theatre major, he ranked at the top of his class, exuding charisma and a presence fit for the stage. He was like the sun, radiating confident, full of energy, yet veiled in an air of mystery not even you had even uncovered yet. One thing was for certain; he was born for the stage. Compared to you, who merely dreamed of actually performing. That’s why only one of you was a theatre major. He was captivating and talented beyond his years. You weren’t the only one who thought that.

According to the rumours you’d overheard, well known and popular acting companies and directors were reaching out to him, vying for his attention. His name was becoming more and more well known around the country.

It left you lying awake at night in your shared dorm, wondering if he’d actually received these opportunities and hadn't told you about them. Or if he’d accept one without even mentioning it to you first. Would Nikolai actually do that? Would he really accept one of these opportunities without discussing it with you first? It wouldn't surprise you; after all, the sun didn’t need the moon in order to shine… His reaction when you presented him with the audition flyer mirrored how you’d always imagined he would react when the talent scouts came knocking.

And yet, when the rumours began circulating, you’d returned to your shared dorm to find him idly playing a game, engrossed by it in fact. Well, until you walked in at least.

At this moment, sitting in silence like this, Nikolai’s gaze scans your features, eyes narrowing slightly.

A subtle frown tugs at your lips, your expression troubled. Your brows knit together with concern and your eyes shimmer with self-doubt. With a soft exhale, Nikolai discerns your anxiety and inner turmoil all too well. You gasp as Nikolai suddenly scoops you up, rising out of the theatre's cramped chair and carrying you back towards the stage as if you weighed nothing.

His shoes thump against the hardwood of the stage, gently moving his arms and helping you place your feet back onto the ground. “Let’s practice the duo routine,” he brightly suggested, his hand reaching out towards yours, his mismatched eyes glimmering under the intense lights of the stage that shone around him like a halo of light, casting his frame in the warm light. Illuminating. Just like the sun. Your bottom lip trembles, brows furrowing and eyes moving between Nikolai’s warm, comforting smile and the hand he’s offering you. You reach out for a moment, hesitating. Your hand pauses before you begin to draw it back. But Nikolai doesn’t let you refuse him, his hand reaching forward to grab your hand before you can recoil. His fingers intertwine with yours as he pulls you in, a soft gasp escaping you, your chest almost pressing against his toned chest. He gives you a sly grin, his eyes shining with mischief, “Well? Are you gonna start the music~?” There’s a flutter of urgency in your chest as you turn your head, calling out your phone in a soft voice as you pull away from each other. Your voice echoes across the empty theatre as you walk to one side of the stage and Nikolai to the other, “Play my duo playlist.” A few heartbeats later, the first notes of a Latin Pop melody fill the empty theatre, its rhythm moderate and enticing.

The smooth, sultry beat pulses through the room, electrifying the atmosphere. Your heart quickens, a mixture of excitement and anxiety pumping through your veins. For months, amidst the chaos of exams and assignments, you’ve rehearsed this choreography relentlessly and now, as the music envelops you, it’s time to prove how far you’ve come. You follow Nikolai’s lead, his confident strides drawing you towards the centre of the stage. With each step, the spotlight intensifies, casting a warm glow upon you in anticipation. As you inhale deeply, trying to calm the whirlwind of thoughts in your mind, Nikolai’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Songbird.” He murmurs, his tone gentle yet firm, pulling you back from the edge of your nerves. You meet his gaze and a reassuring smile curves onto his lips, “Don’t overthink it. Let the music guide you. Trust yourself, remember?” You nod, swallowing the lump of apprehension in your throat. Trust. Feel. Pushing aside your doubts, you allow yourself to submit to the intoxicating rhythm of the music. Your body moves instinctively, syncing with Nikolai’s as your body brushes against his, the heat of his presence searing through the air. His touch is electrifying as his hand trails from your hair down to cup your cheek, his thumb gently brushing against it in silent reassurance. Your own gentle hands find their place on his broad chest, a tangible connection that grounds you in the moment as you caress the soft fabric of his tight, ruffled top and the firm muscles beneath.

With a gentle push, you feign resistance, a playful spark igniting between you as you dance. It’s not just a choreography now; it’s a story woven through movement and touch. You begin to lose yourself in the dance, the boundaries between reality and performance blurring, leaving only the raw emotion pulsing between you and Nikolai.

His hand delicately intertwines with yours, the rhythm of the music guiding your swaying hips in perfect harmony.

But as the tension mounts, you pull away, your backs now pressed intimately against each other, the heat between you palpable. In this moment of separation, the spark between you ignites into a familiar blaze of passion, drawing you back together in a magnetic pull.

As you turn to face one another, your hand grazes his chest, sensing the rapid beat of his heart beneath your touch.

His gaze, a mesmerizing blend of colors, smolders with an underlying fervor for you, compelling you to circle around him. His grasp on your hand is firm yet tender, drawing you back into his embrace.

With the music swelling around you, Nikolai's hand finds your knee, pulling you into a graceful dip, your foreheads meeting in a fleeting moment of tenderness. In the depths of his captivating eyes, the flames of desire burn brightly, consuming you both in their fiery embrace. Lost in the moment, you almost falter, but his touch grounds you, guiding you back to your feet and into the next sequence of the dance.

As you gracefully execute your solo choreography, Nikolai mirrors your movements, his own steps echoing a tale of unwavering devotion and determination.

Each twirl and flourish of his hands speaks volumes of his relentless pursuit of your heart.

In contrast, your choreography tells a story of vulnerability and guardedness, a woman wary of surrendering to love once more.

But as your bodies draw near once more, the narrative shifts, the barriers crumbling in the face of undeniable attraction. His hands find your hips, anchoring you to him, while your arms encircle his shoulders, sealing the inevitable conclusion of your intertwined destinies.

In this dance of love and longing, the conclusion is clear: he has won your heart, just as you have won his.

As the music fades into the background, the echo of your shared journey lingers in the air, a testament to the power of connection and the magic of the dance.

You pant softly, not pulling away from Nikolai right away as he holds you. His blue-green eyes shine under the stagelight like two burning stars, aching for you. His warm breath lightly caresses your lips as he leans in close to you. You move closer to him as the next song begins to play; a soft indie folk song this time.

The tempo is much slower, more gentle. It’s a song from the playlist you made for yourself and Nikolai. You’re not sure how this song ended up on your duo playlist. It isn’t exactly a melody you could dance to. But the gentle melody tugs you closer to Nikolai. Your soft lips linger near his, overwhelmed by the rich smell of his cologne and the warmth of his body. Only then to pause right before making contact. What if I’m not enough for him? As if overhearing your inner fears, Nikolai takes the plunge with renewed vigor. He suddenly lifts you off the ground, making you gasp in surprise, your legs wrapping around his waist tightly.

One palm rests under your rear, supporting you. The other grabs the back of your neck, pulling you in for an intimate kiss. The passion that had been ignited between you both through dance spills over into the kiss, causing him to kiss you hungrily. You sigh, your eyes closing as you return his kiss with equal fervor. Your hands grip his shoulders desperately. His hand trails up to the back of your head, entangling itself in your soft locks as he deepens the kiss, his teeth grazing against your bottom lip before he pulls back, leaving you both panting and breathless for a few moments. White strands of hair press against your forehead as he leans his forehead against yours, gazing into the depths of your eyes.

He whispers, his voice carrying with it the firm determination of a promise, “My songbird, how many times will I have to tell you not to overthink things?” You attempt to look away as your cheeks heat up but Nikolai doesn’t allow you to avert your gaze.

His hand stays firm on the back of your head, his eyes peering into the depths of yours as he adds, “You know if I truly wanted to, I wouldn’t still be here by your side. So why do you keep looking at me like that?” Your eyes widen. Nikolai gives the faintest smirk; of course he’d notice. You should’ve known you wouldn’t be able to slip your emotions past him undetected. He could read you like a book. He always could. You take a deep breath, pulling back as much as he will allow you. Your hands move to caress his shoulders, your gaze averting his as you mumble, “You’re so amazing, you know that?” Blinking a few times in surprise, Nikolai chuckles softly, leaning forward to kiss your cheek, “Compliments? All of a sudden, songbird–”

He’s taken off guard when your hands suddenly cup his cheeks, stopping him mid-kiss. When you look at him, he doesn’t see the usual flustered or loving warmth in your eyes he usually sees when you compliment him. Instead, he sees a flicker of fear in your eyes. He watches you swallow before continuing to speak, the song that was playing slowly fading into silence. Your voice is soft, filled with pride but also anxiety,

“I mean it, Kolya. You’re the top theatre major in the entire university. Possibly in the entire country. You breathe and you get any lead role you want..” You take a sharp breath, feeling your anxieties rising to the surface. “The minute we arrive at the audition, I bet they’ll be begging you to sign a contract with them. Just like all those acting companies…” You watch as his expression softens into a look of understanding. You offer a small, bitter smile, “The rumors are true, aren’t they?” You hop forward in his arms, feeling Nikolai’s arm tighten under you. “Did you sign anything? Where will you be going? They’re letting you finish university first, aren’t they?” “No,” he replies, clicking his tongue and shaking his head softly. “I didn’t sign anything, songbird.”

You stare at him in surprise, the shock evident in your eyes. After a few moments of stunned silence, you manage to utter one simple word, “...What?”

He chuckles, his smirk lighting up your heart as you see it. “I didn’t sign any of the contracts,” he confesses. He looks away, humming in thought. “There were some really good ones there too…”

“Wait, why not?!” You rock in his arms, causing him to groan. His hand moves fast, placing itself on your back to steady you. “Wasn’t becoming an actor your dream?”

Still humming, he looks back at you, shrugging idly.

His voice is rather chipper as he replies, “Well, I definitely could still accept one of the contracts in the future. But being an idol with my pretty songbird sounds much more fun. Can you imagine it?”

You squeal as he spins, holding you close. His dazzling eyes never leave yours as he stares up at you, twirling and stepping around the stage, spinning you with him. “Us performing together! I can already hear the crowd screaming for us!~”

As his spinning slowly comes to a stop, you wait a few moments for your stomach to settle before speaking up, “But what if I don’t get in? What if I don’t make the cut?”

A warm chuckle escapes his lips as he shakes his head, his hand lightly caressing your back. “I told you before, didn’t I? When you start performing, when you're not overthinking every step, you look like a true idol songbird.”

He leans forward to boop his nose against yours, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. He doesn't comment on the growing kindness in your cheeks as he whispers.

“I wasn’t just saying that to be nice. I meant it. And if that company can’t see that, then I wouldn’t want to sign with them anyway~”

“But you can’t keep passing up opportunities like this–” You squeak as he leans in, nuzzling against your cheek playfully, yet affectionately.

“If they don’t know true talent when they see it, why would I ever think about signing with them? And I’m not passing up opportunities. I’m just exploring all possible avenues~”

You huff, a small amused smile lifting onto your face.

Doubt attempts to creep into your heart once more, your smile faltering as you ask, “Are you really–”

“Yes, songbird. I’m really serious,” he interrupts you, his voice losing its playful tone and becoming more serious. He cups your cheek, turning your head gently so he can gaze into your eyes once more.

His thumb lightly caresses your soft skin as he whispers, “You’re going to shine so much out there, all the stars in the sky will be jealous~” He kisses your cheek softly, sweetly, adding, “Trust yourself, remember songbird?”

Your lips quirk upwards into a grateful smile, your arms wrapping around Nikolai as you embrace him tightly once more.

He chuckles, slowly settling you back down on your feet, his hand resting ontop of your head. Instead of ruffling your hair, he gently pats your head.

