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angeart · 2 months ago

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hhau mimic arc rambles - part IV: the inbetween (love and other gifts)

(~11 k words) // other parts & au masterpost here

it took me forever but here it is. still stitched together from that one rp chain, so this is lengthy again. hopefully, that’s a treat and not a detriment <3

we start in the aftermath of last part, which means there’s some nudity, but it’s just sort of. there. nothing explicit! if you skipped the last part because of the suggestive cw warning, don't worry, we’re done with the depravity now. just know that grian’s now been given a mating bite.

you can expect mainly a lot of aftercare here. there are hints at possibly subdrop-adjacent feelings, a little bit of debriefing and checking in with each other, and some light mentions of bruises and other wounds/marks from what just happened, coupled with a sprinkle of good old wing trauma. but a lot of it is just.. clinginess and emotional fragility, soft comfort and reassurance. and, maybe most importantly, some expressions of love… :3c

hope you enjoy <3

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After everything, once the adrenaline has settled and the exhaustion is crawling back into their bones, Scar takes care of Grian’s wounds as best he can. He doesn’t have a lot to offer—a bit of healing salve that they’ve managed to steal along their way (which they should honestly probably save for more… unavoidable cases of injuries). But they also have warm water and a campfire, and Scar isn’t going anywhere, if that counts at all.

(It does. It very much does.)

Grian makes a small noise as Scar presses the healing salve into the tender wound, but for the most part, he's now gone quiet. He's lying semi-curled up on the ground, not willing to force himself to move yet. He's good right where he is. Moving is overrated anyway.

His eyes are closed; the flame dances over his eyelids with dimming warmth that barely reaches his skin. Myriad of aches blanket his body, slowly sneaking up on him, even though they still feel mercifully muffled and numb. His wings are still sprawled, a fact that hasn't quite caught up to him yet through the floaty feeling of not being quite fully present. The only thing anchoring him is Scar's incessant touch, a careful soothing pressed into the few unabused patches of skin; something that makes Grian both comforted and overwhelmed at the same time. He lets it. For now, he lets it.

Scar’s gone timid and nervous in the aftermath, the feral, hungry, possessive vex side retreating and letting old softie Scar to deal with the consequences, having to navigate what he’s done—what they’ve done. Together. (He reminds himself this was a mutual effort. Reminds himself that they both wanted this; he made sure.)

He checks in with Grian softly. With a genuine lilt to his voice, he asks if there’s anything he can do—and he truly means it. Anything. It’s the least he can do after Grian so willingly offered the same.

Grian considers the question, managing a hoarse little complaint in the form of “cold,” sounding a touch dazed. (He is. He very much still is.) He revels in the gentleness of Scar's touch; it wraps his heart in a sort of ache that is not unpleasant. He wishes to lean in and sink into it. His eyes are closed, making him feel like he's drifting. He's so tired. He doesn't want to think about anything. Not now. He just wants to be. That's all he can do, and he thinks he's doing a great job.

Scar nods, almost chuckling. “Well, great news. Turns out I’m smart and handsome because your clothes are all warm, bundled up by the fire.” He grins easily at his joking, finding comfort in the familiar goofiness. He still feels a little off, not necessarily in a bad way, just— different. But speaking is grounding him. Words have returned and he fully intends on overusing them. “I’d offer to help you get dressed but that got a little derailed last time—“ Scar teases with a softer touch to Grian’s chest, taking in the lovely sight before it’s gone again.

His joking elicits the smallest of chuckles from Grian, a weary but amused little sound. It's reassuring, in a way, to hear Scar ramble, saying ridiculous things—it reminds Grian that Scar is still Scar, his Scar. That things are okay. (And oh. Oh. When did he start worrying that they might not be?)

Scrambling to swerve from the swell of this weird, dangerous-seeming feeling, Grian flutters his eyes open again, watching as Scar reaches for the fire-warmed clothes. He sees his skin illuminated by the dim light, can trace the scratches he left on him (nothing like the marks Scar left on Grian—), crossing the scarred map he's so familiar with. (He's starting to feel more weird.) (He doesn't like it.) (He wants to crawl back to that blissful floating. To that good, ecstatic feeling.)

The bundle of clothes gets handed to him and Grian paws at them, half-blindly and half-heartedly. He's still lying curled up on the ground, seemingly having to intention to pull himself up in order to dress.

His dark gaze jumps between Scar's eyes, as if searching for something. "You can help this time," he says very quietly; his voice is hoarse, frayed from all the other sounds that have made it out of his throat this night.

“Oh, sure,” Scar replies, quickly slipping on his own underwear just to be semi-decent when he moves closer. He looks Grian over a moment, trying to decide how exactly he can help, noting how large and spread out his wings still are— and there’s blood that spilled over onto some feathers. He should really do something about that.

But he slots that away for later and offers Grian his hand, using his other to slip behind him to help lift. “Up ya go then.”

Finding himself oddly desperate for more of Scar's touch, Grian reaches for the offered hand, letting himself be pulled up. He's not very helpful himself in the process, instantly lightheaded, finding very quickly just how weak he feels, and—

He takes a sharp breath, eyes squinting. His body does hurt now. In so many places.

He doesn't complain, he just takes a moment to quietly regather himself. A small, deranged laughter escapes him without meeting Scar's eyes.

Scar gathers Grian close to his chest, also starved for more touch, needing it. He tilts his head at the unexpected bout of laughter, raising an eyebrow and humming curiously. “Uh oh, what did I do now?” he jokes, although partially serious.

Grian chuckles, a velvety, muffled sound. All too eagerly, he presses himself against Scar, seeking out both the comfort of his presence and the warmth of his hold. "I just—" Grian trails off momentarily, submerged in the throbbing aches and the messy half-memories of everything that happened. "We really did all that, didn't we?" There's a darkly amused edge to it, something almost teasing in the curve of his lips as he grins up at Scar, eyes bright. And yet— And yet it is all coated with something unsteady that he's trying so very hard to tuck away.

Scar softly snorts, meeting Grian’s eyes with his own, still rather awestruck by the face that looks back at him. But he feels it too, that edge of something a little uneasy. The ground has shifted beneath their feet and they may have to stumble to regain their footing.

“Yeahhhh,” he starts, light, his eyes ducking down for just a moment, almost shy. But they find their way back up almost immediately, drawn into the fire that reflects in Grian’s dark eyes. “Y’know, feel free to forget some of those incredibly embarrassing things I said.”

Grian's laugh somehow turns more unsteady at Scar's lighthearted, embarrassed remark. Still, he presses closer, wordlessly placing a soft kiss below the edge of Scar's jaw. (He doesn't know how he should feel. It feels silly, after all the desperate craving and begging for Scar to hurt him, to suddenly feel like he might fall to pieces if he doesn't receive comfort.)

Scar’s admittedly a little nervous not receiving a verbal response, but he swallows down the doubt when he feels Grian’s kiss, replacing the feeling with unbound fondness, holding Grian close like he’s a treasure. (He is.)

“Have I told you you’re beautiful?” he whispers, unable to help himself.

Scar's saying sappy things and Grian thinks he might reconsider his need for comfort if it involves getting irredeemably flustered. He huffs, pulling a little away, but he can't hide the way his cheeks colour. (Although his earwings halfheartedly try.) "I think you've said that plenty," he grumbles, but there's an audible smile in it, betraying him.

Scar beams in success when he sees Grian’s cheeks darken. Grian claims he’s said it plenty, but he doesn’t think it could ever be enough.

He presses the sweater into Grian’s chest again, warmth permeating the small space between them. “Mhm. Now how can I help with this?”

Slowly and carefully, Scar helps Grian put the sweater on, offering some much needed soft warmth.

Once the sweater is over his head and Scar is dealing with the back, Grian can't help but tip himself forward again, forehead resting against Scar's chest. A tiny grateful coo is pressed over Scar's ribs, a tired little sound. Grian's eyes close as something splintering in him is clumsily scrambling to grasp at every piece of comfort—Scar's closeness and the way he helps so eagerly and so, so very carefully.

Grian shifts his wings, trying to adjust them, but they feel clumsy, not quite willing to listen, exhausted from Grian actually letting them stretch out and move for once. He fumbles, his own limbs groggy and not listening right.

It makes him feel off.

It makes him feel helpless in the wrong way.

As soon as the sweater is down over his back, he instantly presses even closer to Scar, barely noting that Scar's skin is still bare. (He should let him dress up, too.) (He should move away, give him space.) (He should—) Inadvertently, a small sniffle escapes him.

Scar is midway through carefully coaxing the feathers through the gap in Grian’s clothes when he registers the sound, snapping to attention.

“Gri?” he asks, voice soft, gentle, much like his hands coaxing through the feathers, trying to soothe Grian. “Hey, hey, I’m here. What’s wrong?”

Scar almost feels as though he should be panicking at the idea of Grian sniffling after their whole debacle, but he feels a forgiving bout of calmness, only aiming to comfort his partner, insistent and sure.

The immediate reaction both reassures and destabilises something in Grian, pushing a whimper past his lips that he's powerless to stop. He's burying his face in Scar's chest, keeping himself out of sight, tucking himself where he knows it to be safest, right by Scar's beating heart.

"I just— I—" He tries, voice wobbly, but words keep failing him. He doesn't really know what to say, or how to explain. He doesn't know why he's feeling like this all of a sudden.

His trembling hands tentatively touch Scar's waist, itching to wrap around him and hold on, but timid, as if awaiting some necessary permission.

Scar gives the sweater one last tug from the bottom to free Grian’s wings completely before he’s back down to his level, eyes laced with worry, searching Grian's expression. He registers Grian’s pause and lets his own hands reassuringly find Grian’s waist, pulling him in closer, mindful of the mark he left there before.

Obliging, Grian snuggles himself into the hold, relieved and compliant. After all, this is what he knows how to do, after tonight—to comply and surrender and let Scar be in control.

Dizzyingly, he's swept by feeling like he's half stuck still pinned down on the ground. His breath catches in his throat.

He wanted to be there. He wanted it, there's no doubt in his mind about it. It was dazzling and wonderful, absolutely breathtaking in the best of ways, but—

“It’s okay,” Scar says, and although nervous, he’s rather sure of that. The way they’re both clinging to each other for contact has to be a good sign in a way— proof that they undeniably desire closeness. “It’s okay, you can talk to me.” Then, softer, “… is it something I did? because— I mean— that’s fine, I can take it. You can tell me.”

Grian’s thoughts dissipate around him into jumbly mess. He can't untangle them to figure out what he's feeling and what he wants now. Does he want to be free? Does he want to be held and never let go? Does he want Scar to bite down to snap him out of if? Does he want Scar's touch to remain gentle and careful, reconstructing all the safety back around him?

His mind catches on that word. Safety.

Scar asks if it's something he did, and Grian responds by a frantic shake of his head. An aching, drawn-out sorrowful coo quivers when it meets Scar's chest, breaking over the skin. He isn't sure how to express himself. He isn't sure how to tell Scar about this mess in his soul. How to reassure him he did nothing wrong and yet admit that Grian is feeling all kinds of off now.

Clumsily and nervously, they navigate their way through a simplified debrief. Making sure they were both okay with what happened (they were), and that they liked it (they did). It doesn’t make the aftermath feelings any less complicated, but it’s a step in the right direction. Reassuring. Unknotting some anxieties that were slowly creeping up on them.

Still cuddled up, Grian’s gaze is drawn lower, and he brings his hand to Scar's chest. Almost absently, he traces his collarbone. There's a little red spot, a kiss mark Grian left there sometime during the night, muffling drawled noises into it. His fingers encircle it so very gently and carefully, before sliding away.

Scar's skin is still bare, and the fire hasn't been stoked, and Grian's thighs feel cold, so surely Scar must be cold too. With a let out breath, Grian looks back up. "Put your clothes on, Scar."

Scar obliges, barely, putting on his shirt without bothering to button up.

Grian's glad to see Scar immediately react and reach for clothes. There's a complicated tug in the pit of his stomach at the act anyway, telling him that Scar covering up his skin means that this is all officially over. (As if Grian wasn't sitting here already in his sweater—)

And yet somehow Scar still leaves his chest exposed.