“I’ll…do my best,” you reply. Eyes turning upwards towards Nikolai, you offer him a slightly brighter smile. He grins at you, letting you go collect your belongings from backstage, his eyes watching you closely.

There was a bit more pep in your step. Good. His grin grows as he approaches you, taking his black jacket off, covering your shoulders with it as he speaks to you in a more cheerful voice, “Why don’t we grab dinner. My treat~”

You grab the warm fabric of his jacket, tugging it close. Then, you pick up your handbag, “You promise you’ll get anything?”

He clicks his tongue, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as he begins to guide you towards the theatre’s doors, chuckling, “Okay, okay~ Only because you did so amazing today. You were practising instead of studying, weren’t you?”

“No I wasn’t–~!”

“You moved so elegantly, and the energy you had on stage this time... You've come such a long way! Just think of how much more you’ll shine when you’re in your outfit! We’ll have to get up early to get a head start on your makeup too–!”

As he eagerly leads you out of the theatre, dimming the lights as you depart together, he wraps his arm around you, savouring the way you giggle and blush.

In that moment, as dusk envelops you both, it's clear: while the moon may doubt her significance to the sun, the sun knows his light would dim without the moon by his side.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*𝓣𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

@tecchoussuperlady @hearts4heidi @lovestruckbook @wixxlemuff @twinkaesop @livelaughyo @yonseibananamilk @honeyangelsblog @soggyoreoinmilk @verminthorr @lunarmin716 @cherridove @slowlyfoulenthusiast

Dividers: @/saradika

#bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #nikolai gogol x reader #nikolai x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #flurry-of-writing

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doodle-pops · 8 months ago

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Point of View

Caranthir x reader

Request: Can I request a fic for Caranthir where our lovely red bean is feeling insecure about his appearance and reader (wife maybe?) reassures him? It could be a mix of fluff and smut, with body worship and lot of love, if you like the idea. Reader would be tracing his freckles with soft touches and kisses and Cara would have no idea how to react, he would feel really insecure at first, but he would finally relent and let his beloved show him just how much she loves him and his beautiful body. In the end I think he would cry and maybe try to return the favor? Or keep cuddling her? Just any way to make her see that he loves her just as much. Hope this is not too confusing, sorry. - Anon

A/N: I chose to omit the smut, though it is hinted that he and reader were intimate before the focused scene. I wanted to write something extremely soft between them accepting their love for each other.

Warnings: nudity but you have to squint real hard to notice, just a soft reassuring moment with Caranthir, fluff and comfort

Words: 1.2k

Synopsis: You spend a quiet moment with Caranthir, expressing your appreciation towards his beauty marks.

Eyes facing star-like patterns and finger following to recreate the motion of your eyes, you drew circles, curled lines and flowers in between, morphing the freckled stars into an even more beautiful masterpiece. Thankfully, your sleeping husband was a deep sleeper to grant you the opportunity to perform your silly little moments as you showed his skin in adoration. It was better when he was asleep than awake; the tickles were never-ending, furthermore, getting him to remove his shirt other than intimate moments was impossible. So taking the chance, you dipped your finger closer to his waistline and dragged it across his lower back, then up the other side waving your finger about.

At the same time, he exhaled and released a series of mumblings before slipping into a deeper slumber. Releasing a breath you were also holding, you smiled at his peaceful state and moved your hands to push his hand out his face before nuzzling his nose and planting a few kisses at the tip before travelling lower, covering his cheeks, shoulders, and back in an abundance of kisses. Even the faint angry red lines received some love even though the creation was because of love. Smiling into the kisses as you covered his back, once you reached his cluster of stars near his hipbone, you planted a longer kiss at the end and rested your head against it.

It was moments like these when you were able to express your appreciation freely and easily towards his beauty. Moments when he wouldn’t fuss and resist, complaining about what others thought when he missed the point of your words and intentions. Fighting to make him see that he should learn to ignore others and trust in you was a work in progress, one you weren’t ready to give up so easily yet.

“Have you finished your artwork, painter?” His groggy, morning voice was the epitome of deep and savoury. It sounded the way caramel tasted.

Jolting at the suddenness of his voice, you laughed into his warm skin causing him to squirm slightly and roll away from your touch. This only caused you to reach your hand out to snatch him by his butt, giving them loving pats each before squeezing. Caranthir’s immediate response was to roll away as far as he could, shouting about your indecency this early morning.

“You know I can’t help it, love. When my eyes fall on something so beautiful, it is impossible to not touch it. I must admire,” you purred as you rose to your knees, crawling over, plopping at his side to down, and resting your foreheads against one another.

Despite the closeness informing him that you were up to no good this morning, he fell for your trick, getting lost in your eyes and presence to ignore the sensation of your hands trailing over his abdomen. He resisted the urge to squirm away from your touch, instead, sucking in his stomach which only fuelled your dedication.

“You can deny my touch as much as you want, but you admit that you enjoy it,” you murmured against his lips and observed how his lashes fluttered as your fingers traced the rest of his freckles across his pectorals and abdomen. Sensitive areas he ensured that were heavily covered and at first, avoided your touch believing that you would find it disgusting. Never had he been so wrong upon the first contact of your delicate fingers on his skin. It was now he understood why they were sensitive, and you helped him to love those blotches on his skin even more.

“Whoever said anything about denying your touch, melda,” he purred and leaned in to brush his lips against yours. His forest green eyes softened as they gazed into yours, silently asking for you to stop teasing and kiss his lips.

“Your stomach,” you giggled and dipped your finger down his abs, stopping right above his V-line. “Stop moving it in and let me touch you properly.”

“Perhaps it is that I am ticklish.” Finally leaning in, he managed to score a gentle peck to your lower lips since you chose to pull away and smirk.

Folding your legs under your body, you perched your hands on your thighs and arched your brow. The smirk still danced upon your lips as you gave them a lick, followed by a bite. “You weren’t ticklish last night when I was showering you with my devoted love and affection. In fact, you enjoyed my touch.”

“And I thank you for that, melda.” He sat up against the headboard, pulling the sheet around his waist and crossing his arms. “You have made me feel a whole lot better. Thank you for your care.”

Immediately, your eyes softened, and your smirk morphed into tenderness. His state of being yesterday left you uneasy after reminders of his appearance resurfaced. Regardless, you were pleased as his spouse to be gifted with the ability to nurture his wounds and heal them through your compassion and admiration. While your presence was enough to heal, the extra wish for your touch coupled with praises patched up his scars and helped them fade. The only thing left to do was find the courtesans and give them a solid piece of your mind…and fist behind your Lord’s back.

Scooting closer to caress his cheeks, you leaned him to properly kiss his lips. “Anytime you need me, I’ll be there to remind you of your worth and beauty. I love everything about you, Moryo—don’t ever forget that and allow others to influence your mind. Everything about you is an artwork I love, and I would be willing to show you all over again if you’ll let me.”

“You never fail to amaze me with the way I appear in your eyes. I find it impossible to believe that I could look as captivating as you consider me.”

“Is that not the same thing with me? When you tell me that I’m beautiful and to trust in you, don’t you want me to?”

He didn’t open his mouth to reply, yet the knowing smile on his lips answered the question.

“See. We’re in the same boat when it comes to convincing each other of our beautiful image, and if we want it to work, then you have to believe me as I will believe you,” you added while rocking in your seated position. “Trust my words, there’s nothing I don’t like about you.”

He remained quiet, pondering and calculating his following sequence of actions to reply to your statement. Not an elf of many words, but rather relying on his actions, he chose to lean into your shoulder. Slowly nuzzling his face into your skin, breathing in your scent that calmed him in waves, his arms followed to encircle your waist and pull you into him. The lazy tracing on your hipbone from his thumb, languid intake of breaths and cat-like nuzzling into your neck, all spoke one particular response from him, he was grateful.

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @rain-on-my-umbrella @mysticmoomin @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @sakurayaxd @ladyenchanted @stormchaser819 @involuntaryspasms @addaigio @lamemaster @elficially-done-with-life @aconstructofamind @hermaeuswhora

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prythianpages · 1 year ago

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ACOSM | The Night she was Born

azriel x rhys's sister (oc) however, since this is her birth story, Azriel is not in this.

warnings: birth scene, mentions of blood, some angst and maybe mild fluff

A/N: this is just an imagine of the birth of Rhysand's sister, the first to my collection of imagines that follow her story. I do want to put a disclaimer that some details will be different in my series of imagines following Rhysand's sister, to what is actually canon in the books. Another disclaimer is that I've been in love with the name Yvaine since I watched Stardust and thought it would be a fitting name for Rhysand's mom after learning it meant "evening star." I am aware that there is a fanfiction that also named her the same but when I chose to name Rhysand's mom this, it was not my intention to copy it. I actually hadn't gotten to that part in the fic yet when I had already written this.

Screams of anguish followed by frantic orders filled the room. Sweat glistened on her skin, her dark hair sticking to her forehead. She hunched over in pain, her grip tight on the bed post as she refused to lay down. One of the maids rushed to open the doors to the room’s balcony and then drew back the curtains to all windows before opening those as well, allowing in the fresh draft of cool air in.

The moon was aglow, casting its light upon the room as if it was bestowing its blessing upon the coming of the second child of the night court. But still, it did nothing to relieve the lady in distress as she let out another scream, causing the little dark haired boy beside her to pale, stricken with his own fear over hearing his mother’s agony. She had been like this for hours.

At the sound of the doors to the chambers opening, the dark haired boy turned his head. Tears glistened in his deep blue-violet eyes as they fell upon the High Lord of the Night Court. The little boy ran toward him.

The High Lord’s face crossed with fear, the color draining from his face at the sight of his wife–his mate– in pain. He paid no mind to the boy who had ran to him and sought out comfort but instead continued to walk to his mate.

The High Lord did not say a word. He did not need to. His hand reached out toward his wife’s, finding it to be warm and clammy. He felt her relief shoot through their bond at his touch. She loosened one of her hand’s grip on the bedpost to allow herself to wrap them around her husband’s instead.

“Push harder, my Lady.” Madja, one of the Night court’s healer, instructed as she kneeled before her Lady and urged the maids to aid her in helping with the birth.

The High Lord watched his mate struggle, unable to hide the worry on his face. Their first born had come with ease. With Rhysand, it had been a smooth pregnancy with the babe arriving right on his expected due date. It had also been a short labor with minimal pain. Nothing compared to the scene before him. Very few things were capable of instilling fear into the High Lord of the Night Court…

Losing his mate was one of them.

“My High Lord,” Madja began with a frown. Tears streamed down her face as she brought up her bloodied hands–his mate’s blood. He followed her gaze to the pooling of blood on the floor that seemed to be growing more and more by the second. He felt like the breath was knocked out of him. He recognized that tone in Madja’s voice. “She’s lost so much blood. I’m afraid–”

“You will save this child at any cost!” The Lady of Night screamed in between her tremors. Her desperate eye’s met her mate’s. She knew what Madja was about to say and as she looked into her mate’s deep blue-violet eyes, she knew what his answer would be.

“Yvaine–”

“Please.” Yvaine, the Lady of Night, begged.

“We will save them both.” The High Lord said in a commanding tone as he returned his gaze back to Madja. A frustrated glower was etched on his face and his eyes were alight with a warning. If either of them die, you’ll be next.

The High Lord of the Night Court was powerful. However, his powers specialized in destroying and misting his enemies. He was not well endowed in the healing aspect, which is why he summoned more healers from the Night court, cursing himself for underestimating the need.

Upon their arrival, Madja barked desperate orders at them as she took the lead on Lady Yvaine’s labor. The High Lord did not know how much time had passed. He could only focus on holding his mate and whispering reassurances to her as she continued to hunch over in agony. Yvaine was strong and she would get through this.

“The baby is coming!” Madja shouted in relief. “I can see its head!”

One last scream came from the Lady of the Night followed by silence.

Then, another cry—a babe’s cry.

Madja caught the babe in her arms, wrapping her around the towels she had prepared earlier as her helper cut the umbilical cord. The High Lord carefully held Yvaine as some of the healers cleaned her up and switched her nightgown. Yvaine had lost a lot of blood that would slow down her recovery but she would live and that’s all that mattered to the High Lord.

As the High Lord helped Yvaine to rest in their bed, he couldn’t but smile in relief. He pressed a chaste kiss to her sweaty forehead. “Well done, my love.”

Wrapping the now clean baby in a new blanket, Madja approached the High Lord and Lady Yvaine. A warm smile on her face as she looked down to the crying bundle in her arms. “It’s a beautiful baby girl.” Madja said, holding out the baby to them.

The High Lord dropped his wife’s hand, allowing her to stretch her weak arms forward and beckoning for Madja to place her baby in her arms.

A girl? The High Lord couldn’t help the disappointment that settled in as his gaze fell upon their newborn. A girl was not what he was hoping for and as his gaze inspected the babe further, he couldn’t help but notice how small she was or how fragile her little wings appeared. This was the babe that had caused his mate so much distress and pain over the past couple of months. He was hoping the pain and struggle meant the coming of another strong boy such as it had happened for the High Lord of the Autumn Court.

“Such a frail little thing. What a pity,” he couldn’t help but mutter as he turned and made his way out of the chambers, alluding that he had other present matters to attend to.

“Rhysand.”

The dark haired boy–no older than two– turned to his mother with wide eyes, his little wings outstretched and taut. Despite being told to return to his chambers so that he may avoid the horrors of childbirth, he had opted to stay, determined to be one of the first to meet his new sibling. He swallowed the urge to bring back up his dinner and approached his mother with caution. He brought his wings back in, careful not to hurt his mother but anxious to see the small bundle in her arms.

Rhysand’s mother, Yvaine, smiled with tired eyes, patting the spot on the bed beside her. He successfully hopped onto the bed and eased himself into her open arm as she curved it around his shoulder, bringing him close. He found himself staring into eyes that mirrored his own and hair just as dark as his. She also had wings like him. As Rhysand curiously looked upon his new sibling, the baby’s cries came to a stop as she did the same.

“Sister?” Rhysand softly asked, sparing a brief glance at his mother before he returned his awe stricken gaze to the baby. While his words were few, his mother had done well in teaching him two more words in anticipation of the babe in her stomach: brother or sister. She had opted to keep the gender a surprise to all, including herself. While she knew her mate and husband had wished for another son, she secretly wished for a daughter. And when she heard Madja’s announcement of a baby girl, she was over the moon with the news, despite her aching body.

“Sister.” His mother confirmed, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You’re a big brother now, Rhys.”

A tiny gasp escaped from Rhysand. Big brother.

“Have you thought of a name, my Lady?” Madja asked, feeling her heart swell at the sight of the three.

Lady Yvaine looked down at her baby with such love and tenderness. She had heard the words her husband had muttered under his breath before departing, her heart aching at his disappointment. She could not disagree more with him. The baby in her arms was not an easy one to carry or bring into this world but she did not care. She was just so happy and relieved to finally have her daughter in her arms, safe and sound.

“She is to be strong and brave in a world like this,” Lady Yvaine stated, reaching out her finger for the baby to grasp. She broke into another smile as the baby wrapped her hand around her mother’s fingers with a surprisingly strong grip. It was as if the baby had agreed with her and a name instantly came to mind.

“Valeria.”

“Valewia.” Rhysand repeated slowly, causing his mother to giggle and those around to swoon over the adorable moment.

“Oh, my little stars.” Lady Yvaine cooed as she brought both of her children closer to her, inhaling both of their sweet scents deeply. “May you always shine bright, even on the darkest of nights.”

#rhysand #acotar #night court #rhysand's sister #acotar imagine #rhysand imagine

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reviewdiaries · 2 years ago

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Examining that Nancy x Ace scene from 4x01

It’s been far, far, far too long since we’ve had new Nancy Drew, but they still managed to make it worth the wait. Honestly that last scene is absolutely unhinged and I am here for it. But I wanted to take a minute to break it down (because that’s my jam) and make myself feral watching it approximately 8,000 times. Fair warning it gets long, more beneath the cut.

By the time we reach that final scene Ace is absolutely done. My boy has put himself through the wringer, both by thinking he isn’t enough and that’s why Nancy wouldn’t want him, and by then thinking he’s ruined everything by trying to kiss her. This is a guy who has spent just over two months without the support of one of his closest friends (see aforementioned trying to kiss) and thinking he’s ruined his chance with the woman he’s in love with. I think the power of realising Nancy’s been lying to him fuelled his mad run all the way from the Historical Society to Icarus Hall. Because when she opens the door and he’s panting trying to get the words out, sure some of that is down to the depth of the emotion he’s feeling, but a lot of that is the fact that he has forgotten he owns a car and has straight up run to talk to her.

And this is the most Ace we have seen Ace all episode. Every time we’ve seen him before this he’s been uncertain, unsure, completely knocked off his axis as though he has lost his true north. He’s tried to talk to Nancy, but this is Ace and he knows her, knows something isn’t right, particularly after the Lover’s Vigil when she says it’s her fault and she keeps leaning in and god he can feel it, feel something and then the glass is shattering and she’s gone. Again. Every bit of their interaction at the Vigil is instigated by her, the leaning in, the forehead touch.

Well, almost all of it. When he first catches her as she spins across the room towards him, there’s a split second where he’s steadying her without really putting his hands on her, unsure how he’ll be received, terrified to ruin it further, of crossing some unseen line.

And then the sheer need kicks in, the closeness of her after so long, and his hands tighten and pull her in towards him, just for a moment. Just a moment can’t hurt? Particularly when she’s looking at him like she’s drowning and he’s pulling her from the waves. And he can’t even finish his sentence when he glances down and sees the dress she’s wearing and it feels like there’s no one there but them. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel like sitting at home alone, it was after twenty four hours without being able to see her he had to find her.

@livelovecaliforniadreams (GIF Credit)

Ace is a smart boy, he can read between the lines, and Nancy has been avoiding him so long precisely because of this, because he knows her and will see the lie in her words - she can’t even make herself believe them, every time she says they can’t she leans in a little more. And this is the tipping point, the dominos start to fall into place as he parses through what she’s saying and what she’s doing. As the jar in her hand shatters and something about the sound of breaking glass hits too close to the memory of glass shattering once before that he’s been playing over and over and over again for weeks.

@bess-turani-marvin (GIF credit)

If they didn’t almost immediately rush out to deal with the undead he’d have remembered and gone back to that pile of broken glass earlier, but it’s hours after that he finally remembers and suddenly his compass rights itself. He doesn’t have the answers, he doesn’t understand it yet, but he knows then that he’s not wrong, and the certainty burns away that lingering doubt that’s been clouding his mind for too long and fuels that desperate run to Icarus Hall, to her, and to some answers.

He’s direct now, no more stepping around the point and trying not to scuff through lines he doesn’t see. No he trusts his instincts, and more importantly he trusts Nancy, and although everything she’s been saying has been no no no, the word she’s written screams yes, you, it’s you, you’re not in this alone.

You were lying. You do have feelings for me.

Eye contact, that slow walk in, he doesn’t know it all yet but he knows the most important thing, and he knows Nancy isn’t going to talk about it unless he pushes her in just the right way. But this is Ace, and he knows exactly how to get Nancy to talk. Don’t give her room to evade, push through the denials. Crowd into her space until she gives him the truth.

And he hands over that paper (that paper that Nancy folded oh so neatly in one crisp fold when she wrote his name (his name) but now is crumpled from being clenched so tightly in his fist as he ran there) and the sudden absence of that square of truth is enough to make his fingers flex on empty air as he fists his hand again, suddenly bereft of the solid proof he’s held to so tightly.

@nancy-drew (GIF Credit)

He knows her handwriting, would know the sharp spike of her a’s and the slant of her e’s anywhere. He watched her protect that jar, try to cover up the pieces of it when she ran to clean up her hand, and now, as soon as she’s faced with the proof she can no longer meet his eye. Looks in his general direction, but evades his own stare knowing she cannot make the lie reach her eyes as she tries to deny it.

She walks away. He was expecting that. Given the amount of denial, of avoidance, of strangeness of the last two months, he didn’t expect her to admit it that quickly. So he follows her, he has time now, now he’s not worried about butting up against some unknown line he paces after her. Deliberate, unhurried, as he bats her feeble excuse away. And when she turns around he can see the defences crumbling, almost as though she wants him to keep pushing, keep asking, to unburden herself of this secret.

@nancy-drew (GIF Credit)

She’s not saying anything, and that would normally unnerve him, but the pieces are finally slotting in together and he has a theory, an idea that he wants to test. The words spilling out of him as he finally takes those shattered pieces of glass and holds them up to the light. The barometer, that was weird, a coincidence (not that he believes in those anymore) but the jar as well? Now that’s almost a pattern. That’s something he can work with. You can see the smile just tracing the curve of his lip.

@nancy-drew (GIF Credit)

He’s spent too long around Nancy and she’s rubbed off on him, and the tugging of a thread until he can see the whole picture, the tenacious worrying of a point until it makes sense, that’s him, but it’s also her, the two of them so intertwined now they’ve become a whole without ever realising it.

Both times I felt something and I know you felt it too.

@nancy-drew (GIF Credit)

Nancy opens her mouth to protest as he makes his declaration but closes it again quickly as he states that he knows she felt it too. He steps in - proximity, he’s learning, is the key. And intent, and he has enough intent for the both of them now. He is careful, oh so careful, so aware of her, for any (true) demand that he stop, but the longing in her eyes is a real thing and as he steps in she moves in closer too.

It’s a hypothesis, it’s a test, it’s a god damn it please let him be right and understand this, and wrong and let him finally (finally) kiss her. He knows what’s going to happen (maybe not exactly, but the shape of it) but there’s still that desperate longing hope that maybe this time they’ll kiss, that this time he’ll feel the shape of her lips under his, that this time he’ll be able to sink his hands into her hair and pull her close without her jerking away with that terrified look in her eyes. We’ve not seen them have this moment yet. Every hallucination he kissed her neck, never her lips. In the other timeline this crucial breathless moment of wanting turning into reality was never shown, just the aftermath. This moment, this threshold is something sacred, something special, that’s why it is this moment of near touch, of almost, of finding the shape of the boundary of the curse that the warning springs from.

@nancy-drew (GIF Credit)

But the torch glass shatters and the groan Ace lets loose, of frustration, of desperation, of want and need and longing is so nearly swallowed down as to be almost inaudible. Because he’s both got what he needed, what he wanted, and exactly the opposite. She is so close, and yet further than ever. And he would wait a hundred years for her, a thousand, but that doesn’t stop the desperate need whenever he’s close enough to touch her.

Nancy hears it though, just as clearly as she hears the glass breaking. For a moment she’s lost in the nearness of him, and she follows his movement back, desperate to remember the feel of his lips on her, lost in the memory of having done this a hundred times already. As she comes back to herself it crashes back in all the thousand reasons why they can’t, and she moves back, finally dragging her eyes to his - she owes him this much.