Grian stares at the patch of scarred skin that's still so easily reachable, so unworryingly left on display. (Isn't he cold?) (Should Grian not be cold?)

Honestly, Scar still feels warm after everything, even though the campfire is slowly dying next to them, in dire need of refueling. But there’s a different task at hand that feels more dire to Scar right now: cleaning Grian up.

Troubled, Scar eyes the spot where the blood has soaked into Grian’s wings, knowing that needs to be dealt with sooner rather than later. Before Grian finds it in a much worse headspace.

With deliberation, he starts sifting through their supplies, looking for scraps of cotton or fabric they were saving for whatever purpose they may have.

In the background of it all, quietly and discreetly, Grian’s thoughts start slipping again, like scattered rabbits. He doesn't really notice Scar looking through their supplies, or glancing at the water. He's lost in that unidentifiable feeling that sets him askew and unbalanced. He's walking across a spiderweb, its ropes sticky underneath his feet, but also ready to snap, and— He could just fall, right? He could fall. He was caught before. Not in a spiderweb, but he was caught, and it was okay.

He was pinned and scared but not afraid, and he wanted to stay there.

He's not there anymore, and he isn't sure how he feels about that.

But Scar’s still checking in with him, even while doing all these other tasks, nervously rambling on and unknowingly tethering Grian. He follows up on his question if things were good (if he was good) (Grian replies a very embarrassed wasn’t it obvious? and then a muffled it was very good spoken into his palms) with a sputtering “I just want to be sure!”

And it’s true. He wanted to hear it again when Grian’s voice wasn’t so coated in delirious desire. (Not that he didn’t love that.)

“Besides— is it— like is it still good? You don’t, like, regret anything about all that?” He gestures at a vague bruise on Grian’s thigh, but shakes his head almost instantly. “Okay regret is a bad word for it uhh— I’m not trying to imply anything bad because that was incredible and, and insane, and it means a lot to me that we trust each other enough to be a little crazy, and—“ It’s Scar’s turn to press his palms into his eyes, groaning exaggeratedly as his face turns beet red. “Oh my god bring the vex back, that Scar was way better with words.”

Grian listens to scar’s voice, a sound that he’s always drawn to, so weak to it in any way, shape or form. It makes him want to expose himself and lie right back down and tell Scar he is his, doesn't he know how much he's his? (The side of his neck and his waist throb the worst, echoing that he'll always be Scar's, a proof written in flesh and blood, sinking deep into his soul.)

But then Scar asks if it's still good, and he brings up the word regret, and all of Grian's thoughts screech to a halt.

Should he regret it?

Does Scar?

His thoughts don't have a chance to spiral, because they're too distracted by Scar spiralling out loud, babbling on. It's enough for Grian to drop his guard, earwings and palms shifting out of the way so he can look at him and see this trainwreck in motion.

He latches onto Scar saying that it was incredible, just a random thrown in sentence that coaxes some of Grian's own anxiety to dip down, unbeknownst to Scar. But it seems where Grian's anxiety loosens slightly, Scar's ticks up.

Scar’s groan makes Grian's earwings flick and flutter, alarmed and attentive, and he tips forward, reaching out before he realises he's even doing it. His fingers brush Scar's wrists, and he doesn't tug them down but the suggestion is there, a wordless plea, skin on skin whispering that he's here and he can be a safety net, it's okay, it's okay.

"Scar." His voice is soft as he breathes out his favourite word. "Scar, listen."

A small chirpy coo, asking for attention as Grian shifts and repositions himself in front of Scar.

Scar does comply, all too easily, when Grian tugs at his wrists and chirps for his attention. (He always has Scar’s attention.) His face is no less red, but it’s not like he has a lot to hide from Grian at this point.

Grian isn't sure what he wants to say. He just wants Scar to stop getting derailed so horribly. "I trusted you with myself. And. And I still trust you." And then, quieter: "And I'd trust you again."

Having the attention of Scar's green eyes always sets something in Grian alight and tingling. He doesn't budge away from it, staying put, hoping the message gets across. Because he needs Scar to know just how limitless Grian's love for him is—for all of him. How willing he is to put himself in Scar's hands, no matter if they're soft or clawed.

His words settle the beast rumbling inside Scar’s chest, soothe his nerves and put him back on course.

Grian still trusts him.

Somehow Grian seriously isn’t at all afraid of the monster laying dormant inside of Scar, nor of any of its capabilities. In fact, he seems to undeniably like it—

And he’d trust Scar again—

Scar swallows, slotting that particular train of thought away for later. Then he smiles, earnest and almost shy. “… you’re so good to me.”

"I'm just—" Grian starts saying but gets easily sidetracked by Scar's smile. Even if shy, it is bedazzling and Grian wants to kiss it.

Instead, it’s Scar who presses his lips to Grian's forehead, eliciting a soft appreciative hum from Grian.

“Give me a second?” Scar asks after a beat, holding up the scrap of fabric to give Grian some idea as to what he needs to do before quickly slipping out of Grian’s grasp and sliding over to the pool’s edge to dampen the cloth.

Maybe it's weird— No, it definitely is weird that Grian instantly feels unease as Scar gets away from him. That shouldn't be the reaction, not when Scar moved barely a meter away. Not when he intends to come back.

He tilts his head, like a confused abandoned puppy. "Scar?"

It only takes a moment to do what Scar needs and he's back in Grian’s orbit, hand reaching out to take hold of his cheek with a smile. “Sorry, I’m here,” he says knowingly. Another kiss, this time on his nose, gentle and a little silly. “Let’s get you a little cleaned up, yeah?”

He eyes Grian’s wings in particular, remembering that spot soaked with blood. But Grian’s wings are no longer splayed out, no longer giving Scar easy access. (Though he notes they also aren’t pressed so tightly at his back, which eases any worry before it can form.) He moves his hand with the cloth, but stops.

“Can I… still touch? Just to clean a small spot on this one here?” He gestures at Grian’s left wing, then sets his hand back down, perfectly willing to accept no for an answer.

The cloth in Scar's hands starts finally making sense to Grian, and it feels so silly how he was missing its purpose this whole time. A little bit slower still, he registers what exactly Scar is asking, because he never said the word wings but that's what he means, right?

Grian's gaze flits to the feathers and away, skittish. He takes a breath. Then another. An odd, unwelcomingly familiar unease crawls underneath his skin. (He wants to scratch and tear until he can pluck it out; he wants it gone gone gone.)

He remembers Scar's hands in his feathers. He remembers feverishly wanting it, chasing it, begging for it.

He also remembers other hands on his wings. Much less safe. Much less controlled.

They twitch behind him now, feathers puffing up slightly as his feelings become a mess of a warzone. He thinks maybe it'd be easier if Scar didn't ask at all and just did it, but now Grian's attention is chained to his feathers, and he's not dazed enough to pretend the trauma isn't there.

He swallows dryly, then looks away. It's okay. It's okay it's okay it's okay.

Didn't he just say he trusts Scar with himself?

He does. He does.

His wing unfurls, but it's a hesitant, timid motion.

"You can," Grian confirms, but he's not looking at Scar. He doesn't know what to expect. He wants to allow this to happen, but he worries his body will betray him.

Scar can sense the unease, like it's a tangible thing swirling in between them, trying to set up a barrier where Scar refuses to allow. It's strange because realistically he cannot comprehend why now would be any more difficult than before, when his claws were out and inhibitions lost, but he still easily accepts the hesitance— he doesn't need to understand to respect it.

With Grian's face turned away, Scar plants another kiss, this time over his brow. "Won't take long," he promises, using both hands so he can gain some leverage, though he keeps his head very close, wanting to continue to offer some sort of contact. He smiles, pressing his lips into Grian's hairline. "You're in good hands."

It's clear that Scar can sense Grian's distress, but instead of shying from the scrutiny, Grian lets Scar's awareness calm him instead. He senses how careful Scar is around him, how gentle, pressing kisses and barely touching, and it makes him once again feel like surrendering himself over to him.

Scar promises he's in good hands and Grian knows it to be true.

Scar doesn't dawdle, but remains incredibly gentle with his touch, in stark contrast to his tugging from before. He can still hardly believe he did that, but there are feathers in disarray to prove it. He itches to brush them back into place, but resists, focusing on the task at hand for now.

The cloth is warm and not too horribly damp, and aside from the soft fingertips keeping the feathers still, he barely touches at all, just wiping at the blood until it stains the fabric instead.

Despite knowing he’s in good hands, Grian’s feathers spike with sensations as Scar touches, no mental fog to dissolve them in now. The cloth is wet, rubbing at his feathers, and his nerves instantly fray. His wing twitches in Scar's hold, not quite yanking away, but not complacently still.

He wants it to stop.

He doesn't say it. He clenches his jaw and closes his eyes and wraps arms around his abdomen, and he just. Breathes.

This is meant to be nice. This is benign. This is Scar, and he can feel right where his own hand presses against his waist that he clearly trusts Scar with his body.

Then why why why why why—

He's growing upset and frustrated with himself. His grip on his own torso tightens, resulting in a spike of pain that helps distract.

Scar remembers earlier, how speaking kept Grian distracted from the overwhelming sensation of heavy, wet feathers as he did his best to dry and preen. And although words are tough, still confusing and almost too loud now for the small sense of quiet they've come to peace with, Scar settles on a small hum. It's not a particularly catchy tune, just a low background melody, casual and calm.

Grian slowly becomes aware of the sound, his attention shifting to cling to it. He doesn't even realise that his arms loosen their hold somewhat. Doesn’t realise the spike of pain melts back into soft throbbing. Doesn't realise the band around his chest relents slightly.

His eyes are squeezed shut, brows pinched, back tense. But he holds still, attention flickering between the sparking sensations in his wing and Scar's soothing hum.

It hurts Scar to do this, because he can tell Grian is not completely okay with this. And Scar doesn't want to be doing anything that upsets him, but he knows, he knows it would be so much worse to leave this stain for Grian to stumble upon again when he's in a worse headspace. It hurts because he knows Grian is hurting and it hurts even worse because part of Scar can't help but wonder what's wrong with himself if Grian only wants him to touch his wings when he's hot and bothered and utterly distracted—

No, he knows it's not personal.

He knows.

It doesn't take too long. It feels like eternity, electrifying and explosive against Grian’s feathers in all the wrong ways, but realistically, it's just a moment.

It's a small, short, tiny, insignificant moment, causing everything to fall apart.

The yearning for safety, for comfort and protection, slips out of Grian's grip. A part of him—the timid part that'd never really admit to it—wants to be taken care of. He wants to be scooped up and reassured, after the intense experience of their shared intimacy. (It was wonderful. It was so, so amazing and Grian doesn't regret it a bit. He just— He just needs— He isn't sure what he needs.) (It makes him feel cornered.)

And this is being taken care of. This should be good.

And yet.

Grian feels wretched and horrible, because he should be handling this all much better after everything that happened. He should be cooing and relaxing into Scar's gentle, loving touch. This should feel good.

It doesn't, though, and he's so confused and upset with himself.

Through all the distressing sensations, he feels, on top of it all, like he's failing Scar. He's sending across an awful message, a nonsensical tangle of mixed signals, and there's so much space for miscommunication. He doesn't want this to hurt Scar. He doesn't want this to hurt Scar. He—

Scar sets the cloth down for a moment to give his attention back to the tightly wound up avian in front of him. He can't have that. Not after he spent so long properly and exhaustively undoing him.

His hands brush over Grian's arms, telling him it's done. Thanking him.

And yet all that Grian can do is press his eyes shut tighter and sob.

Scar’s eyes widen and his heart about breaks when he hears that wretched sound. Those are not the same tears he kissed away not too long ago, the ones laced with delirium and complicated ecstasy. No, these are awful, and Scar’s hands tremble a moment as he panics, worried he did something horribly wrong.

He knew Grian was uncomfortable, he should have stopped—

But he had to get them clean, it was for the best, he had to—

But now Grian’s crying and that shouldn’t be happening, they should be happy, they—

Scar takes a deep breath.

Heavy exhale. Wisps of blue and white dissipate before his very eyes and oh that is so strange to be doing after everything that’s happened tonight.

“Grian,” he starts, voice surprisingly even. Both of his hands find Grian’s cheeks, cupping him close and brushing his tears away. “Hey, heyyy. It’s okay. The worst is over, I promise.” He presses his forehead to Grian’s own, narrowing his vision down to only Scar if he just opens his eyes. “You’re safe, you’re fine. You are so precious to me.”

Grian's breath hitches and hiccups and he sobs again, but Scar's warm, steady hands are on his cheeks, and everything in him tries to redirect to them, to that touch, to that voice.

It feels like trying to redirect a landslide.

Tears roll down his cheeks. His hands unlatch from himself and instead find purchase on Scar's wrists, desperate for more contact and grounding even as he feels wholly undeserving of it. His wings shift behind him, uneasy and unsure, slotting back to somewhat-folded—and yet, through it all, they're still not reclaiming their tightly-pressed position right against his back.

"I'm sorry, Scar, I'm so sorry." The words spill out of him between sobs, small fragmented little things full of guilt and distress and failure. But he's leaning into Scar's touch, and that has to count for something. That has to communicate something across. (He wants Scar to understand. He needs him to know that Grian doesn't mean to hurt him by being like this. That it's not because of Scar.)

Scar tells him he's safe, and it barely registers, but Grian tries so desperately to hold onto it. He tips his whole body forward, seeking more of Scar, more of that promised safety.

“Hey, there’s nothing to be sorry for?” Scar replies, clearly surprised by the babbled apologies. “I think we’ve experienced like every emotion in the span of a couple of hours, so it’s perfectly understandable to be a touch fragile.”

He kisses each of Grian’s hands, just over the knuckles that wrap around his wrists, then nestles one between his eyes. He can tell his own eyes are watering as well, from empathy or his own complicated tug of emotions, but it doesn’t bother him.

The affection is soft and soothing, and Grian wishes for nothing more than to fall into it, to feel the cottony bedspread it lays underneath him, catching his fall. He sobs and sniffles as Scar reasons this out for him, tells him it's okay to be a little bit overwhelmed and a little bit fragile.

Hearing that makes Grian feel a bit better, helps tug at the knot of confusion. Scar says it makes sense to feel things. Maybe it's okay. Maybe it's okay to be a little bit of a mess, after all of that intensity. Maybe— Maybe Scar can love him anyway.

Love him?

Grian lets out a small timid coo, questioning but unspecific.

“Let me take care of you?” Scar suggests, words soft and sugarcoated, phrased very intentionally to make it seem like a favor to Scar of all things, which really isn’t a lie at all. His thumbs run over Grian’s cheeks again, cherishing each individual freckle as the skin squishes slightly beneath them.

It's hard, finding his voice. But Scar is offering to take care of him, and that's everything that Grian wants and needs right now, so he fights to let him know. To tell him that it's okay. That it's wanted.

He tilts his head and presses a small kiss to Scar's wrist, right over his pulse point, then nuzzles against his palm, closing his eyes again. His brow is still pinched and his heart still aches in his chest. But it's okay.

It's okay, because Scar is going to take care of him.

"Okay," he manages. It's a wobbly and small word, but it is out there. And then: "Please."

Everything Grian does is so weak and clearly a struggle, but it tugs at Scar’s heartstrings, the vulnerability and sincerity of that tiny kiss and nuzzle, slowly piecing his aching heart back together again. He smiles, perhaps small but honest all the same, and nods, the motion incredibly stilted by their position but felt nonetheless.

“Anything for you,” Scar reassures, placing another small kiss. He reaches for the damp cloth, turning it around to find a mostly clean side in lieu of abandoning Grian for the pool again, and sets to clean him off so that Grian could get properly dressed. (Although the baggy sweater and nothing else look is quite nice—Scar keeps that in mind. Commits that image to memory.)

Scar’s words echo through Grian. Anything for you. He cups them gently and tucks them into secret corners of his heart, protected. It feels good, right now, to have Scar take care of him. To stay close and give him attention and care.

His wings slump slightly behind him, still reluctant to slot to where they'll surely have to be once they leave their shelter, once they let go of this moment. But for now, they just want to be, and Grian lets them.

Gingerly, he tips to rest his forehead on Scar's shoulder, trying to angle his body in a way that’d be helpful and give Scar the access he needs, but it’s hard. His body is so clumsy, and even the slightest struggle makes him want to cry again.

Scar’s happy to take the weight of Grian’s head on his shoulder, even leans into it with a pleased hum. Now that he’s not fretting over it being his fault, he finds he doesn’t mind the fragility in the slightest. In fact every ounce of relief he can provide to Grian is weight off of his heavy heart and it comforts him just as much.

Grian honestly can't tell how much time has passed, but after a while, Scar's touches seem to turn a little aimless, a little less deliberate. And yet Grian doesn't mind. He continues sinking, slumped against him, once again left completely at his mercy—although this is so very different from before, filled with tenderness and care where wild cravings and passion were before.

“…you look cute like this,” Scar lets slip, unable to help himself. He’s basically done cleaning up now, but he’s lingering just a bit, just a few more casual touches, calming and sweet.

With a grumble, Grian burrows his head into Scar's shoulder, hiding his growing blush at the remark. "Scar." (And yet he can't help but feel pleased.) (He wants to look good for him.) (His legs twitch and shift slightly, and he wonders if Scar is watching—)

Scar gives Grian’s leg just the gentlest pinch, more of an indulgent act than anything else, just to drive home the point.

A tiny yelp escapes Grian at the pinch, but he burrows it into Scar's shirt. (Instantly, he wants to shift to where Scar's shirt still hangs open, to tuck any and all sounds directly against Scar's skin, where they belong.)

Scar smiles innocently with an audible click of his teeth. “Cute, but probably cold.”

Grian shuffles to the side, peeking up from his hiding spot. "Probably cold," he echoes in weak agreement.

Scar pulls away—only a little bit, he's still right here, but Grian still doesn't like it. It still feels like just a smidge too much distance, even if it only lasts a moment, and then the heated pile of clothes lands in Grian's lap.

He hums, looking down at it instead of at Scar; he busies himself by putting the pants aside for now and picking out the underwear, just so he wouldn't have to address how silly and clingy he's being.

“I could stoke the fire while you get dressed?” Scar asks, lips once again pressed into Grian's hair, voice hushed and intimate. “Or I can help with that, too.” One hand has made its way back to Grian’s hip, finding some unmarked skin to idly run his fingers over before he loses the lovely sight.

Grian's head whips up at the suggestion of Scar moving away to tend to the fire, and okay, they will have to address how clingy he is, because his eyes are wide at the mere notion of Scar moving away.

Even if he might like more of the fire warmth, he can't bring himself to allow the possibility of Scar going anywhere out of his reach right now. Running on some wild instinct, Grian coos and his wings unfurl just enough to block Scar's way—the kind of motion they wouldn't dare to do before tonight.

The idea of Scar leaving his proximity seems tragic and unbearable, and somewhere in the back of his mind Grian knows he's being ridiculous, but he can't help it, and the awareness of it leaves him feeling askew and plunging straight back into fragility. But Scar's still here. Still here, lips pressed into Grian's hair, fingers running over Grian's hip.

"Stay," Grian asks, and it comes too close to begging.

Scar nods, perfectly content to. He honestly might be able to get the fire to spark back up with some simple prodding, so maybe he can get away with doing that a bit later as they properly get ready for sleep. For now, he resolves that he’ll just have to be the equivalent of a warm fire for Grian and stays close. It’s where he wants to be anyway.

Slowly and carefully, Grian works to get his underwear on, asking for Scar’s help in the process. Despite all the gentleness, it’s an ache-filled endeavour, but Grian doesn’t mind, as long as Scar’s near.

He considers, idly, that he’ll feel these bruises and wounds for a long time, but he can’t find it in himself to mind. Maybe he should—maybe this should bother him.

But it doesn’t.

Once he's more decent, he leans in, reaching to press a small kiss to Scar's throat.

Scar hums appreciatively, adoring the placement. Despite all the power play, he bares his throat just as easily, leaning forward into the touch. A predator entranced by its prey, all defenses dropped.

"You know I'm yours?" Grian murmurs against the kissed spot. He might’ve already said it before. And the marks on his skin are there as a proof. And yet. Grian wants to make sure Scar knows that it still stands. That it wasn't just something born out of dazed indulgence and unthinking. That it wasn't just in the moment.

Scar's hum shifts to a low purr.

“I do know that,” he croons, tucking Grian closer than he was before. “Very aware, in fact.”

Grian releases a breath of relief, satisfied. A light chuckle presses against the bottom of Scar's jaw, as if it was ridiculous to ever doubt it.

There’s a very intentional drag of Scar’s fingers up Grian’s sweater, ghosting over the particularly nasty bite. His hands are still so warm, like blood has yet to stop coursing through his veins at rapid speeds.

Grian's stomach tightens at the hovering touch of Scar's fingers over the wound—the most loudly aching one. His breath hitches and he waits.

He's not sure what for.

His skin aches and burns, an affirmation that whatever Scar did to him is lasting, and yet it's coated with that prideful feeling. He took it. Scar gave this bite to him, and Grian accepted, and now he's marked and he can't find it in himself to regret it, even as it pangs with pain.

Scar only lingers there a moment before locking together with the other hand behind Grian’s back, holding him tightly, dearly.

Grian gladly gives all of himself to that touch, shifting wherever Scar wants him.

Scar’s throat is still open to Grian, loving the feel of his breath over his pulse point— two proofs of life coming together— when a dastardly idea enters his mind.

“Can you—“ He swallows, which is likely very intimately felt. He knows Grian is tired, and so is he but— “I want… wanna know what it feels like. …wanna be yours, too.”

(He is. He is already. But the idea of having it just as visibly apparent is tantalizing.)

Grian’s mind trips up at the words and halts.

His breath hovers over Scar’s throat, but he isn't sure what exactly Scar wants here. Testingly, he nips at Scar’s skin, lightly, his energy levels depleted.

He doesn't think he can do this properly, sink his teeth into flesh—and he isn't sure if that's what Scar is asking for, but— but if he is—

Is Grian going to fail him? To disappoint?

"You are mine," he murmurs against Scar’s pulse point, a little bit lost, a little bit helpless. He doesn't want to fail him. "You are?" he frowns, as if unsure all of a sudden. He was maybe too hasty there. Scar says he wants to be his, not that he is his. Is Grian wrong? "You are—" he tries again but falters, burying his forehead in the crook of Scar's neck. He's getting so lost in this. "Mine?" he coos quietly against Scar's collarbone.

Scar flushes slightly when he registers what it is he just asked for, and he’s almost grateful Grian hesitates to comply. His ears flick with embarrassment and he laughs timidly, before it occurs to him that he’s made Grian perhaps doubt the sentiment.

“Oh, gosh, yes,” he immediately recovers, nuzzling his face info Grian’s hair, down behind his earwing where he plants a kiss, instantly relieving Grian’s anxieties. “Yes, yours, always.” He tries to make a bit of a coo in return, though his voice is clearly not made for the sound. It doesn’t make it any less adoring— a tad broken but an earnest attempt.

Grian laughs quietly, but it's not mean. He loves it. He adores Scar for trying. It sets warmth skittering through him, and he hums and nuzzles against him. He coos again in response, more confident this time.

“It was silly, but… um. I’d want you to have me, too?” Scar admits quietly. “Like— y'know, physically?” He ducks his head down further, hiding his blush in Grian’s hair. “Just… some time maybe.”

Grian's face flushes horribly and he squeaks, pressing his face against Scar. He thought that maybe Scar was suggesting a mere bite, but now it kind of sounds like he wants more and— Heated memories of tonight flood Grian's mind, the pain and the pleasure and the intimacy, and he wonders if Scar is saying he wants their roles there at the end switched? Or maybe he's not saying that at all and Grian's just being an idiot, misunderstanding completely.

"Scar?" his voice is muffled. "I think I— I think I need you to be more specific."

Scar whimpers pathetically, but it's mostly dramatics. Words are so difficult. And in a completely different way than they were before. He has all the words this time, he's just struggling to organize them into a coherent thought.

Well, bluntness has always worked for him in the past—

"Bite me, too, sometime," he sputters. "Mark me. Sh-show the world I'm yours as well."