@nancy-drew (GIF Credit)

He is still so close and the sadness is overflowing from her. She’s admitted her feelings to herself, to her dads, and now finally to Ace. Not in so many words, not out loud, but it’s there in the sharp spike of an a and the slant of her e. It’s in the way she leans into him like a flower searching for sunlight whenever they’re close. In the way she can’t take her eyes from him when he’s near. Struck over and over by the disjointed feel of knowing and not knowing. She knows what it feels like to run her hands through his hair, knows that he smiles in his sleep, knows the precise cadence of his stuttering breath as they kiss. And yet she also doesn’t. She is stuck in this isolated limbo and so so tired of the weight of the secret pressing her down into a defeated shell of herself. She can’t focus on anything, the overlay of the knowing and not knowing - that Ace will bring her all the world’s sorbet to make her smile, that he thinks the town loves her and he’s with them, the feel of his blood on her hands as the light vanishes from his eyes.

She’s grieving and not, and alone and not, and it all sounds so silly even now, even after all they’ve been through to say the words out loud to him.

@nancy-drew (GIF Credit)

Because we’re cursed.

It’s the sort of thing you read about in books, that happens in fairy tales. The prince and princess were cursed and true loves kiss wasn’t enough to break it. It’s enough instead to shatter glass and remind them of their place. Temperance still reminding Nancy that she controls the strings even now in death.

Ace takes a step away and the loss of his warmth is enough to break her already fragile heart further. But he doesn’t leave, and he doesn’t doubt, and for now, that will have to be enough.

#nancy drew #nancy drew cw #nancy drew meta #nancy drew analysis #nace #cw nancy drew #nancy drew 4x01 #nancy drew spoilers #nancy x ace #nancy drew 4.01 #nancy #ace [redacted]

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theelderhazelnut · 9 months ago

Text

Warnings: none

Pairing: Ombra x Alex

Characters: Ombra, Alex Demir ( @chadillacboseman )

Words Count: 711

Summary: Ombra has a lil migraine attack and Alex takes care of her.

Author’s Note: This is just a very cute scene that I won’t forgive Tara for putting it in my head.

Writing Taglist (to be added/removed): @vivilovespink @scentedcandleibex @darialovesstuff @confidentandgood @spacestephh @takiisieju-moved @inafieldofdaisies @carlosoliveiraa @gearvmac @bloody-arty-myths @zoetheneko @hi-thisiszira @admin-pipes @mitsuko-saito @malewifefirestar @krysta-cross @elderglocks @cassietrn @breakfwest @nightbloodbix @middlechildwhoescapedthebasement @ninibear3000 @aceghosts @sinclxirx @gavincruikshanksexhusband @voidika @orbitinytheworld @strangefable @cloudofbutterflies92 @bihanspookies @valyrra @simonxriley

“Where does it hurt exactly?” Alex asked as he walked up to the bed after he turned off the big light. I drew an imaginary rectangle on my eyebrows where most of my headaches attacked.

He reclined on the bed, leaning against the headboard. Then he hooked his arm beneath my knees, and with a swift motion I was curled up on top of him. He pressed my head to his chest, and kissed the space between my eyebrows. His lips touched my skin so gently as if I was a fragile blossom.

He was so warm. I closed my eyes and inhaled his sweet scent. Like the rain to a dying forest, it added a few more days to my lifespan.

A weak smile stretched my dry lips. “That was better than any of those meds.”

A toothy grin wrinkled his eyes. God knew for how long I could be lost in those tiny little lines.

I put my hand on his, and brought his thumb to my lips, kissing it with such delicacy.

“I guess I’ll have to follow you around all day to make sure you’re taking good care of my gölge.” Alex mumbled.

I chuckled a silent laugh. “That’s okay. I’ve had worse.”

His smile dropped as he looked at me dead in the eyes.

“No seriously this is okay!” I chuckled a bit louder as I squirmed in his arms. Suddenly, another pulse of pain rushed to my forehead.

His smile returned as he leaned in to give a peck on my lips. All of a sudden, the doomed images of him abandoning me struck my mind like a ruthless thunder. It had become a part of my daily routine to fight with this daymare, and that night wasn’t an exception. He would eventually see the stains of blood on my hands. He would see what I truly was. And he would run away, disgusted and terrified. But I would beg him on my knees to stay.

“Would you…” I paused for a moment, not sure if it was the right moment. “Would you please never leave me, no matter what?” I whispered, tides of worry washing over my eyes. This sudden outburst of emotions surprised even myself.

Alex leaned in, his lips just a few millimeters away from my ear. “Canım, I’ll follow you wherever you go. To the ends of the Earth and back. I’ll die for you. I’ll kill for you. I’ll turn the world upside down if you ask me to.”

As each word danced out of his mouth, I felt my heart melting down my rib cage, its warmth igniting my insides. The tornado of thoughts perished in an instant. I wanted to rip my chest apart so he could see it himself, so he could see what he did to me. A lump in my throat blocked my throat, and my lips began to slowly tremble. For the first time in forever, I didn’t care if someone would see me crying. I didn’t care if I seemed vulnerable because that was exactly what I wanted. I wanted him to see my love pouring out of my eyes for him. Crying would worsen my headache, but I could tolerate any pain as long as he was by my side.

I covered my mouth and nose with my hands. Painfully, my eyebrows arched backwards, and streams of tears poured down from the sides of my face. All the definitions of heaven were summarized in him. What else could I ask for?

Through my blurred vision, I saw that Alex’s eyes widened in disbelief. Surely, he wasn’t expecting such a strong reaction from me.

“Wha-O-Ombra are you okay? Did I-“ He stuttered.

His gaze softened as I shook my head. “Then what is this for, Canım?”

I stared up at him with watery eyes and shaky lips. For the first time, I didn’t have to wipe those tears away.

Because I was safe.

“I-,” The lump obstructed my throat, and only three words could escape. “I love you.”

My chest trembled as I let out a silent sob.

“Güzelim,” He kissed my checkbone. “Seni daha fazla seviyorum. Now, don’t cry. Your headache will get worse.”

“It just did.”

Alex scoffed. “You know what? I hate you.”

#i want to eat them #ombra the ironhead #alex demir #IronHeart #ship: you feel like home #mortal kombat oc #mk oc

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xelasrecords · 9 months ago

Text

Violent Need

Han Jumin x MC

NSFW

Attempting to kill herself to hurt Jumin has consequences. MC is about to find out what.

A/N: It occurred to me that I mostly write slow scenes. Time to remedy that!

CW: referenced suicide, hate sex (oral), getting off to violent imagery

Words: 1.8k

Masterlist Read on AO3

"Why is it always you?"

Jumin didn't budge from her balcony. His breath was still laboured, his black tie dangling loose from his collar. The wind roared against the bolted windows. She could barely make out the street far below, but she knew it was stranded. Nobody with good sense would take a stroll at this hour.

She pulled her night robe tighter around her. It was a comforting embrace that she would never get from him. "I'm sick of seeing you here."

His jaw hardened. "I am only here when my presence is needed. Had you not triggered the alarm, I wouldn't have come," he said. "Understand that I put your feelings into consideration. I'm not the heartless monster you make me out to be."

She cackled. "A monster with a heart is still a monster." The sound that escaped her throat was raw, dry sand scraping against inflamed flesh. "You don't put a fucking tracker on someone you love. You trust them."

Jumin snapped his head at her. His knuckles that gripped the railing were turning white. "Was I wrong in guessing that you were trying to kill yourself?"

She met his gaze steadily, those grey eyes so devoid of warmth that if she cleaved him open, it might as well reveal a hollow husk of a body. "No."

Jumin threw his hands up and walked away from the window. "Should I have sat around while your vitals deteriorated then? Your oxygen saturation was plummeting." He raised her chin and slid a trembling hand down the necklace of bruise around her neck. His touch was delicate. She was his fragile doll that he was determined to put together whenever she fell apart. There were too many cracks to be deemed lovable, but Jumin loved her still. "Under no circumstances can you die. You are needed in this association. I need you."

A pleasant sensation stung down her spine. She would not burn alone in the hell he put her in. He had to bleed as she bled. She threaded her fingers through his ink-black hair and jerked him close. "Whatever do you need me for?"

"You are the only one who understands me."

She nodded. "Why do you think I didn't strangle myself all the way through?" Her lips smoothed into a cold smile. "Ending my life permanently was never my goal. Chipping away yours is."

Jumin drew in a sharp breath. "I will still love you even with nothing left of me. You don't know what I've done to keep you safe. You have no clue of the things I'm capable of doing for you." He leaned his forehead against her as his voice dropped low. "You will stay alive and whole. That's an order."

She twisted her hold on his hair until he winced. "Any other rule I have to abide by?"

"You're moving in with me."

A weight dropped on her stomach.

She stumbled backwards into her bedroom. The temperature abruptly fell as the adrenaline of hurting him left her. She would be forcibly removed from the only place she felt safe in. "This is the only place that's mine. You are not taking this away from me."

Jumin stalked towards her with great caution as if she were a feral cat, and she felt like one. She hated that he always tried to appease her anger. It was her right to be furious. He had no right to take it away from her.

He took, and took, and took. All the material things he gave her were the pitiful apologies she had no use of.

"You are a danger to yourself," said Jumin. "You have proven that you are not to be trusted alone."

Her eyes darted around her room wildly, taking in the pieces of furniture that she had arranged to her comfort. The sharp-edged hand mirror that Jumin would wrench away from her the second he noticed the dried blood on it. She had forgotten to clean it before triggering the alarm. The blooming dahlia on her dressing table, the only living thing she cared to take care of.

How was it possible that she had no power over Jumin when he was blinded by his love for her? She wanted to be the poison to his existence. The person harbouring more feelings should be dependent on the receiver. Love made you weak, but Jumin used it to fortify his claim on her instead.

This was her present for nurturing the monster in him.

"What will I have left once you take away my home?"

"Calm down," said Jumin. It did nothing but to further incense her. "A relocation is not a complete removal. You will have freedom—within reason—in my penthouse. There's a new room already set up for you. We can decorate it to mimic this current interior. Everything will be tailored to your comfort."

"'We'?" she spat. "I will take no part in dolling up my prison."

"I'm not abandoning you. You will still have your home, with me." Jumin sighed. He stood a few steps away from her, oceans away from the person she once cared about. "I wish you would want me like I want you."

"How do you want me exactly?" Her voice shook with contempt. "Chained to your bed so I can't go anywhere without your permission? Kept on a leash so I have to trail after you like a dog? Sedated so I can be pliant and quiet?"

Jumin studied her, searching for a truth that did not exist. "Would you like that? Would you reciprocate my love if I indulged in your fantasies?"

Her skin crawled at his inference. There was no breakthrough. Every word she threw at him would simply be twisted to his convenience. "What you have for me is not love."

The cords in his neck went taut. "That is the one thing you fail to understand about me."

"You wouldn't have assumed my fantasies if you loved me. You would have asked. My thoughts would matter to you."

"I see." Jumin rubbed his lips with his forefinger. "My apologies. Tell me, what do you like to fantasise about?"

She snatched at his wrist and sank her fingers between his wrist bones, digging into the strains of muscle. She straightened her posture; she was a tall woman, but Jumin had the ability to make her feel smaller, lesser, as if everything that made her could be easily crushed. She supposed there was some truth in it.

"You, dying." She guided his hand to slip into her panties and rubbed at her clit while letting her robe fall around her shoulders. "I picture you dying."