His face feels hot. He squeezes his hands together tightly and fidgets his thumbs a tad nervously, finger pads running over Grian's back.

It's funny, really. Phrasing it that way. Like this world has any right impeding on their affairs. It's not like leaving a hickey for a poor, unsuspecting hermit to see and gawk at, leaving a private sense of pride and amusement. No, realistically no hunter would ever register such an inconsequential detail. But to be unquestionably marked—claimed—a vex and his avian, an avian and his vex. The wild sense of possession and mutual reliance, wholehearted trust.

Scar craves it.

A beast equally as retained.

His throat bobs as he swallows hard, salivating at the mere thought. "... Sometime," he clarifies again, a reminder that it needn't be now.

The answer is what Grian originally thought it to be. The way Scar stumbles through it makes Grian grin against his neck, now that he's more sure what this is about.

He hums, almost contemplatively. The skin is right there, for the taking. Scar isn't shying away.

He nibbles again. It's light. It's careful. It's oh so gentle.

He really can't bring himself to do anything more right now. He just wants to be soft. Weak. He wants to submerge them into a cocoon of tender affection. (He wants to keep Scar's arms around him and know that he's safe.)

"Mm... Sometime," he muses noncommittally. Gently, he kisses the spot he was teasing with his teeth, and then he shifts, nuzzling his forehead against it. His legs are still bare, and he folds them, pressing against Scar. (The bite at his side burns with the shift of his muscles, the way his belly bends.) (He doesn't mind. He wants to curl up and be near Scar. Nothing else seems to matter.)

Scar swallows against the sensations and—oh that feels nice. He nods, slow and a little shaken when Grian pulls away with a kiss. “S-sometime,” he breathes, left with more than enough to hold him over— an idea to look forward to.

He unlocks his hands and runs them under Grian’s sweater, admiring the soft skin and the feeling of Grian relaxing against him. Wanting to continue to soothe and comfort and take care of the bird in his hold.

Grian adores the way Scar touches him. He's got free access to his skin, to the private areas under his sweater, the patches of his back that never get touched. He melts into it easily, feeling an absolute yearning for it to stay, to continue. He wants more of this, easy intimacy, private little things. Mindless touches that mean everything.

And then he blinks.

Show the world I'm yours.

An idea occurs to him.

He pulls away, straightening up, eyes seeking out Scar's. "You want the world to know you belong to me?"

Scar’s hold loosens up as Grian pulls away. “Wh—“ he starts, but upon processing, his answer is immediate. “Yes.”

The hastiness of Scar’s agreement is endearing, and Grian can't help but lean in and steal a kiss, one hand coming up to brush against Scar's cheek. His fingertips come to tease the edge of his ear. "We can do that. We can— We can show it. If you want."

He's still not explaining, and something in his tone turns almost sheepish as he pulls back away to regain eye contact. His plan makes sense in his head—Scar is a vex, and he marks with teeth. Grian, however, is an avian. He has other ways to show what is his.

Scar breaks into a grin as his ear is touched, not minding the small flicks it elicits because the feeling is delightful, along with Grian’s direct attention.

His hands stop just over Grian’s waist, holding still, immensely curious. “Don’t leave me in suspense here, G,” he says, almost giggling at the slight tickle, then more seriously: “I want it.”

Grian's lips turn skewed with a half smile at Scar's eager curiosity. "Alright, hold on," he murmurs, shifting his attention away.

And then he unfolds his wing and brings it forward in a curve. The primaries reach behind Scar's side, just barely, hovering at a distance. But the inner feathers are there, on display and within perfect reach.

Scar watches in awe as Grian’s wing stretches out around him once again. There’s that persisting itch to touch again, ever muted, ever contained. Frankly, Scar still can’t believe he did touch them. He feels so unbelievably honored to have been trusted, however briefly.

Grian reaches out for his wing.

He doesn't even think about how this is the first time in a long while that he is deliberately touching them—he let Scar touch them plenty just tonight, but this is something else. His own fingers burrow in, searching for something. They don't straighten any feathers along the way.

For a moment, Scar entertains the possibility of Grian giving him a feather. It seems altogether improbable, but Grian is searching through his wings right now, and— Scar can’t help but smile at that. At Grian actually touching his wings.

A contemplative, focused hum leaves Grian, and then his fingers wrap around what he needs, and he yanks.

Scar almost panics at that, assuming the worst, memories of distressed Grian plucking at his plumage rushing to the forefront of his mind, but everything quickly resettles as he watches this gesture unfold, stunned.

The feather is loose enough and goes willingly, without pain, but it's a pretty one—unbroken and whole. Grian regards it quickly, as if making sure it's good enough for his partner, and only then does he lift his head, his eyes bright and hopeful as he properly presents the feather to Scar.

"For you." Nervousness prickles along Grian’s spine, and he coos quietly, suddenly anxiety-riddled. "Yours."

Scar meets Grian’s eyes again. He’s properly short-circuited, staring and blinking rapidly as tears threaten to flood his vision. But no, no, he wants to see this, to see Grian’s eyes, big and vulnerable and open and such a beautiful feather being offered—

To him—

“A-are you sure?” he chokes out. His hands have gone rigid, nervous and unsure of where to plant themselves. “That’s— really?”

Grian swallows drily, unsure yet what to make of Scar's reaction. He's still gingerly holding out the feather, a vivid violet thing with a black tip, with a bit of fluff at the base of the shaft. Clean, after the bath that Scar coaxed him to have. Surprisingly soft to the touch, too. (Grian forgot how it feels, to touch them.) (It feels incredibly brittle in his hold, a fact that is bound to haunt him later.)

"I'm sure," he says softly, holding Scar's gaze. His expression is open, but also timid, a faint flush over his cheeks as his heart beats a wild rhythm in his chest.

He's never done this before.

He's never done it, but he's absolutely certain he wants to do it now.

A hint of worry crosses his face as Scar isn't taking the feather yet and instead keeps double checking, as if maybe this wasn't meant to be happening. "I'm— You can take it," Grian reassures, voice a bit tight, incredibly vulnerable. A faint tremble reaches his hand, his nerves fraying. The wing half folds back behind Grian, shyly dipping out of the spotlight.

Scar’s ears flit attentively, realizing he’s yet to react properly. Or move at all for that matter. He’s been glued to the spot, stun locked and enamored, trying so hard not to get emotional over this.

(He’s failing.)

His hands leap from their place on Grian, fingers twitching nervously as he struggles to decide how exactly to take the feather. It seems precious. So precious. He wants to be careful. His hands remember how to be careful right?

“Right— I, ah—“

He ends up holding both his hands out, cupped. Realistically, he knows his nails are retracted, but the thought of piercing any single fiber keeps him from taking it directly, all too timid and aware of himself.

Grian's stomach is tightly wound as Scar still isn't quite taking the feather. He does, however, cup his hands, and that at least tells Grian he probably wants it.

Gingerly, Grian drops the feather into Scar's expectant palms, slow and careful as he does so. His eyes trace the barbs, watching as they shift hues as they catch different light, until they ultimately come to brush Scar's skin. (At the sight, Grian's wings behind his back tingle with the memory of touch that sets Grian's breath slightly off rhythm.)

“Grian…” Scar starts, eyes darting from the feather back up to Grian’s eyes, his own failing the battle with the tears as they begin to overflow. They streak down his face, meeting the upturn of his wobbly smile.

The call of his name falling from Scar's lips yanks Grian's attention up, up to meet Scar's eyes—Scar's tear-filled eyes—

Grian's too nervous about this to be reading things correctly. He can tell Scar's smiling—a wobbly, quite honestly adorable smile—and he did reach out for Grian to give him the feather, but the tears, and the original reluctance, and— And Grian doesn't know what to think, anxiety rampant in his veins. (This is meant to be a nice moment. This is meant to be good.) (Is it good?)

Grian sniffles, a consequence of seeing Scar cry when he himself is feeling wholly fragile, and he reaches up to brush the tears away. "Scar...?" He wants to ask him if this is okay. If he likes it? If it's good enough for what Scar wanted? (To be Grian's. To have a proof. A mark of sorts.) But he can't find the words. He coos at him instead, soft and nervous and questioning.

Scar stares down at the feather for a long moment, still in awe, still in disbelief. His throat feels dry and he can barely form words, but what he does do is carefully take both of his hands and press the gifted feather to his chest. Right over his heart. Held dear, held so carefully.

Grian glances down to see Scar press the feather to his chest, and his breath catches in his throat as his heart skips a beat at the sight. He's powerless to stop the pleased vibrato of a coo that escapes him, wings lifting slightly in a happy, prideful preen. His gaze flits back up, cheeks warmed, instantly feeling more secure with his feather-gifting gesture than just a second ago.

Scar's forehead presses to the side of his, gently nuzzling in, and Grian feels even warmer. He leaves one hand still on Scar's cheek, thumb brushing over the wet skin, caressing so very carefully and tenderly.

His earwings flit as Scar fights back a choked sob, forcing a complicated swell of emotions through Grian. He wants to soothe Scar, even though he doesn't think that Scar's emotions are coming from a place of distress. He still wants to press him close and cherish him and make him feel loved, make him understand that he is loved, let him know that Grian's always going to be here to catch his tears and wrap his arms around him if Scar needs it.

He tips his head slightly, kissing the edge of Scar's cheek that he can reach. His wings unfurl easily, unthinkingly, and curve around Scar, a protective cloak of feathers gently settling against Scar's back, a light weight keeping him close.

“Grian, I love it,” Scar manages to say. He shifts his head just a little, sniffling. “God, you— I… I love it.”

"You do?" Grian laughs a little, unsteady. His voice is quivery, a fragile, timid thing. He's pleased, so very pleased that Scar loves the feather, yet still left feeling complicated, like this is all actually precarious.

Scar tries oh-so hard to match the cooing sound, a crackled laughter and sniffle-laced sound overflowing with pure affection. It makes him giggle at himself. It warms his heart pressed against the feather.

Briefly, he wonders what exactly this gesture is supposed to mean for avians. What that makes Scar to Grian.

But realistically, he knows. He knows, he knows.

"Gosh, yes, Grian, I love it. I do." Scar can feel the feathers of Grian's wings wrapped around him and oh, it's almost overwhelming how trusted and adored he feels right now. "This is— Thank you, I—"

His hands twitch, itching to wrap around Grian in a wholehearted embrace, but— the feather. He doesn't want to put it away, it feels so, so wrong to stuff it away in his pack with everything else like it's some kind of scrap. And Grian offered it to him in lieu of something physical, something obvious and showy, so— Scar slips it over his ear, tucked there like he would a pencil while he sketches. And, maybe it's silly, and it's definitely temporary, but it means his arms are around Grian in an instant, barely able to contain himself enough not to lift him slightly off the ground and tug him so, so close. "I love it..."

With a squeak of surprise tipping over into a breathless laugh, Grian's hands wrap around Scar in return and, without a sliver of hesitation, he submits fully to his hold. "I'm glad you do."

There's less unease in Grian's voice now. He feels steadier. He feels like it really was a good thing to do, after all, and the relief and pure joy of it starts flooding his veins. He giggles, and it sounds mildly disbelieving, but mostly absolutely delighted.

Scar pulls back after a minute, making sure he gets a good squeeze. "Is this okay?" he asks, a tad timid with a big, bashful smile. "I mean like, am I supposed to wear it?"

It's a loaded question, he knows. Not only is it a public display of their relationship, but it's a public display of a bright violet feather, and Scar knows how troubling that can be for Grian to show off, so he can only imagine the complicated nature of having his own portion of that for show. (He thinks of the hunters and their bejeweled weapons, feathers tied to them in boast. It makes his fingers twitch slightly, aching for his claws.)

(Mournfully, he finds himself wishing this was Hermitcraft (a thought he tries to avoid), and he could wear it proudly to show off to his friends. That Grian is his and he is Grian's.)

Grian's face burns at the question, eyes flicking up to bask in the sight of the feather behind Scar's ear. "I— I um—" he stammers. He likes having it on display, and all the implications of it. It makes something in his chest purr with happy warmth. But— Is Scar supposed to wear it? Grian's never done anything like this before. He actually doesn't know.

His fingers reach, but he doesn't touch the tucked feather. Instead, his fingertips brush Scar's earlobe, and he wonders how wonderful it would feel to see Scar proudly wear the feather as an earring.

But then the reality crashes in. Grian's fingers tremble and pull away, and he swallows thickly. His eyes are big and vulnerable, with a touch of troubling, deep-rooted fear, when they find Scar's again. "I— Scar, I—" he stammers again, in a completely different pitch this time.

His wings slide off of Scar's back, reclaiming their spot behind Grian, making themselves smaller. (And yet. And yet they're still not as tightly pressed to his spine as they used to be.)

He thinks of a bright spot of violet, permanently tied to Scar, on display. In a world where that particular brilliant shade is as good as a death sentence.

"I don't know," he finishes in an unsteady half whisper, heart hammering painfully in his chest.

Scar watches Grian fumble with his words and how his wings retreat, nervous and almost ashamed of their gorgeous hue. Scar finds that he really does not like that.

He meets Grian's eyes, steady even as his own are still red from shed tears. "Do you want me to?" Then, softer, serious. "I want to." His eyes flick downward, pondering his next words carefully before seemingly resolving to something. He looks back up and adds, unwavering. "Maybe dangerous, but... feels good. Feels… right."

Grian doesn't even have to consider Scar's question; he knows the answer instantly. Yes. Yes, he does want that, but—

He can't. He can't say that. He can't bear the implications, he possibilities. He can't stand the thought of making Scar any more of a target than he already is.

He feels his eyes water as his heart is locked in this hopeless fight. Scar tells him he wants to do it, and that it feels right, and damn, Grian knows it feels right—it feels so, so horribly right for Scar to wear the feather on proud display.

And yet. Grian's eyes close, sending tears tumbling down. His head dips as he shakes it no, suddenly so very afraid.

He doesn't want Scar to get hurt because of him. Because of this. Because of a silly, sentimental foolishness.

Scar pauses, heart aching at the display of complicated emotions that shower over Grian's face, shifting and moving until he lands on something all too close to despair and dips his head low. Scar chews his lip, also dismayed by the reality they live in, before pulling his little avian in close again, pressing him to his chest where he can cry.

"Maybe... just for now," he whispers, secure in their current privacy. "And we'll figure it out?"

Grian burrows in easily, relishing Scar's hold, the comfort and protectiveness of it. It seems to hold some unspoken promise that Grian desperately wants to come true.

"Just for now?" Grian repeats, wobbly and so, so small.

"Yeah," Scar says, voice rich with many emotions. "I want it. It's perfect."

He runs his hands down Grian's back, affectionate and gentle. All the things they both need right now. It's soothing and careful, a soft lull as his muscles all begin to loosen, exhaustion slowly creeping in.

"Mmm, want to get to sleep?" Scar asks after savoring their position for another moment.

"Sleep," Grian echoes, feeling very tired yet awake, the emotions stirring in him abruptly too loud. The feather and the bruises and the scratches and the— His earwings flutter, his face flustered once again. He burrows in. "If you want," he mutters, muffled.

“Mmm, I do want,” Scar drawls, voice sleepier the moment sleep is brought up. “Want you.”

It’s tempting to shamelessly drag his hand up further at the simple line, but he keeps his touch subtle for the sake of winding down. His hand does lightly trail down, however, reminding him that Grian is still not fully bundled up. (Neither is he, but honestly, irrelevant.)

Want you. Grian replays those words over and over as he nuzzles against Scar, letting the sentiment wash over him. Even exhausted, he feels hyper aware of Scar's hands on him and the path they take across his back. (He wants to fall asleep to his gentle touch.) (He wouldn't mind if Scar pushed it over the line and woke them up instead, either.) He hums quietly, bonelessly slumped against Scar's chest, finding that he really likes to be at his mercy.

“Jeans or no jeans?” Scar teases with a small prod to the waistband of Grian’s underwear. “Don’t want you to get cold.” (As much as Scar will try to remedy that himself with how much he wants to wrap himself around all of Grian and hold him tight.)

"...'s cold," Grian agrees in a tired mumble, but makes no move to push himself away and reach for the clothes. Dressing up sounds like too much effort. He wants to stay nestled in Scar's arms.

It’s not really an answer, Scar notes, but the way Grian has slid himself into his arms like a puddle of feathers really speaks for itself. Scar doesn’t want to move to get dressed either. Honestly couldn’t even be bothered buttoning up his own shirt.

So he opts to slowly lean backwards.

Scar tips them until he's lying down, and Grian's happy enough with this development. He remains curled up on his chest, his wings falling around them limply, blanketing at least some parts of them.

With the extra room on the cloak Scar’s laying on, he drags it around to drape it over them, too, like a little cocoon. “Warmer?” he asks, reaching to grab their heated clothes just to stuff at their uncovered sides like a ridiculously inefficient nest.

It's so messy and it's barely sufficient and it reeks of fatigued improvisation, but Grian's so very content anyway. It's almost a nest. It's nest-like enough to please something in his tired brain. He laughs quietly against Scar's collarbone, because it's ridiculous and silly, but the sound tapers off into a coo that rings with content agreement. "This good," he murmurs with a smile, stifling a yawn.

“Good, good,” Scar says, kissing the center of Grian’s head. He knows it’s shabby, but he’s got his arms around Grian and he still feels warm. So warm.

And so incredibly happy.

With one last check on the feather tucked behind his ear, Scar smiles and lets out a contented hum. “Need anything else?” he asks sleepily, though attentive nonetheless.

"Mmn." Grian tries to dismiss Scar's question, but he finds himself abruptly incredibly sleepy, cozy even, unable to form words.

This is the best spot to sleep in. Who needs clothes, anyway. Grian is happy, right here, right like this. And sure, his body aches. And he will have a lot to process tomorrow. But for now, that doesn't matter. He's tucked safely in Scar's arms, and he feels loved, and what more could he possibly want?

Scar snickers at the lack of response, fine with it. His hands settle comfortably over Grian’s back, running his fingers over the wrinkles in his sweater. “Goodnight, G,” he murmurs into his hair with another little kiss. “I— …g’night.”

Grian feels himself melt into the cottony edge of sleep. His mind is hazy, unthinking; it's all just mushy feelings and loose, relaxed muscles.

It's so rare, for him to go to sleep without a looming sense of dread, countless horrible possibilities crowding at the walls of their space.

But he's not worried now.

He's not afraid.

He's curled up on top of Scar, his legs are naked, and this is the worst excuse for a nest ever, and yet— It's perfect. This is right where he wants to be. Where he feels safe.

Barely audible and heavy with sleep, he murmurs "love you" before he drifts off completely.

Scar’s eyes had been drooping, barely awake himself, but they snap open at what he thinks he just heard.

He— didn’t imagine that right?

His heart skips a few beats, even if it’s silly, even if they’ve said it before, in jest or in desperation, but—

This is different, right?

Scar wanted to say it, too, precisely because it felt different.

With a nervous swallow, Scar closes his eyes again, envious that Grian could fall asleep so easily after dropping that on him. He feels like he’s going to be up all night on that potential high. Forget all the biting— this is going to drive him wild.

A shaky breath, almost a laugh, and then: “Love you, too.”

#hhau #scarian #i wanted this ready for valentine but we all know i failed kajsnkjnxcb #sorry this took forever #smitten idiots in love strike again #one more part until we're done with the main in-between mimic arc rambles!#then just the red haze bit :3c #(nothing to worry about there at all surely)#(not an ominous ramble title in the slightest)#and after that we can finally unearth the redacted mimic arc PART V #yayy #wiggles excitedly #i hope u guys are also excited hehe

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charmwasjess · 4 months ago

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9 Fandom Folks to Get to Know Better

Tagged by the wonderful unconquerable @rochenn - thanks buddy! :D

3 Ships I Like: The symmetry here disallows me from any answer than Sifo-Dyas/Dooku, Dooku/Jocasta Nu, and Jocasta Nu/Dooku/Sifo-Dyas, but I promise I contain multitudes. (I’m also getting into Codywan these days.)

First Ship Ever: oh god lolol well if we’re really talking first-first, I had impure thoughts about David and Jonathan from the motherfucking Bible, I am a case study for yaoi as early gender fantasy

I think the first fic I ever wrote that I labeled as a "ship" was actually Dooku/Makashi lol.

Last Song You Heard: Ariadnón messed me up reminding me of the existence of Tom McRae and now I just drift around my house whisper-singing “I can still see the ground…”

Favorite Childhood Book: Redwall by Brian Jacques was that book that I was young enough to remember it being read out loud to me, but also being at the age where I would be put to bed, get back up, and go read the next chapter by the light of my younger brother’s nightlight. I guess I love warrior monks from way back. It’s probably why I’m so compulsive about describing food in my stories.

Currently Reading: Elizabeth Varon’s excellent new Longstreet biography + Private Rites by Julia Armfield, fun queer retelling of King Lear

Currently Watching: I know this sounds way too on brand, but I actually just finished a rewatch of the OT Star Wars trilogy and now I’m thinking of doing the rest. Like the sequel trilogy I’ve not watched since they came out in theaters, even though I’m one of those sickos who fucking LOVED the Last Jedi.

Currently Consuming: coffee, this fancy roast called “dark as dark” to celebrate the "snow day" (3C and raining)

Currently Craving: I went to a big party last night and there was so much going on and so many people to talk to that I pulled the “three bites of this cheese-based potluck item is totally dinner” move so I’m currently the style of hungry where I just picture various foods and think “wow. oh geez. oh! whoa.” In particular, empanadas from the little shop downtown - I’m gonna run down there and pick some up after this.

And I would like to no pressure tag: @purple-ant @reconstructwriter @astranite @dapurinthos @bolithesenate @calcedon79 @just-a-repa @whitejays-galaxy @stellanslashgeode

#The dooku/makashi thing is funny because I was trying to be cute labeling it a pairing/ he sneaks out to spend time with his form #I do get told often by readers that my Dooku reads very ace/demi and I realize I didn't pair him for a long time #Redwall holds up btw #once I realized I had my copy in my car during a camping trip where we all got snowed in and I read it out loud to my very stoned friends #probably how those pages and pages of feast descriptions were intended to be read

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mr-stottlemonk · 1 year ago

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1-7, 14-21 and 28-35

gonna combine all of these, dears!

1. Who is the better cook?

Leland. Sometimes, Adrian doesn't quite manage to get the food ready on time. he doesn't like some spices and if he does like some, he only adds those lol. if one side is slightly burnt they'll go hungry xD.

2. Who gets up to cook at 2am?

Maybe Adrian?? maybe meal prep 🤔. Leland wouldn't wake up cook at 2am even if you held him at gunpoint lol.

3. Are they into PDA? Who initiates most?

Not particularly into PDA but they don't avoid it. I think they both have times where they initiate it but most likely Leland who initiates it. Adrian never stops blushing whenever he holds his hand in public and kisses his cheek grateful years later.

4. Their favorite show to watch together?

@s-misaki said cooking shows! and i went :0 gasp, agreed. Hell's Kitchen to be specific (it started airing in 2005). plus, i think Leland would love it and then Adrian would get drawn into it.

They could also watch Deal or No Deal + Who wants to Be A Billionaire :D. I think Adrian would love those shows.

5. Who is the cheesier one of the two?

Leland. He is so cheesy. But Adrian is cheesy too. All those cheesy apology cards, birthday cards, valentine cards 😭😭💕.

6. Who is always, always running late?

Leland. Comes with the job. He hates when he is cause he knows Adrian gets all nervous and likes people to be punctual. he makes up for it, though.

7. Who's clumsier?

Adrian. It's the anxiety 😔✊️.

14. Who falls asleep during a movie?

Both of them xD. i don't think they watch movies together very often cause they're tired. and when they do, they're so comfortable they fall asleep against the other.

15. Who's the first to cry during movies that don't seem sad?

Adrian. He can find the smallest thing and make it absolutely morbid...

16. Who hogs the covers?

Adrian. They each have their own covers though, honestly. Leland spends too many nights grumbling about having ¼ of the covers xD.

17. Who is more competitive?

They're both competitive but Leland has the streak more than Adrian does. Adrian does win a couple of times though.