A flash of hurt passed across Jumin's face, but he recovered in the next moment. He kissed her neck and curled two of his fingers into her entrance. She groaned, but they slipped in with some effort.

"I want to see blood around your lifeless body." She gasped when he hit the right spot and her breasts rose and fell at a quickening pace. Jumin's expression when he stared up at her was darkened with lust that he often tried to keep at bay. "Stabbed to utter deformity. Ripped apart until you couldn't haunt me anymore. I want to stain my hands with your blood. I would forever be marred by you."

Jumin pushed her against the wall, his hands never leaving her. "Do you really hate me that much?"

Her gaze flicked to him, desperate for another taste of his pain. But he wore his hunger for her as a shield. There were no chinks in his armour. "It would be proof that I had done something. That I could reduce you into nothing and emerge a victor. I would fucking wear you like a badge of honour."

Jumin slid to his knees and pulled down her panties. The sight of him lowering himself for her should have been glorious, but it filled her with derision. It was just a ruse. They both knew who really held the power in this relationship. "I am not terrified of you."

She sneered down at him. "Killing you would be the best thing I had ever achieved."

Jumin let out a long-suffering sigh and balled up her panties before stuffing them into her mouth. There was a warning in his eyes that made her heart falter, a reminder that this was the person who had destroyed her beyond redemption. "As much as I love your nightmare tongue, I need you to be quiet."

He perched her calf over his shoulder before she could knee him on his face. She had half a mind to do it. But his mouth latched onto her core, tongue swirling in her and sucking her and her thoughts shattered.

Jumin laved at her until her hips bucked. She pushed his head against her and he tightened his bruising hold on her thighs. It was almost comical, how he was allowed to hurt her, but not herself. Her body wasn't even hers, and it was made apparent by the pleasure that Jumin continued to rip out of her.

When Jumin added three fingers and stretched them out, her back arched off the wall. It burned at first, but it quickly dissolved into a pain that she longed for. She was getting close, and she bit on the cloth in her mouth to avoid screaming out Jumin's name. He would not get the satisfaction of winning over her body. This ecstasy was for her and her only.

Her keening grew more desperate and her movements more frantic, but Jumin suddenly stopped. He held her hips against the wall and slowly stood up.

She spitted out the soaked panties. "What—"

"We can finish this at my penthouse," Jumin stated calmly, slick glistening his chin. He glanced at her panties on the floor with disinterest. "There is no need to put on a new underwear when we leave. You won't meet anyone at this hour, and Driver Kim knows better than to comment on your indecent state." He combed through her rustled hair and trailed his fingers down the valley between her exposed breasts.

Her vision turned white. She yanked on his tie until blood rushed to his beautiful, detestable face, until he started choking and coughing. "You're not a good person. You think you're doing the right thing to save me, but you're just as demented for using my body against me. You made me like this. You planted this hatred in me. It's your fault I can't love you."

Jumin pried her fist open with great effort. After taking several moments to catch his breath, he secured her night robe back in place with robotic efficiency. "I'm doing this for your own good. You will understand in the future."

"You should be afraid of me," she gritted out, venom lacing every drop of her word. "I will ruin you. I will."

Jumin's lips curled into a bitter smile and he kissed her, forcing her to taste herself. "You already have."

Footnotes:

🤷🏻‍♀️

Youtube | Goodreads | Letterboxd | Pinterest

#having more thoughts on jumin being controlling. the brain rot continues #xela writes #tw suicide #jumin han x mc #jumin han smut #jumin han angst #jumin han fic #mystic messenger fanfiction #mysme #jumin han

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liass-21 · 15 days ago

Note

2, 13, & 25 for the artist/writer ask thing???

HIII:3

2. a piece you’re proud of and why

all my fics are my babies but i would probably say honey sticking to your hands, sugar on the rim holds a special place in my heart bc #asexualethan. it was also the first time i’ve written anything explicit lmfao. but it’s so hard to choose!!! i also love the fics i wrote for benthan week, plus i branched out into two new fandoms in 2024 and wrote fics for them too. crazy shit happening idk

13. a fic or artwork from another creator that made you happy

it’s gotta be the benthan that @calkale drew for me as part of our art exchange. i’m attaching it here again because everyone should see it.

25. a scene or image that lives rent free in your mind

in general i always think about the I’m Your Friend monologue from rogue nation but a 2024 special scene has GOT to be the Forehead Touch TM.

ask game here

#ask game #ask box #hiiii:33 #yea we writing!

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bitch-butter · 4 months ago

Note

For the writing meme perhaps a POV!

Per your latest insight on writing web it’d be interesting to see some scenes from any of your series from his pov!

But joe from pretty on the inside would also be a beast from what you’ve shared!

omgg I'll leave the trainwreck!joe pov for a minute and turn to a favorite moment of mine from rivers part five aka beat a slow dance. this happens towards the end of chapter two, and is a scene that lowkey is a very important scene because it's the first time they both really want to tell the other that they love them but realize that they don't actually need to. I loved writing it the first time, I hope this is interesting ~

(there's another scene from this fic that's going to get a reimagining but that one might take an extra minute lol)

POV — something that’s already happened, retold from another character’s perspective

The night raced through his veins like charging horses, like poisonous sugar making his heart thud in his chest and his body feel hollow and brittle against it. He lay with his eyes shut, but knew sleep wouldn't truly come for hours no matter how Joe demanded he find it. It was just too much, far, far too much as he pictured all of their faces behind his eyes: mother, father, the priest, father, the priest, Philip.

Sighing through his nose, he turned his face into Joe's thigh, doing his best to go empty.

For a while he succeeded, and he found himself dreaming softly in Joe's voice, each sharply refracted image touching his mind softly the way the other man's hands would lay upon him, run through his hair. Nobody had ever been as kind to him. Nobody had ever been as beautiful. He saw Philp again, even as his face was not Philip's, as though from across a crowded room and he regarded him with a peaceful feeling in his heart, as though a dove had landed on the sensation. Smiling, he turned his attention back to Joe - beside him the dream as surely as he was in life - and put his face to the other man's neck.

The dream melted away against him easily, and it was like waking up in a rosebud with no traces of sleep deprivation, no lingering sense of doom. He cracked his eyes open gently with no concept of the hour, face feeling grimy and drawn as his blurred sight landed on Joe's silhouette against the honey light of the lamp, the book still balanced in his hand.

He must have read on after David fell asleep, and he found his heart going soft and warm at the fact.

"What did you think?” he asked, his voice barely a figment. Even still, it drew Joe's eyes down to him, and in this light they were practically black, onyx, precious and dark.

Joe huffed a laugh through his nose. “You’re supposed to be sleeping," he chided, and David fought not to preen at the other man's attention even if it came laced with concern. He was weak for anything Joe would give him.

“I slept,” he said easily, practically a sigh as he rolled onto his back. “Did you like it?”

He knows Joe only barely tolerates his questioning about what he reads, and he does do his best to temper it. Joe can be on guard against ghosts at times, still somehow afraid David is setting him up fore some elaborate joke, and it makes him cagey when asked too many questions. David knows the best way to soothe him is to simply allow him to Be, but then that's never exactly been his strongest skill.

They have such things in common. It's why they work.

Joe closed the book with a gentle sound, setting it aside carefully. “I don’t know,” he said with faux nonchalance, his hands finding David's hair. “I liked her, I think," he said cautiously, running his fingers from David's forehead to the space between his eyes, a simple, soothing gesture that David guessed was more for himself. "But I don’t know if I liked it.”

Humming, David relished in the touch nevertheless, eyes closing against the simple pleasure it brought to him, blood going slow as caterpillars in his veins. “Do you think she dies?”

“I think so.”

“I don’t know,” David replied, unable to deny just how deeply he enjoyed the moments when Joe let him talk about books, about what things meant. “Whenever I read something with an open ending like that I think of why they left it open in the first place.”

“Why do you think?”

Thinking, he blinked slowly up towards Joe. “Why give us the option to hope she lives if she dies in the end?" he asked, voice soft in the quiet of the night, in the gently rush that Joe's hands gave him. "If the story is all about how she’ll never be free in life then why not let her die, why even try to keep her alive?”

Joe frowned down at him, brow furrowed, and David knew he was worried for him. He wished he could tell him that there was nothing to worry about, but it wouldn't have been the truth. Nothing made him want to vanish from the earth like being in his parents house.

“Dark way of looking at it, buddy,” he said, like a hand outstretched. “People like hoping for something, maybe it isn’t actually as open as you say it is.”

“You think Chopin wrote it that way?”

Head tilting, Joe ran his fingers through David's hair once more, and he found his heart and eyes fluttering at once at the touch. “I think she could have lived,” he said, and his smile was a delicate thing, something David was afraid of breaking. “I think she probably died, but who's to say she doesn’t live?”

He was so wise. So good. He was the greatest person David had ever met, and he allowed him so much. Permitted him to be so much. “I think that’s right,” he said softly, eyes drifting back and towards Joe with an opaque clarity.

Joe looked uncertain, his smile wobbling, and David couldn't tell whether he was internalizing David's approval or his own pleasure at it more. “You think?”

God, but he was so dear. So...just so. His grandmother had been right, there were moments when he looked at Joe and words escaped him, when even the deepest parts of himself went still and silent like a forest in winter. There could be no way he could ever adequately express just how much he...

“I love your voice,” he said, finding the sentiment as close as he'd come to just saying the words themselves in many years. “I love it when you read to me,” he added, mouth quivering around the word as though it would sprout wings, fly around the room and refuse to be pulled back into his heart.

Joe had no business looking as surprised as he did. “You do?” he asked, voice stretched with incredulity.

Swallowing, David felt himself nod. “It makes me feel safe,” he admitted, wanting to tell Joe everything he'd ever felt laying in this bed in the long, lonely nights when he was convinced his life would be worth nothing. How even in his wildest dreams he couldn't have created Joe, wouldn't have allowed himself the hope, the courage to dream of someone of his enormity.

“You’re always safe with me,” Joe replied, smoothing his hand over David's hair, easy and sure like he had known just what David was going to say.

He broke somewhere deep inside. “Thank you,” he managed, muscles feeling weak at simply laying there and letting himself be looked at, touched with gentleness.

“For what?”

How could he say? But he must say it, otherwise what if Joe never quite knows?

“For taking such good care of me,” he said faintly.

Joe laughed at him with closed lips, shaking his head and giving David a pitying look. “You’re out of your mind, kid," he said on the edge of a breath, the way he always acted as though being kind was just something people did instead of something eternal, something almost otherworldly and deserving of celebration.

“I mean it, Joe,” he insisted, frowning up at him, unwilling to let Joe escape his gratitude. “I can think of ten guys who would have given up on me.”

Scoffing, Joe bent sharply down from his lean against the headboard to press a dry kiss against his forehead, which scrunched up in response. “Well, I can think of a hundred who would have given up on me,” he countered, his fringe hanging to tickle the point of David’s nose, making it wrinkle as he smiled back up towards him. “We made it through, that’s what matters.”

They made it through. How simple and yet how deep could something be?

He couldn't believe that his life was his life. Couldn't believe that Joe was his and he was Joe's, that whatever it was they had between them was worth bravery, worthy of living. He had wanted this so badly as a child, yearned desperately for love and understanding and kindness and had long disavowed that these things could ever truly be his.

But Joe had given it all to him without asking. David owed him the debt of his heart.

He suddenly, urgently, wanted to say the words.

“Can I say something?” he asks, slow and intentional.