Don't ever ask them to play scrabble.

19. What do they fight about most often? (Alternative: what was their biggest fight?)

Oh this is loaded xD. I don't think they fight often. i think Leland has learnt that it's best to confront issues there and then - and since it's Adrian, he does.

i think they'd bicker and maybe get a bit irritated eg: when Adrian keeps tidying up Leland's office. Leland has his own system and he likes his office the way it is. it's his space.

Adrian would probably grumble about a few things like keeping the house clean and the carpet nicely vacuumed.

the biggest argument they might have is Adrian putting himself in harm's way during a case or Leland taking on too many cases all at once and thinking he can do it all on his own.

the biggest argument they HAVE had was definitely about Linda -> i think after that episode they took a while to get back to the usual flow.

20. Who randomly brings home a stray puppy/kitten to adopt?

Adrian rarely does. Leland would only do so once in a while. Because he kept feeding this little kitten on the way home... I like to think they eventually get a dog :3c.

21. Any routines one has that the other had to get used to (ex. morning, nighttime, sleeping habits)?

Leland has more nighttime routines than daytime. He likes to come home, occasionally have a beer which Adrian takes to restocking on often. before bed, he likes to read a book - he does so in the sitting room because he doesn't want to bother Adrian in the bedroom.

😂 there's a lot of routines Leland has to get used to for Adrian. garbage day, cleaning day, laundry day...

@s-misaki also suggested the days/times Adrian gets all the fire alarms in his house rechecked and re-installed xD.

28. Who always steals the other's food? How does their partner react to it?

Hm. I think Adrian might steal Leland's food - maybe some parts of Leland's food is perfectly done more than his. Maybe he just didn't feel like ordering and now that Leland is eating in front of him NOW HE'S FEELING PECKISH.

30. Pet names? Yes or no?

Leland for Adrian? yes.

Adrian for Leland? yes and no?

i've tried out 'dove' for Adrian a few times. i think it works best. i think honey could also work, ha. Adrian would probably call Leland -> 'Lee' :D.

31. How do they spend their anniversary?

Probably doing or going somewhere simple. if they go on a vacation its to somewhere they can both enjoy and offers things they both like. they just want to spend time together. without having to worry or think about a case.

maybe they go to the theatre. or they go out for dinner or Leland claims his free days and they stay home and enjoy each other's company and time.

32. Who's so affectionate they can't stop touching the other?

Both of them. They are both affectionate and affection seeking men.

Leland just doesn't hesitate to take it and reach for it. Adrian does, he sometimes takes it slowly because he isn't sure or he's thinking about something but eventually it becomes pretty natural.

They love leaning against each other. They're in each other's space often. Reaching and holding and pulling and- ahhhhhh.

another friend of mine said that Leland definitely has tiny cues as well -> grabbing a cuff, hand on his shoulder. it means a lot more than you'd think :3c.

33. What is their wedding day like?

quiet. small. just a few people. people they love; close family and friends. they cry at their vows. sure, Adrian cries more because he's finally in love again. but Leland cries too because he can love Adrian in all the ways and spend the time they have left

(╥_╥) oh.

34. How do they cheer the other one up during sad times?

Adrian plays a few songs Leland likes in the background. He records shows and games Leland misses. He pops over to the office with lunch or to get him to take breaks.

Leland talks to him. Lets him know he's always there to listen. He buys him these silly cleaning supplies even though Adrian has them. He keeps this little rock collection that he occasionally gives Adrian some of.

35. What are their tastes in music?

Adrian is definitely a classical music guy and occasionally soft jazz plus country. Leland is classic rock and roll :D!

#anon asks #otp game!!#sorry it took so long i wasnt feeling well ;-;#stottlemonk #i loved all of these

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fl00mie · 9 months ago

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Excuse me for cutting into what's basically someone else's convo but regarding your nausea it might just be that your stomach isn't ready for it. When you go to sleep a lot of your body functions slow down simply because you don't need them at the time. This does mean that in a way it's not "ready" for food sometimes when you wake up and you end up feeling boated and sick when you eat anyway. It's particularly bad for hard to digest food like bread (gluten is hard to digest for a lot of people). This isn't a one size fits all but it might be what's happening to you when you feel unwell after brekkie. A good rule of thumb is probably to eat only when you feel hungry in the morning or go for something lighter. It could also be acid reflux which can also be caused by the body slowing down digestion which also causes nausea in the morning. Take these with a grain of salt because I am not a doctor though 😅 I hope you feel better! And as always give yourself time to feel comfortable in your art again. A shitpost where I don't have to worry about the quality and just want to deliver a funny punchline always makes me feel better so maybe that might help you ease yourself out of the sorta self expectations bump thing? Sorry it's hard for me to explain 😭😂 also hello Sunshine sorry to cut into your Convo 🙈🥹

oh wow i didn't think i'd get a biology lesson on freaking tumblr- but thanks anyway!! for the main intention and the information i genuinely didn't know :3c i mean, i stopped questioning it too much when it stopped happening to me, and i find it quite curious that the exact example you gave is something i've eaten for breakfast literally my entire life Dx i'm not sure if it's common to eat bread for breakfast in the first place- but maybe doing it so constantly made me stop having that nauseous feeling? i can't really tell, maybe this will be more useful for sun in case they're looking to stop that bad time (calling out sun☀️ somehow 'cause i can't @ them😭)

anyway, thanks again uvu receiving messages like this as if i were just having a normal conversation with a friend is somewhat comforting n n

#fluffy asks #boopidyboopidyboop

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coiledqueen · 9 months ago

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🎲 WILDCARD for wildcard Dan :3c

🎲 to generate a kiss! (accepting.) WILDCARD GO!! 10. A kiss along the jawline (continued from this)

Somehow, Shay isn't catching on.

After spending a majority of the afternoon trading medicines and tending to her Seviper rehab case together, the Johtoan sanctuary worker didn't bat a suspicious eye when the notoriously prickly Lucy invited her out for drinks afterwards. She didn't even question the Pike Queen's choice of venue, Asharas hesitantly flying them over to Lucy's self-proclaimed favorite, a nondescript dive bar situated on the outskirts of mainland Lilycove. Nope, all was still considered perfectly normal, even when Lucy picked out a corner table for them that was shrouded in shadow--guaranteeing privacy from any prying eyes.

Shay had definitely caught Lucy's attention. The visiting tamer was stoic, refreshingly competitive, and her toned figure was an absolute bonus...but she apparently still had no idea that the Pike Queen had been flirting with her ever since they'd both arrived here. Lucy's murmured compliments and teasing remarks, in one ear and out the other. The way she leaned in close to hear Shay speak--almost too close--was left unacknowledged. Her light touches on the tamer's thigh be damned. Shay--bless her oblivious heart--just wasn't getting it, so a fed-up Lucy opted to pull her last resort: a bet, one last desperate appeal to Shay's competitive nature. No more subtlety. There's no way that this gambit would work, right...?

'...I'll bet you don't have the guts to kiss me. Right here, right now.'

And, in an unexpected flash of motion, everything changes, Lucy stifling an incredulous laugh as she's pulled forward into a rough, fiery kiss. How long had Shay been holding back? How the hell did this bet work out so that the Pike Queen finally got what she wanted? Shay eventually settles back and tries to return to her drink, to a normal, even-keeled equilibrium, but it's far too late for that. In the isolated corner of this modest seaside bar, a hungry fire has been lit.

"...Ha. Looks like you win," Lucy's low voice sounds like an ominous, teasing hiss as she leans back over, her raven hair falling across the table. Turning Shay's face with gentle--yet confident--intent, her purple-hued lips plant careful, agonizingly slow kisses up the tamer's jawline, pausing briefly at the corner of her lips before stopping just below her ear. Lucy's breath is hot against Shay's skin as the Pike Queen hums quietly, reveling in this little game, her narrowed eyes focusing on the bar's oblivious patrons while she sneaks a cheeky nip at an earlobe. Lucy can't resist--and one last goading remark falls from her mouth. A further invitation, only if Shay opts to keep playing along...

"I wonder, though...Is that really the best you can do...?"

#nsft tw #(this was fun stabi thanks!!)#(hope you like itttt)#(lucy vc: i cant believe that worked)#murmursdraconic

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science-bastard · 1 year ago

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yaaaayyyyy thank you for your endorsement in the notes :3 i’m putting this under the cut in case people from my d&d group are following me (i know the DM does but they already know the lore on the how and why of the cannibalism ;3c)

okay so her name is Diphylleia (Dip for short) and her backstory is a bit of a Giorno Giovanna ripoff but shhhhh don’t worry about it. she’s named after the flower of the same name, whose petals turn clear when wet. unrelated but she also talks :) like :3 this :0. don’t ask how she pronounces the emoticons out loud but she does it very distinctly. you can feel the “:)”.

her hometown is a busy port full of fairies and features a less-than-stellar cartography guild. the guild is making bad maps on purpose so they can lure sailors into traps and extort them for their money or their lives. they also may or may not have carried out a few hits in this manner. basically they’re super corrupt despite only being a cartography guild.

Dip’s dream is to take down this guild from the inside, so she joins the guild and gets assigned to one of their ships. she learns how to make maps (duh) and really builds on her existing background in ass-kicking when she starts defending the ship from monsters. (and also that one tax collector in one of the ports they visit.)

somewhere in the middle of all this, she befriends another fairy on her ship by the name of Echeveria, also a slayer of sea monsters and tax collectors. at one point he talks about his experiences as a trans man, making her realize that she herself is a girl actually. T4T bi4bi romance ensues. Dip proposes to him, and he says yes.

during one absolutely dogshit storm, their ship sinks. Dip, Echeveria, and four others wash up on what is, charitably, a very large rock. no animals, no fish, very few plants to speak of, none of which are edible. over course of the next several weeks, the survivors slowly starve.

eventually, it gets to a point where people start dropping. four of them are down within two days, leaving only Dip and Echeveria. they’re too weak to even move the bodies, let alone get up and search for food again.

they resort to mutually cannibalizing each other. it’s genuinely very romantic for both of them. Dip realizes that eating her fiancé doesn’t feel bad at all, not at all like she thought it would, and loses control of herself. Echeveria instinctively fights back at first, but soon he relaxes of his own volition and lets her eat her fill.

when she finishes, she’s in complete horror at what she’s done. this leads her to take one of his bones with her when a passing ship finally picks her up a few days later, which she later incorporates into the hilt of her rapier.

Dip immediately boxes all of this up and pretends none of it ever happened as she is assigned to a new cartography ship upon her return. sometimes though, she finds herself experiencing a new sort of hunger. she knows what it’s like to be hungry for food (better than most people, even), but this is… different.

so she ends up eating more people occasionally, but she has rules about who and when and how she eats them so it’s basically fine. :] the rules are:

any humanoid creature is fair game. (she is not limites to just fairies.)

no eating living people.*

no killing people for the sole purpose of eating them. if someone attacks her and she kills them, then it’s fine, but she won’t kill some random passerby just because she’s feeling peckish.

no eating friends, even if they die. (yes this is very hypocritical but echeveria was ✨special✨)

*one party member, COMPLETELY of their own volition and without knowing Dip’s backstory, is cutting off pieces of his own flesh to feed her once he finds out about her uhhhh “protein-heavy diet.”

there’s waaaaayyyy more still but i’m unironically having so much fun :3c

hey who wants to hear about my d&d character she’s a fairy fighter and also a cannibal

#diphylleia

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killemwithkawaii · 3 years ago

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sal and (y/n) take horny pills and see how long they can stay away from eachother

[CW: sexual content (lime), drug use (???)]

Ohohohoho oh, the desperate, sloppy fuckfest that this would turn into...~ sdlkfjksadf >:3c I have two scenarios in mind for Sal and [y/n] horny pill shenanigans:

1. A mix-up with some stuff in Henrys bathroom- if you keep your sleeping pills on the back of the toilet seat, you probably keep your aspirin and vitamins loose in the bottom of a drawer. In his haste one romantic night, Henry may have spilled some of his boner pills in the party mix, and when Sal came in later and scooped up a few tablets to dull his headache during a visit, well... he ended up having to cut the family dinner short so he could run home and try to take care of the raging hard-on he developed just as everyone was serving up (at first he thought he was just really stoked on Lisas new casserole recipe, but suspected something else was up lol when his erection didn't subside by the time he was being served seconds).

Once he got home, he tried his best to take care of his 'problem'' himself, but ended up calling [y/n] in sheepish desperation after more than an hour of unsatisfactory masturbation. It would be a couple more hours before Sal was back to being 'family-dinner-friendly', but by then it was getting late, and he and [y/n] were so spent and sweaty, they figured it would be best if they stayed in for the night (and [y/n] offered to sleep over, yknow, just in case Sal got hungry for seconds again later) 🍴💕

2. Larry bought a pack of those vaguely labeled 'vitality' supplements at a shady gas station on a whim (and also because he was baked), put them in the communal medicine cabinet, and forgot about them until Sal and [y/n] became very flushed and fidgety during a movie night at the house. Both of them had been feeling a little tired and, not wanting to crash before the first film had finished, had mutually decided to take what they had assumed were unclaimed caffeine pills from cram-sessions passed. As hard as they tried to sit still and pay attention to the screen, their eyes (and eventually hands) seemed to start wandering on their own.

Despite all their earlier concerns about falling asleep mid-movie, [y/n] and Sally ended up suddenly excusing themselves with over-acted yawns 'just as things were getting good' (as Larry and Todd put it), practically dragging each other to Sals bedroom to 'lay down' (and not get any sleep whatsoever). 🛌 💕

#k.e.w.k. answers #sally face imagine #sally face fanfiction #sal fisher x y/n #sal fisher x reader #sorry steve #lime #tw drug use #??? idk kinda lol #tw unsanitary #k.e.w.k. writes #this was submitted almost a year ago i hope ur still h/orny for h/orny pills anon 🥺🙏

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macnevercries · 4 years ago

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Goodnight (Shinsou x F!reader)

Warnings- somnophilia, non-con, penetration, loss of virginity, yandere tendencies, praise, creampie

Word count- 2360

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

You were so nice to him. You smelled so good. You smiled so brightly, looked so pretty, so genuine. These things about you were what started his obsession. Watching you and keeping tabs on you became a hobby, then a need.

He found his brain constantly occupied with thoughts of you, your small habits, things you said to him, things he wished you said to him. Everything about you was perfect. You were the object of his affection, his darling.

But you didn’t know any of this, you were clueless to Shinsou’s infatuation with you. To you he was just a friend, an awfully clingy friend but in an endearing way. He had been this way since year one and you two were now close to the end of year three. You two weren’t in the same class like last year, but Shinsou made every effort to see you whenever he was free. Walking you to class, sitting next to you during lunch, walking you to the dorms and asking to hang out on the weekend.

You kind of guessed that he liked you, you had thought so for years but you didn’t say anything in case you were wrong. You weren’t against the thought of dating him, he was insanely handsome, his lavender fluffy hair framing his sharp jaw perfectly. His dark circles perfectly balanced his lazy smirk. To top that off he was kind and he always treated you with respect even if he got in your space a lot. You just assumed he was touchy, thought nothing of it.

One day when he was walking you to the dorms he kept brushing his hand against yours. You didn’t bother moving, you were tired and his presence was comforting.

“You need help studying right?” He asks, looking deep into your eyes as if it was the last time. This was an interesting thing about Shinsou. He always lingered, even when he wasn’t with you, you never felt like he left.

“Yeah I do, I’m struggling a little bit in English and History. Do you wanna study with me?” His face lit up at your offer, nodding eagerly. He started in the direction of the 3C building, excited to have you in his room. How would you act around him in private? Would you like his room? He needed to record your every action and memorize it. You stopped walking and Shinsou turned around, tiring his head to the side to convey his confusion. He wanted you in his room already, why were you slowing him down?

“Hold on, I’m sorry” you mumbled. You shuffled through your school bag looking for something. Shinsou couldn’t help but peek over your shoulder, he had never seen the inside of your bag before. His eyes darted between the contents of your bag and your newly exposed skin, your skirt drifted up your leg where you knelt on the sidewalk. You looked back up at him, an embarrassed smile gracing your face.

“I left my books at the dorms, can we study in my room instead?” You asked meekly. Shinsou’s face flushed all shades of red. He had already been in love with the thought you in his room, but him in yours? Enchanting. He smiled and nodded.

With his approval the two of you headed towards your dorm. You walked through the common room, nodding at your classmates and getting in the elevator. Your room was on the third floor, twelve meters down the hallway on the right. Shinsou engraved this path into his brain, he would have to come back. You unlocked your door, walking in and closing in behind the purple-haired boy.

He glanced around the room, taking in as much as he could before his gaze was drawn back to you, opening the balcony doors to let in the soft spring breeze. The wind fluttered your skirt and blew your hair. You looked like a goddess. Shinsou wished he could take a picture of you, he wanted to remember this moment forever.

You sat down at your desk, pulling a chair up for Shinsou to sit in. You got out your books, flipping it open and getting to work. After a few minutes you laughed and looked over to Shinsou,

“Are you ever going to come sit?” You giggled. Shinsou smiled apologetically, pulling his chair out and making sure to scoot close to you. The hours flew by, you studying and Shinsou watching.

He had his book open and he answered all of your questions, teaching you what you didn’t understand. He just couldn’t focus on his own studies, not like this. Not when you were sitting next to him, looking like that.

The clock hit 6:30 and the dinner bell rang. You closed your books, thanking Shinsou for his help. You walked him out of the building before heading back in for dinner. Thoughts of you ran through his head as he walked back to his own room, he would definitely be returning to your room later. Now that he had a taste, he wouldn’t let it go.

He had been watching the clock for hours. He ate dinner in his room and barely did any of his homework. Thoughts of you flooded his consciousness and it took everything he had not to go right back to your dorm. No he had to wait until everyone was asleep.

When the clock struck 2am he silently slipped out of his room. He wasn’t careful walking down the hall, his foot steps were never heard. He took the stairs instead of the elevator, heading down swiftly. When he got outside it was pitch black. There were no street lamps on at Heights Alliance at three in the morning. It didn’t matter to him though. Shinsou had memorized the path from his room to yours the moment you took his hand and dragged him there.

Despite how flustered he seemed at the moment he was taking everything in. The cracks in the concrete, how certain movements squeaked the door, where your room was in relativness to your classmates and of course, the feeling of your soft hand against his.

He slides the dorm door open noiselessly. Rapidly, he walks to the stairway, taking two at a time. The slow climb to the third floor went by in seconds. He had been waiting years for this moment.

He glides down the hall, eager and giddy. Stopping at your down he gets down on his knees and starts to work on the lock.

Two minutes later and he has it pop open. Slinking inside and closing the door softly behind him, he walks over to your bed. He takes a moment to look around the room again and breath in your scent. You’re his safe haven and he can’t imagine being happier than he is now.

He puts his large hands on your shoulders, lightly shaking you awake.

“Hey kitten, can you hear me?”

“Hmm? Shinsou?” you mumble, still half asleep.

Your response was enough to for him to get ahold of you. Now that you were under the power of his quirk there was no way he would let you go. At least not anytime soon.

“I want you to stay still for me okay? I’ll do everything, I’ll make you feel so good baby I promise” His words are sincere but they make you shiver with fear. This wasn’t this Shinsou you knew.

With you frozen in place for him, he turns you over so you’re facing up and pulls down the covers. He flicks on the lamp on your bedside table, taking a moment to appreciate the way you look in the soft light.

You can’t move and you’re stuck in a post-sleep daze, barely aware of what’s going on. Your soft lips are slightly parted and cheeks pink from the warmth of your bed. You look so inviting.

Shinsou leans down and places a gentle kiss on your lips, savoring the sweet taste. It was everything he imagined and more.

“My god you taste amazing, mind if I taste something else?”

He snickers at the panic in your eyes. You try to scream ‘no this isn’t how I want this to happen’ but no words leave your mouth. It doesn’t even open at your will.

He plays with the straps of your tank top, tugging and pulling them. He glides them down your arms, bring the whole shirt with it. He tosses the shirt to the side, out of view. His hands run over your chest, worshipping the skin you live in.

“You’re so gorgeous you know that? Such a pretty girl.” He breathes the words onto your skin.

His calloused fingers trace your breasts, thumbing your sensitive buds. The way they perk and pebble at his touch gets him going.

“You like that? I can do more of that” He latches his mouth onto your nipple, pinching and pulling the other one. His tongue glides across the delicate skin beneath him.

His mouth detaches with a lewd pop, switching to the other side to give you a matching mark. As he removes his face from your chest, he plants kisses across your collarbone and travels down your stomach. When his tender touches reach your lower stomach, your hips thrust forward against your will.

He chuckles darkly at your reaction.

“Patience kitten, you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this. Let’s take our time, yeah?” he soothes his words into your skin. Despite his actions they calm you.

He pulls your loose shorts below your hips and down your thighs, taking a moment to trace the soft skin. He settles himself between your plush legs, facing your core.

Tracing the elastic of your panties, he licks a large stripe up your clothed cunt. A shiver runs through your entire body, hips jumping towards his face when he pulls away to watch your face.

He grins wildly “I knew you wanted me too, I knew it.”

He takes your panties off before you realize what he’s doing, burying his head in your sex. He inhaled deeply, somehow managing to creep you out more than you already are.

He eats you out like a starved man, his previously gentle touches greedy and hungry. Slurping you up, swallowing you. He latches his mouth out your clit, giving kitten licks where your body wants him most.

He slips in two slender fingers with ease. Scissoring and twisting them to open you wider. He rotates his digits, pumping them in and out, looking for your special spot. One move he makes has you clamping around him, body jolting.

A sinister smile covers his face. “Here? I can do it here” He curls them deeply into you, continuing his attack. You thrash around, your stomach tightly wound with pleasure. He sucks a little harder on your clit and that’s all it takes for you to unravel beneath him. He guides you through it, letting you down gently.

He retracts his fingers and face from your glistening cunt. He slides his fingers into your open lips, forcing them down your throat. You choke on his digits, tasting your slick on his skin.

“Yeah, you sound so pretty. I wish you could moan but if I let you go even a little bit you might manage to get out of my hold. You have always been a strong woman, it’s why I love you. But alas we can’t have you escaping from me now, we’re having so much fun and I haven’t gotten my turn yet.”

He slides his swears and boxers down his legs in one swift motion, causing his heavy cock to slap against his stomach. The tip was a deep reddish purple from waiting, pre-cum dripping from the it. It was pretty, a few prominent veins running across the bottom, average girth and impressive length.

Looking at it made your mouth water. It also made you wish you had time to develop a relationship with him on your own, made you wish it didn’t have to happen this way.

He doesn’t hesitate to run it through your folds, mixing your excitement with his. He pushes into your tight hole slowly, cherishing the way that you grip him tightly, sucking him into you.

“Oh god is this your first time? You’re so tight for me, just for me” He groans. You would nod if possible. It was your first time. The stretch was painful.

Shinsou didn’t wait long for you to adjust, after a few seconds he couldn’t take it. He wrapped your thighs around his waist and started pounding into you. The way his head kissed your cervix, the bumps and ridges hitting all the right places.

He just started and you could already feel yourself close to your second orgasm. Thankfully he was too. Going quicker, he rammed you into the mattress, moving his thumb to your clit. He rubs hard, almost too hard. You clench around him tightly, releasing with him.

He spills into you, painting your walls and fucking you through it. He groans and his voice cracks.

“Oh fuck, good girl good girl good girl good girl. Yeah you’re so fucking good for me” he rambles his words into your ear, sucking on your jaw as he slows down and pulls out. He grabs his phone and starts snapping photos, your fucked out face, his hands on your breast, the hickeys and marks trailing your body, and last but not least, his pale fingers pushing his cum back inside of you as it threatens to spill out.

Content with his job, he pulls his pants back up, and tucks you back into bed. He switches off the lamp, kissing your forehead.

“Let’s keep this a secret yeah? At least until you’re ready to accept my feelings.”

Picking your panties off of the floor and sliding them into his pocket he exits the room just as quietly as he entered. Even when his quirk deactivates, you lay there silently, the remains of his presence leaking down your thigh again. You feel so used. And yet somehow, so loved.