For a moment Joe looked down on him with knowing eyes, as though he could see through to David's brain and see the way his synapses fired, the shape the words were taking before his mouth even tried to make them.

“Don’t," he said simply, mouth soft and smiling, and David huffed in dismay.

“Let me say it,” he insisted.

“Don’t,” Joe rebuked, soft and easy as he petted him.

Rolling his eyes, David did his best to not feel rejected even in the most meaningless way. “You don’t want me to say it," he accused, feeling mean, bristling at the way Joe just laughed at him and pulled gently at his hair.

“I don’t need you to say it, alright?" he said, and if it hadn't been the truth the feeling of dismissal might have lingered long in David's veins. As it was, he felt himself going warm once more, sure enough with the knowledge that it was real. They say the words in different ways every day, sometimes absent of even their voices. He doesn't need to say it. "I know,” Joe said, his voice low and solid, his eyes dark against David's face. “I know.”

David could only look at him, and look, and look. The man of his dreams, the man of his life, the man who made him laugh, and forced him to live with his eyes open. If Joe would just ask him to say it he would, he would, and he might never be able to stop. He reached out for Joe with an open hand against his neck, and Joe came to him smoothly, like it took no thought at all, easing him into a soft, lingering kiss, urging him down until they could embrace each other.

"Do you know?” Joe breathed against him, kissing the corner of his mouth until it turned up in happiness, in an elation that he thought this room might never know.

#technically ~rivers~#thank you for asking ~~#webgott

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frostedpuffs · 3 months ago

Text

HI @rosekasa !!!!! 💗

(have to answer this as a text post bc it's too long for an ask)

i LOVE this question, because it made me think!! i wont rate them in any particular order, and i don't necessarily think these scenes are the best I've ever written, but they're some of my favorites because of how much fun i had writing them.

putting this under a read more because im gonna paste the scenes and this ask might get long. some of this writing is a few years old atp so forgive the awkward wording in some places

Sewing Sentiments - Chapter 7 First Kiss Scene

"You're dear to me, too," Marinette said, longing to draw him in, to kiss him until she couldn't breathe and her lips turned blue. "I'm no good with words, Adrien, but...I do like you. I like you s-so much that I wish I could tell you just how much I like you. How much I…"

I love you.

The thought didn't startle her. Not as much as she thought it would.

In a short time, Adrien had become so dear to her. She adored him like no one else. He was the light of her life, the shining presence that brightened her day. One of her best friends.

Marinette wanted to be his girlfriend more than anything.

(Now, she only needed to tell him that.

…Or show him.

Her eyes found his lips again, burning with the desire to know how soft they would feel against hers.)

"You're so cute," said Adrien. "Fumbling over your words for me. I'm touched."

"Don't make fun of me," she laughed. "I'm not going to kiss you now."

His eyes grew large. "You were going to kiss me?"

"Maybe," she said, the tip of her tongue poking out from her lips as she turned away. "But you're being mean, so I might have to reconsider."

"No, no, I'll be nice," he said, grabbing her hand. "I will be so nice. So nice, Marinette."

She turned back to look at him. "Promise?"

He wrapped her in his arms, linking his hands over the small of her back. "You have my word."

“Okay,” she said, and before she could psyche herself out of the budding confidence sprouting in her veins, she tilted her head forward and—with a moment’s hesitation—pressed her lips against his.

His lips were just as soft as she’d imagined.

No—softer, like pillowed clouds, fluttering through the breeze as they danced in tandem with the beat of her heart. With one hand trailing up to rest on his shoulder, the other found his neck, weaving her fingers along the soft blond hairs at his nape. As if he were mirroring her actions, she felt him do the same, unsure exactly where to place his hands but enjoying it all the same.

Marinette had to stand on the tips of her toes just to reach his lips; Adrien took it upon himself to lean down, angling his head in a way that left her breathless.

It was a little clumsy—a steady mixture of gentle, chaste pecks and lingering brushes occasionally interrupted by breathy laughs—but it was undeniably addicting. Adrien flooded her senses, filling her nose with his familiar scent. Every breath she took smelled of fresh mint. His hair was silk between her fingers, like delicate wisps of gold.

When she finally pulled away, reluctant despite her desperate need for air, she ran her tongue over her lips, swearing that her mouth tasted just a bit sweeter.

"Wow," breathed Adrien.

Marinette giggled. "Yeah. Wow."

Her muscles tingled, and every inch of her body buzzed aflame. With a sated smile, she drew closer, capturing his mouth again, and again, and again until both of them were subdued to a fit of quiet laughter and whispered praise.

Adrien pressed his forehead against hers and gazed into her eyes, his face warm as the flush of his cheeks traveled across his skin. He looked so adorably content that she wanted nothing more than to dive back in and kiss him senseless, kiss him, kiss him until neither of them could form a single coherent thought, lost in the languid movement of their mouths.

Marinette had been kissed before. She'd been kissed plenty of times, of course. But those kisses, as fun as they had been in the moment, balked compared to the feel of Adrien’s lips roaming over her own, slow and curious and perhaps uncoordinated, but so wholesomely him that she wouldn’t trade the experience for the world.

It had been too long since she had last felt something so freeing.

“You’re amazing,” he breathed, his warm breath fanning her freshly kissed lips. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. And you’re so sweet, too, and so funny, I—I can’t believe you—I can’t believe we…I just can’t believe—I mean, I've been going crazy all week, trying to tell you how much I like you and—and I—"

“Look who’s fumbling over their words now,” she teased, weaving her arms around his neck and pulling him closer—almost close enough to kiss him again.

Adrien shrugged, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. It was such an innocently intimate gesture that it had her melting like putty in his hands. “Yeah, well, it’s hard not to when you’re looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you wanna kiss me all over again.”

“Maybe I do,” she said. Her fingers twitched as she brushed her lips over his, not quite pressing them together but close enough to elicit a gleeful little chuckle from his mouth. “Maybe I want you to stop talking so I can kiss you until I can’t think.”

“Well, that’s no fun.” He smirked. “How will you compliment me if you can’t think?”

“You’re gonna lose your kissing privileges.”

“Somehow, I don’t think you’ll let that happen.”

“Shut up,” she teased, kissing him again.

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

Downpour pretty much the whole fic is one of my favorites because it touches on a darker subject/the stress of being a superhero, but this scene specifically i like.

"Can I ask something weird?" Chat Noir inquired, to which Ladybug nodded. "Do you ever think about, like…what would happen if we didn't win a battle? Like if we lost."

Oh. Oh.

Well, she'd never really thought about that before, at least not to a considerable extent. Sure, she often worried there would come a day when Papillon would seize the Miraculous for himself, but she had enough confidence in herself and Chat Noir to know they'd never let his crusty, evil hands near the precious jewelry. That's what they were there for—to stop him from stealing what was rightfully theirs.

(As "rightfully theirs" as two magical artifacts containing animalesque fairies could be, anyway.)

Thinking about it harrowed her, though. The idea of them losing to Papillon was disturbing in its own right, especially since nobody really knew what he would do with the Miraculous once he had them in his clutches. He could be bent on world domination, destroying Paris, or something equally terrible.

(Hell, he could even use them to injure Chat Noir and herself just for being a thorn in his side—but that thought made Ladybug's chest hurt, and she didn't want to dwell on the possibility any longer because…

Well, because thinking about her partner getting hurt was devastating. The concept often kept her up at night. His reckless behavior really got out of hand sometimes.)

Ladybug sat up and released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Her eyes locked with his.

"Sometimes," she finally answered, though it felt unconvincing. "Most of the time, though, I worry about you. You're always jumping in to protect me without caring about what happens. You know how much that scares me, right? I care about you."

Her heart thudded. The thought of losing Chat Noir was too difficult to bear, so difficult that if she kept thinking about it, she knew her eyes would burn with the threat of tears, and crying was the last thing she wanted to do in front of him tonight.

No crying. Not now. It wasn't a good time.

"Oh," was Chat Noir's response. His voice was light and breathy; barely audible above the sounds of wind and rain. "I-I didn't know you…"

Ladybug patted his hand. "It's okay."

"It's not, though," Chat Noir said. His shoulders were hunched together like a child that had just been scolded. "I don't mean to scare you. I just know you're more important to the mission than I am, so—"

"Shut up," Ladybug huffed, surprised by the bite in her tone. "Don't you dare finish that sentence, Chat Noir. I don't want to hear it. You're just as important to Paris as I am, and I wouldn't even be doing this if you weren't by my side. You matter just as much as I do!"

Chat Noir's face softened. He opened his mouth to speak, lips parted in preparation for a word (or two), but then he closed his mouth and pushed himself to a stand, arms wrapped around himself as he walked to the edge of the terrace awning and stared out at the city. "I'm glad you think so," he whispered. "And the people of Paris, too. It's just hard to convince myself sometimes."

"And why's that?" Ladybug asked. She stood and trailed after him, stopping at the awning's edge, where rain splattered the pavement. Her shoulder brushed her partner's. He responded to the touch by stepping closer.

Chat Noir met her gaze, his eyes cloudy and so full of despair that it almost made her want to wrap him up in a warm blanket and carry him home to her bed so she could snuggle the frown off his face.

(Almost.)

"It's too personal to say much about," he said. "But you're the only one who can purify akumas. Do you remember that one time you couldn't transform quickly enough to get to where the villain was, and I was just running around the city like crazy with an akuma in my hands? I accidentally said the F-word in front of a kid! You should have seen the glare his mother gave me. It still gives me chills."

Ladybug swallowed the laugh that threatened to bubble up from her chest. "I remember. I'm still so sorry about that, kitty."

"It's okay," he told her, but the humor that had momentarily flashed in his gaze had already faded. "But it still worries me. Because what happens if you're hurt or stuck somewhere and I can't purify the akuma or fix the damage it caused? You know what happens when they get free. They multiply. And then the city would be in terrible danger. So, yes, you are the main concern when fighting akumas, because if you get injured and can't do your job, then we're screwed." He kicked a stay pebble across the floor; it bounced, clattering across the rain-soaked terrace. "That's why I'm always diving in to protect you. Because even if I get hurt, we can still win. You can still win. And that's all that matters."

Feeling her heart clench at his words, Ladybug touched her partner's shoulder. "I...wh...you. Okay, hold on. Sometimes I don't need saving, Chat Noir. You're reckless. You dive in before you even give me a chance to defend myself."

"That's not true—"

"Yes, it is!" she snapped. He flinched, and remorse instantly bled down her shoulders. She corrected her tone before she spoke again. "I'm sorry. Sorry, it's just…it hurts me when you sacrifice yourself. I can't stand seeing you throw yourself into battle like you mean nothing! I care about you, and I—"

"But I am nothing!" he shouted, his voice cracked with hollow despair. "Why does it matter so much to you when you've obviously beaten akumas alone? I want to be here to protect you so you can continue to do that just in case something happens, and I can't be by your side anymore!"

Ladybug's brow furrowed. Her hands clenched at her sides, trembling fiercely, and her chest squeezed with each breath she took in, quicker and quicker in succession until she was practically panting from frustration and sadness and—and some other emotion she didn't want to think about right that second.

"Why does it matter to me?" she asked incredulously, a hint of venom in her tone. "It matters because you're important to me, Chat Noir! I don't get why you can't see that. And, yeah, sometimes I have to fight akumas alone, but I don't like it! It's not fun. It's hard, and it sucks, and every minute I'm out there by myself, I hate it because all I think about the entire time is how much I want you by my side. How much I miss you!" She jabbed a finger into his chest. "I always want you by my side, even if the battle is easy. You make it better. You aren't nothing. You matter to me. You make being Ladybug more bearable. I enjoy having you in my life! You're my best friend, damn it, and I don't get why you can't see how much I love you!"

Chat Noir's jaw went slack, then snapped shut. His pupils blew wide, growing from thin, black slits to black spheres that, if Ladybug's eyes weren't fooling her, sparkled with tears. He reached toward her, his clawed fingers hesitating momentarily before pulling back. Then his arm lowered to his side.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked shakily. His eyes never wavered from hers.

Ladybug swallowed thickly, feeling slightly out of breath from her outburst.

What did she mean…? Did she even have an answer to his question?

She said nothing. The weight of Chat Noir's raw emotion resonated heavily in her chest.

Chat Noir licked his lips, voice faint and cracked as he asked, "Did you mean anything by that?"

"Yes," she answered, finally relaxing. She glanced at the floor. "I-I think I did. I'm just not sure I really know how I meant it, though…"

"Th-that's okay," her partner breathed, reaching forward to gently—ever so gently—tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. "It just, um. Feels nice to hear you say it. Even if you don’t have it figured out yet."

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

A Simple Suggestion - Chapter 21 Lake/Rope Swing scene

“Look,” [Adrien] said, pointing to the top of a large oak that craned over the lake's edge. It was jutting out from a small overhang, the water's surface about a half-meter drop from the rocky face of the ledge. “There’s a rope swing.”

Marinette’s expression fell flat as her eyes landed on the weathered old rope dangling from one of the oak’s branches. “Oh, no.”

“I’m doing it,” Adrien said, letting go of her hand and walking down to the sandy shore. “You can’t stop me!”

“Adrien,” she laughed. She nearly tripped over a stray root as she followed him off the path, silently mourning the loss of his touch. “You’re gonna walk back to the cabin soaking wet?”

He paused, plucking at his black overshirt and eyeing it warily. “You’re right. My dad would kill me if I ruined this shirt.”

“Come back,” she said. She didn’t want to admit how badly she missed holding his hand.

Adrien turned his head to look back at her. With a smirk, he began to undress, slipping off both his shirts. His T-shirt caught on his head momentarily, ruffling his hair as he finally pulled it free.

“Adrien!” She squawked as he began shucking off his pants. Her heart beat wildly, and her eyes told her to look away, but she couldn't tear her gaze away from his near-naked form. “What are you doing?!”

“Oh, come on,” he said. “Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed, Buginette. You’ve seen me in my boxers before.”

She sputtered, her cheeks a fiery red. “B-but that was before—”

“Before you knew Chat Noir’s identity?”

“Well, yeah…”

“Newsflash, Ladybug: it’s been Adrien Agreste’s underwear you’ve been seeing the whole time.”

Marinette’s face felt so hot that she felt like she would melt into a puddle of blushing goo. She glanced away for just a moment, but her attention was torn back to the boy in front of her as he tugged on the rope to test its stability. She did not—would not—look at his butt.

She wouldn’t do it. No matter how cute she knew it looked in those black Gabriel-brand boxer shorts, she would not look at Adrien’s butt!

...

She looked at his butt.

Yeah, she thought, grinning. That’s a good view.

“You think it’s safe?” Adrien called toward her.

Crossing her arms, Marinette shook her head. “If you get hurt and I have to explain to the Ladyblog why Chat Noir is out of commission, I’ll kill you.”

He stuck his tongue out in retaliation. Grabbing the rope and taking a few steps back, Adrien braced himself, pausing for a moment before he dashed off the ledge and flung himself into the lake, the once-still surface rippling from his dive. His collision with the water caused a few small waves to rush to the shore. As a few water droplets splashed onto Marinette’s face, she rolled her eyes, wiping the wetness from her cheeks.

She waited for her partner to surface, watching with her hands on her hips, ultimately unimpressed.

And she waited.

And waited.

…He should’ve come up for air by now.

“Adrien?” she called, stepping toward the water. He didn’t answer. “Adrien!”

Damn it, Marinette thought, kicking off her shoes and preparing to leap into the lake after him. If he got hurt—

Adrien’s head breached the dark water, gasping for air. He wore a stupid grin as he swam toward her, his hair sticking to his forehead and wet droplets beading down his face. “Look,” he said, holding his hand in the air. In his palm was a smooth gray stone. “I found a cool rock.”

Marinette stomped her bare foot on the sand. “You idiot,” she hissed. “I thought you got hurt! I was about to jump in after you.”

Smirking, Adrien rested his arms on the small rock ledge he’d jumped off, gazing up at her with nothing but pure adoration in his eyes. It made her sick.

(Not really. She’d never get tired of those eyes.)

“Aw, Marinette,” he cooed, placing his head in his palm. “Do you care about me or something?”

“Yes!” she shouted.

“Gross,” he laughed.

She turned away from him, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re gross.”

“Not as gross as you being in love with me.”

Marinette sucked in a breath through her teeth, whipping around to face him. “I am not."

Pushing his wet bangs away from his forehead, Adrien snickered. “I thought you didn’t like liars, Marinette.”

“That’s it,” she huffed, a wave of confidence surging through her as she began to pull her dress over her head. Once free from the confines of her clothing, she folded it neatly and placed it on a rock away from the sand, marching her way over to the ledge. “I’m coming in there and drowning you myself.”

She didn’t miss the way Adrien’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head as she undressed. Truthfully, she felt a little embarrassed to be in her lacy pink undergarments in front of her partner, but she held eye contact as she grasped the rope hanging from the tree. Adrien gaped up at her, his pupils blown wide. He at least had the intelligence to swim away from the rock ledge to give her enough space to leap.

“This better not break,” she grumbled.

“It’s okay,” Adrien said, sounding slightly out of breath. She wasn’t sure if his cheeks were red from the cool temperature of the water or from the fact that she was half-naked in his presence. “If you fall, I’ll catch you.”

“And drown us both? I don’t think so.”

Adrien’s grin was all teeth. “You have so little faith in me?”

Marinette scowled down at him, hating how badly she wanted to kiss that stupid smirk off his face. Taking a few steps back, she braced herself for a second, mentally counting to three before she sprinted off the ledge. She swung in the air, and as she let go and collided with the water, Marinette was reminded of being at the mercy of her yo-yo, zipping over rooftops and flying over the city with her partner by her side.

Breaking for air, she gasped and shrieked, her body trembling from just how cold it was.

“Adrien!” she cried. “You didn’t tell me it would be freezing!”

He held up his hands in a placating manner. “I didn’t think you were going to come in!”

Despite her shivers, Marinette’s shook with laughter. She hugged her arms around her body, rubbing her hands up and down her skin to try to recuperate the loss of her body heat. Adrien joined her in her laughter, and together, they filled the air with childish giggles, splashing each other.

They spent the better of the morning milling about in the lake. Marinette couldn’t count the times they’d both jumped from the rope swing, and by the time the sun reached its highest peak in the sky, Adrien had made himself a nice collection of rocks and shells he’d procured from the sandy bottom of the lake.

It felt so lovely just to be with him that Marinette couldn’t stop smiling. Her heart felt light. For the first time in nearly two weeks, she was indescribably happy.

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

Perfectly Platonic (Unless...) Chapter 19 the wedding pact scene

“Adrien?” [Marinette] inquired, setting her empty glass aside. “Do you want to get married someday?”

He choked on his drink. Sputtering, he asked, “T-to you?”

Marinette’s hand clenched around the tablecloth. “I meant in general.”

“O-oh.” He took a breath to steady himself. “Yeah, of course I do. I really want to. Someday.”

She watched the bride and groom as they twirled around the dance floor. “I wonder if I’ll ever get the chance.”

“What do you mean?”

Sighing, she frowned. “You know why.”

It took him a moment to process the question. Once it settled in his brain, his expression softened with mutual understanding. “Oh. That.”

Her mouth tasted bitter, and not just from the wine. “Who would want to marry me when I'm never around? When can I never tell anyone why I leave so often? It wouldn’t be fair. Marriage is about trust and honesty. How would that be possible, being with someone who doesn’t know? Who could never know for their safety?”

Adrien smiled sadly. He was quiet for a long moment, drumming his fingers on the table. Then, setting his empty glass on the coaster, he stood from his chair and offered her his hand. “Want to dance?”

Surprised but not at all unwilling, Marinette nodded. She grabbed his hand, allowing him to pull her to a stand.

“Marriage is a tricky subject,” said Adrien, leading her to the dance floor. A soft song played, trickling through the air in a beautiful melody of piano keys and violin strings. Placing one hand on her waist, he used the other to lead her around the floor in a slow waltz. “I understand where you’re coming from. It’s scary to think about.”

Glancing down at their feet so she wouldn’t step on his toes, Marinette laughed softly. “I don’t know if I would call it scary. More like...intimidating.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“Because that’s a commitment,” she said. “And it wouldn’t be fair to whoever I marry—if anyone at all—if I’m not around often. If I can’t tell them the truth about who I am, then what’s the point?”

Adrien hummed in thought. “That makes sense.”

Her voice lowered to a whisper. “So I guess that, so long as I’m Ladybug…” She blushed as Adrien pulled her closer. “I can’t hope to get married, can I?”

A frown creased Adrien’s brow. “That’s not true.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Yes, it is. It wouldn’t be fair to whoever I dated if I told lies constantly.”

“I guess so,” said Adrien, twirling her.

“And what about children?” she continued. “I wouldn’t be able to tell my kids who I am. And I don’t know if I would want to bring children into a world where Akumas attack on a near-daily basis, anyway. It isn’t safe. I’d rather spare them from unnecessary trauma.”

Adrien’s frown deepened. “But you want kids, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. I love children.”

“Well, if you could have kids, how many would you want?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Three.”

“Three is a good number.”

“What about you?” she asked, curiosity piqued. “How many would you have? If you could.”

His smile was soft and inviting, as warm as the summer sun and one thousand times brighter. “Three.”

Marinette swallowed.

Three.

He’d said three.

Suddenly dizzy, she braced herself with both hands on his shoulders, overwhelmed by just how desperately she wanted that future with him. “B-but how can I hope to achieve that when safety is uncertain? When I already have so many responsibilities as Ladybug and Guardian? Keeping those secrets from my spouse or family wouldn't be fair. It's just…” Her heart sank as the thought weighed heavily on her mind. “It's too dangerous. I can’t be with anyone while I’m Ladybug.”

Anyone but you, anyway, she mused.

Adrien was the only one who understood.

(She only wanted him. Why couldn’t he see that?)

Noting her change in demeanor, Adrien pulled her closer, continuing to lead her in a slow dance. “Well, lucky for you, I have a solution.”

“Oh?” She grinned. “And what solution is that?”

He winked, smirking wide enough to show off his perfect white teeth. Lightly poking her nose with one hand, he squeezed her fingers with his other. “You need to marry someone who understands you. Someone who won’t become suspicious of your mysterious habit of disappearing. Someone who always has your back and trusts you unconditionally. So, my solution is—”

She gasped as he dipped her low, bracing her with his hand slotted on the small of her back.

“—Just marry me," he finished.

Fuck.

Marinette’s breath caught in her throat. Eyes widening, she froze, absolutely stunned.

He’s got to be joking, she thought, her heart beating so hard she swore it would pop out of her chest. He loves flirty jokes. That kind of joke is right up his alley.

He doesn’t want to marry me.

…Does he?

She choked out a strangled noise halfway between a laugh and a whimper. Her mouth flopped open and closed as she fought to find her voice. Eventually, she gasped, “Are you…proposing to me?”

His green eyes sparkled with mirth. “Nah. I don’t have a ring with me. And it’s not like you’d say yes, even if I did.”

Don’t be so sure, she thought, feeling light-headed as he pulled her back up to her feet. Disappointment curled in her gut like a cold, hard stone.

Instead, she offered an awkward laugh in response. “I...um. You know, I…”

What could she say? “Yes, I would” or “I’d marry you right now if you asked me”?

Ridiculous.

“...Never mind,” she said, heart sinking.

Adrien cocked his head to the side, offering a smile as he settled his hand back on her waist. “Listen. We’ve known each other a long time, right?”

“Right,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“And we’re great friends,” he continued. “So, how about this: if we’re both single by age thirty, let’s get married. Just for the hell of it.”

Her heart stuttered in her chest.

“J-just for the hell of it?” she asked, hopeful. “N-not for any other reason?”

“Or for the tax benefits, I guess,” he joked.

Marinette snorted, amused despite her chagrin. “Y-yeah. The tax benefits. Sure. But I want kids earlier than thirty.”

“Fine,” he chuckled. “I can be your sperm donor.”

Startled, she burst into laughter. “You’re ruining the vibes, Adrien!”

“Nah.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I think they’re only getting better. Wouldn’t you agree?”

As they moved around the dance floor, bodies pressed close together, a fond smile stretched across her face. “Why even be a donor, then? We can have kids as friends.”

Adrien’s eyes widened. After a moment, he laughed, the sound breathy and light. “Okay, so we’ll get married—as friends—and then have three children.”

“As friends,” she added.

He nearly doubled over from the force of his laughter. “What’s next? Adopting a hamster?”

“Woah, slow down,” she joked, linking her arms around his neck. “I think that teeters too far outside the friend zone.”

“So getting married and having babies is fine, but adopting a hamster crosses the line?”

“Adopting a hamster is a big event, Adrien. You have to go to the pet store and pick one out together. That’s like a whole thing.”

“I’m sorry,” he laughed. “Forgive me for being confused, but how is that a bigger event than, I dunno…giving birth?”

"We don't get to choose what our kids look like. But we might argue over the color of a hamster."

"Good point," he laughed. "But I'm sure our hypothetical kids—and hamster—would be gorgeous."

"You don't know that," she said. "We could get an ugly hamster."

"Well, at least our kids won't be ugly. We've both got great genes."

"Yeah," she breathed, eyeing him appreciatively. "That's true."

He grinned, pulling her closer. His breath was warm on her face as he spoke softly. "I hope they have your eyes."

Feeling hot, Marinette swallowed. "N-no," she whispered. Subconsciously, she leaned in, seeking the heat of his breath with her lips. "I hope they have yours."

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

and finally probably one of my favorite scenes i have ever written in my LIFE

Perfectly Platonic (Unless...) Chapter 20 the drunken kiss

Her eyelashes fluttered as she met his gaze. “It’s been so long since the last time I was kissed that I don’t even remember what it feels like.”

“Oh,” he said. His heart danced wildly in his chest. Well, that just wasn’t fair. Ladybug shouldn’t go kissless. Of all people, Marinette deserved a nice kiss. “I’ll—I’ll kiss you. If you want me to. So you can—can remember.”

“Yeah?” Her eyes glowed like starlight as she sat up, looking up at him with such an intense fire in her gaze that he became lightheaded from her attention alone. “You would?”

He nodded furiously. Frantically. “Absolutely.”

“O-okay,” she said.

He felt as if he couldn’t breathe. “You…you want me to?”

Ladybug nodded. Her cheeks were flushed, dusting her freckles in a pleasant shade of pink. Wisps of dark hair framed her face as she inched closer, her lips mere millimeters away from his. “Y-yeah. Just so I can remember.”

“If you’re sure,” he said.

“Yeah.” She nodded. “Doesn’t have to mean anything, just…just to feel.”

Chat Noir swallowed hard. He wasn’t even sure if his voice was working anymore, but somehow, through the cloudiness in his head and the frantic racing of his heart, he breathed a faint, “Okay."

There was no backing out now. Taking a breath to calm his nerves, he leaned in.

It was over before he’d even processed what it felt like. Just a quick peck—nothing more than the chaste press of lips on lips, every sensation dulled by the buzz of alcohol in his brain.

…Huh.

It was strange. He had always figured a kiss with Ladybug would feel like sparks, fireworks, or a burning blaze, but…

But he’d barely felt a thing at all.

His stomach felt sour with disappointment. Though he tried not to let it show on his face, he knew Ladybug had picked up on it.

“What?” she asked as her expression fell. “Not good?”

Chat Noir shook his head. “It’s not that.”

“Then...what is it?"

Despite himself, a small smile cracked its way through his frown. “It was too quick. Didn’t really feel it.”

“Oh.” She scooted closer. Gently cupping his cheeks in her gloved hands, she tilted her head. “Here, then.”

Soft.

That was the first word that slipped into his mind as she kissed him. Soft, warm, sweet, and wonderful were next, embracing his entire being and wrapping him in a thick cloud of sensation. She was so soft, so—so amazing, beautiful, and her lips felt so good—

The relief that flooded his veins felt like a breath of fresh air. He’d wanted to kiss her for years, and now he finally was, and oh—

—he could taste the bitterness of the wine as their breaths mingled, feel the warmth of it as it puffed on his face, could smell the fruity aroma of the Merlot—

And then her lips were gone, replaced by the chill of the empty night air.

When he finally blinked open his eyes, his head spun from joy.

Ladybug stared up at him through her lashes, cheeks red and eyes sparkling like firelight. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she smiled, her nose scrunching adorably as she giggled.

It was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard in his life.

“Thanks,” she said. “That was nice.”

Chat Noir felt as if he was floating. “Y-yeah. Nice.”

Nice.

It had been more than nice, that was for sure.

She glanced at his lips. Then, tortuously, she licked her own.

He whimpered, his heart lurching with pure want. They’d only meant to share one kiss, to remember what kissing felt like. But now, as he stared at her lips—which were as pink as a peony, so soft and delectably kissable—he felt as if she was a drug, and he was undeniably addicted.

(And the longer he sat there without the bliss of feeling his mouth on hers, the more the symptoms of withdrawal set in, needy as it sent a never-ending mantra to his brain of want-need-want-please-more-please.)

His hands twitched at his sides. It would be so easy to kiss her again…and it would feel so amazing, too…if only he could…

He wasn’t sure who leaned in first.

When their lips pressed together, it wasn’t the same hesitant kiss they’d shared before, which had been slow and tinged with curiosity. It was charged with something more desperate—something he couldn’t explain but didn’t care enough to. All that mattered at the moment was the feeling of her lips on his, soft as they glided along his in a fervent motion, and the warmth of her wine-scented breath as it blew into his mouth, like kindling to the ever-growing fire that blazed in his heart. Even as their noses bumped and teeth lightly clashed, he wanted more.

When her lips parted, his stomach tingled with excitement. His hands cupped her cheeks to draw her closer, to drink in her scent and—as her tongue slipped into his mouth—her taste.

(She tasted like heaven. Like pure stardust, she flooded his senses, overwhelming his every thought with nothing but her.

Of Ladybug. Of Marinette. His Lady.

His love.)

Chat Noir sighed and tilted his head to the side to achieve a better angle, caressing her cheek with his thumb. Her skin was still damp from her tears, and as her hand reached up to rest over his, she gave him an affectionate squeeze. He could almost cry from the simple intimacy of it—as simple as making out with his best friend could be, anyway.

Her mouth was hot around his tongue, sizzling his senses with a pleasant burn. As their chests pressed together, he wondered if she could feel the frantic thundering of his heart. She was so warm, so soft, so—so Marinette.

He was kissing Marinette.

When her fingers fisted in his hair, he moaned.

“Chaton,” she whispered against his lips. “My kitty…”

He barely heard her. Drunk from the affection (and alcohol) swimming through his head, he barely managed a hum in response before his lips connected with her chin, following an invisible path that journeyed from her mouth to her cheek and then her jaw.

“Chat Noir,” she sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Mm, what…”

Her sharp inhalation cut off her words as he dragged his lips down her neck and placed an open-mouthed kiss on her pulse.

(What were they doing? This wasn't the plan. They were only supposed to kiss once.

Then again, if she didn’t want this…she could push him away, couldn’t she?

He knew he should stop. Of course, he knew. But it was so hard, and she smelled so good, and she felt so nice—)

“Adrien,” she moaned.

Fuck.

He snapped his head up at the sound of his name. It had been all the encouragement he’d needed to keep kissing her skin, but maybe they should stop before—

Ladybug’s lips crashed back on his before he could finish that thought, their shared breath hot as it smoldered between them. Her tongue was back in his mouth in an instant. Head spinning, Chat Noir groaned quietly as she gently took his lower lip between her teeth, tugging in a way that drove him insane, and oh, wow, had she crawled in his lap? Oh wow okay yes she had crawled in his lap and now she was suddenly kissing his neck and woah, were those her teeth? Oh okay wow yes she had just used her teeth and it felt so good and, okay, he was making some embarrassing noises because he’d had no idea that he had a thing for that until now and holy fuck—

He’d never imagined how amazing it would feel to have someone bite him.

“My Lady,” he gasped. “M-Marin—”

She shifted her hips, and he groaned.

Fuck.

Fuck, she was in his lap a-and moving her hips in a torturous motion, and ohh god her hands were pulling down the zipper to his suit, uh oh oh no—

He wanted this. He wanted it so badly. He wanted to let her explore him more than anything, but…

...No.

Chat Noir pressed his hands on her shoulders, edging her backward until her lips released his skin with a wet pop.

“My Lady,” he panted, their chests heaving in tandem as they fought to catch their breath, “h-hold on. Hold on. Woah.”

Ladybug tucked a loose wisp of her hair behind her ear. She looked so gorgeous with her cheeks flushed a tantalizing red and her lips kiss-swollen and so perfect that it was challenging to resist diving back in for another taste of her, but—

(But they were getting carried away. And they were both a little too drunk to be sure that this was a situation either of them wouldn’t regret in the morning.

…Not him, of course.

Never him.)

“We need to stop,” he said.

Ladybug swallowed. Licking her lips, she nodded and crawled off of his lap. Though brief, he noted the pang of disappointment in her eyes. “Y-yeah. Sorry.”

(Wow, she was panting. Had he done that to her?

…Did he have the same effect on her that she had on him?)

She fidgeted uncomfortably. Looking down at the street below, she made a noise halfway between a laugh and a sob. “Um, I don’t know why I…I mean…I…wow.”

“Yeah,” laughed Chat Noir. “Wow.”

“I…I don’t know what happened back there,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

His head spun from the absurdity of the apology (and probably the wine, as well.) “You’re sorry? Why?”

She buried her head in her hands. “I-I lost control.”

“Am I that irresistible?” he purred, bumping her shoulder with his.

Hiding her face against the side of his arm, she grumbled, “B-be quiet.”

She hadn’t denied it. Feeling giddy with affection, Chat Noir chuckled, wrapping his arm around her and squeezing her against his side.

---

I KNOW THIS WAS SUPER LONG SORRY. BUT I HAD SO MUCH FUN DIGGING THROUGH MY FICS TO ANSWER THIS ASK!!! THANK YOU!! 💗💗💗

#miraculous #text post #ash answers #ppu #perfectly platonic (unless)#a simple suggestion #sewing sentiments #downpour #miraculous ladybug fanfic

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