#shinsou x you #shinsou hitoshi #bnha smut #mha smut #bnha #mha #x reader #shinsō hitoshi #yandere #bnha shinso hitoshi #yandere hitoshi shinso

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bexatomarama · 3 years ago

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👏👏👏 I gotta hear more about synths in love please

Synths in love is my current no name Sunshine/X6-88 fic :sob: I'm mostly playing around with some flash back sequences of their time together in the institute, and their eventual reintroduction during the games main questline. Its mostly in X6's perspective and recounts his time alone within the institute following him helping Sunshine escape :3c

Basically, Father playing house making a synth of his deceased mother to care for the child synth he made of himself. Father discovers that the synth of his mother may physically resemble her but lacks any defining characteristics after a scavenged pre-war holotape of her is found. Realizing he won't get the response he'd have hoped for from the Sole Survivor he opts to just destroy the Nora synth and focus primarily on the child synth. The Nora synth, S1-13, has made quite an impression on the courser who found the scavenged holotape and he'll do everything in his power to get her topside and as far from the institute as possible. : D

It was a waste.

That’s why he was doing this, shepherding the Mother from her would be sterile white tomb. A mausoleum of sleek design, clear glass and bone white metals. Father had regarded her with such disinterest, no, distaste, once more information surrounding the pre-war woman came to light. Nothing more than a reflection held aloft within the Institutes stainless walls. A flaw, a failure.

A defect.

“Where are we going?” The woman, the Mother, asked, a gentle tone runneth over with a child’s curiosity. Everything was a delight, some wonderful new experience to enjoy for the first time.

The two synths meandered within the ancient casing that surrounded the heart of the Institute. Warm oranges melding with rust brown and slick oil. Antiquated machinery and furniture that could only ever be described as kitsch. Rats in the walls, scurrying away from a very hungry cat.

“I was asked to chaperon you on an excursion topside,”

A bold lie. Especially considering the two would not be teleporting topside, too risky. He can’t let her be caught. There was too much at stake.

Those large green eyes caught his gaze past his sunglasses, and he feared for a moment he’d been found out.

But no, never, S1-13 trusted X6-88. Her eyes crinkled in barely constrained delight.

“Oh! I’ve always wanted to explore topside! Father never lets me join the others on their journeys up top!”

She trusted him blindly, she always had. He isn’t sure when it started, considering she had been created a few months after he had. Maybe that first meeting? The maternal instinct humans were so proud of was practically ingrained into every facet of her personality. It was her only personality. She was nothing more than a glorified Miss Nanny with skin, nails, and teeth.

#thanks for the ask Kal <333 #bex text #fic title meme #fic title ask game #fallout #fallout 4 #synths in love #x6-88 #sunshine #bex writes

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universal-kitty · 3 years ago

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Please gush about the robots 👁👁

...You didn’t specify which robots, so I get to gUSH ABOUT ALL OF THEM!! MY EVIL PLANS! REALIZED!!! ✨ MUAHHAHAHAHAHA-

But I guess the “good” part is this does leave out Replicant, so ya’ll don’t have to worry abt that one yet, dfjghfjdk. The “bad” news is a majority of my faves are still from Automata, so... Hmm.

Anyways! Time for gush!

So starting with 2B and 9S... Gosh. I really stubbornly held out on getting too attached. I tried my damnedest, even!! White haired androids, with too much feelings in their robotic bodies to hold... Though funnily enough, it was Nines who was the tipping point of, “Oh no... I failed in my own “mission”!!!”

There was this post I made awhile back... Where I imagined Literally Me in the world of NieR. So of course, 9S would’ve been the overeager, attention-hungry puppy that would be constantly dismayed when the human was too busy to give him attention. However, upon overhearing my fondness for cats, he would crack a plan! Humans often wore headbands with cat ears on them, yeah? Adding to that fashion statement, they might wear “cat” tails, too! (Clip-on ones!) So maybe if he wears an outfit like that, I’d give him the attention he craves...?

Even while wearing them (and I like to imagine them in Miqo’te style, bc it brings me joy)... Well, me telling him “I’m busy” was true!! So he sits on the ground of the camp. Arms crossed and pouting. Until things go his way for a change.

2B kinda naturally...followed that. Miss “tries so hard to preach the rules, and yet cannot follow them as much as she claims”... I adore her. This android could easily kill me and I want to snuggle her. Maybe read her a book. (Even though she or Nines could read it better than I can. I’ll stumble a lot or have to re-read a sentence...and it flusters me to think they’d love that?! They love my lil humany flaws?? What the heck-)

And bonus round for stuff involving my SI, 14HD! A trio of androids... All just being goofs to the best of their ability... Exploring a world quietened by human’s lack of existence... Lessons about their own existence. Stuff like that. :>

More pretty robit? Of course~! :3c A2 is...so wonderful. Stupidly strong when she shouldn’t have to be... (I read that stageplay. Ow, my heart...) It also, uh. Hits different when my SI is of number 14 and A2′s original squad also had a 14 on their side... (No class mentioned, which makes it easier for me, but. Oof.)

Anyways! Onto more comforting thoughts.

The most awkward of my faves around anyone- my SI or Literally Me (and yes, I will keep referring to isekai-like ideas in this way)- but still in dire need of affection and I’d like to give it to her?! Let me clean her up from all the destruction and dirt? Repair her into new clothes, if she’d let me... If not, maybe still...tidy them up a bit? Get her a cool as hell cloak to wear? Idk! I just wanna take care of her and let her feel...looked after. Loved.

She deserves kindness and rest. I want to give that to her. (As much as she’d probably want to baby me for being unprimed for battle! I’d be a soft, squishy human...and even my SI, as a Defender-Healer class, still isn’t...quite made as an Attacker class would be. It’s an even back and forth like that, I’d imagine... After all, being protected by such a strong, gorgeous woman like her would definitely make me blush~!)

[ More below the cut!! ]

In Replicant... I felt awful for Devola and Popola. That sort of caring being a friendly, mother-ish type of feeling; the “mom friend,” if you would. Though in just the way I talk about a lot, seeing these two... This Devola and Popola...

They don’t deserve the ostracization they go through on a daily basis. The cold shoulders. Mean looks. Cruel words. In a similar way to A2, I want to care for them...though in this case, it’d cycle on and on without end!

They, too, deserve so much better than what the world left them with. I want to be the human that oh, so gently takes their hands...and says, “You don’t have to carry this burden anymore, okay? You can be forgiven...because I will forgive you- and all the others- right now.” To take that burden off their shoulders and...let them exist, as they want to. Together. And I will be there to sing with them. Tell them stories of humanity, as I knew it. Give them peace.

...HD isn’t much of a human. There’s no reprieve from them in that way, but... They could still be the android on their side. Healer-Defender, after all; assisting with repairs and stubbornly finding whatever they need. If another android tries to shove the worst work on their shoulders, HD will hop up to help.

To ensure they aren’t alone. To love them gently. Let no one hurt them any more than they have already been hurt... It’s the simple want to see someone (or someones?) you love be happy.

“Aki, stop trying to comfort all the sad people in the Ni-” NEVER!! I cannot be stopped!!! ANYWAYS, I’m taking these two and running. Canon will never catch me. (Especially because everything I’m about to say is WHOLLY based off of a fic idea I’m still hella tempted to write?? It’d be a Reader insert fic, if anyone would also like to see more content of these two...)

So-! Nothing like a human narrowly avoiding death by dissection by convincing Adam (long haired to the left) that he won’t learn nearly as much that way then by leaving them alive! They can show him books about human insides, anyhow. He wants the violence of human nature? Stories for days and books on that, too. Let’s teach you some other shit, okay?

Eve (short haired on the right) is baby boy. He gets all his questions answered, no matter what. Adam would probably be a touch more jealous if it didn’t mean Eve pestered him less; the two setting out to learn everything he wishes to know.

Legit, one of the unexplored/unwritten ideas is reading to them while they lay in a blanket- bedtime style- only to get a touch distracted mentioning hot cocoa or tea... Which leads into a whole conversation about “hot leaf water” and things that humans would add to it that made it more delicious!

It’s a trio of nerds learning more about humanity! From the human that lived it! No dissections necessary!

(In terms of HD’s involvement with these two... I do like to imagine Eve occasionally snuck out on his own when Adam was particularly quiet/annoyed, thus being able to meet with them. They’d be distrustful of him at first, but he asks a lot of questions and... Actually, Hayfor (another nickname) does like talking with the Scanners to learn about humanity, so...

(Over time, they bond. Eve now more eager to notice his brother not wanting to spend time with him that day, so quickly running out to meet with Hayfor and not only play games, but learn more about the world! They have a ton of fun together, but juuuust in case, he’s learned to try and keep some secrets from Adam. Not realizing that Adam has started noticing Eve’s odd behavior...)

...Anyways, if they ever met (cause I haven’t gotten to that part in my brain yet), I feel like Adam would put HD through their paces to “prove” they’re an android worth keeping around. (Still bitter at what happened with 2B and 9S.) They do it only for Eve, at first, not wanting the obviously clingy guy to be left with someone who doesn’t give him the attention he clearly needs...but also eventually warms up to Adam, as well. If in a “he’s my deranged meow meow” sort of way. LMAO

(Adam just enjoys the fact he can hold a clear conversation with them. Admittedly, having to play the parent role for Eve all the time got...taxing.)

#d0nna ake #Aki answers #GONNA EAT MY HANDS ABT THIS TANK U #...meant to go for ''thank u'' but this works too #anyways W H O O #android brainrot is REAL once again!!!!#I would simply like to give all of them my time and attention #let me spoil them pls???#and then get shown the world in THEIR way too?!#I THINK IT'D BE NICE #and YES I gushed abt all of them #I simply cannot be stopped

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aiden-png · 4 years ago

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Hi, I'm back to talk about Red and fire magic! But you can answer this privately if you want, since it's kinda graphic. But I've been reading a lot about big wildfires, and now I'm imagining Red being absolutely terrified of those? Because they're just so big and massive and predatory that all he can do is *run* and pull anyone with him and hope the fire doesn't notice, hope they don't get swallowed whole by the hungry flames.

ooooohhh this isn’t too graphic so I’ll just tag it in case. this would be another interesting scenario for Red having to use his fire magic to save one of his friends who isn’t resistant x-x Red would have lots of reasons to be afraid of fire, esp since the one in the manga was pretty traumatizing. plenty of reasons to be afraid of himself as well, for being able to wield such dangerous magic >:3c

#tw: fire #red link #four swords #fsa #the-lesbian-with-no-gaydar #prompt

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edendaphne · 6 years ago

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"Discordant Sonata”- Ch. 12

TFW your rich AF dad is a stingy SOB who only gives you one shirt to wear 🤣

(And YEP! In this AU Adrien wears glasses! He wears contact lenses for photoshoots/modeling) :3c

>Read it here on Ao3<

>Read it here on Wattpad<

CHAPTER 12: ANDANTE

Music glossary: Andante - to go at a moderate, steady pace

French glossary: “Les Deux Sots” = The Two Fools/Idiots

(La Dispute (Amelie Soundtrack)- Yann Tiersen)

Marinette was upset.

Not so much upset, really. More like… confused? Frustrated? And not even at Fu, necessarily. It wasn’t his fault. But Fu was the messenger, and therefore, the undeserving recipient of her current mental ire.

With the critical 48 hours of Chat Noir’s healing complete, she’d gone to visit Fu to discuss some of the concerns she had about her new partnership, along with some other pressing questions. The answers were… not quite what she expected (or wanted) to hear.

No, Marinette, he’d said. You must not know Chat Noir’s identity, he’d said. Yes, I know you just want to protect him as a civilian. No, don’t try to figure it out yourself. If you find out too early, you’ll absorb the negative effects from the misuse of his miraculous. Yes, that is always what happens with the Cat and Ladybug miraculouses. Yes, that’s why wielders must not know each others’ identities; not until their souls and energies are perfectly in sync with each other. No, Marinette, you are not in perfect sync with each other. Yes, I know you don’t like it. But that is how it must be. Have a nice day, Marinette. No, I’m not kicking you out. I’m just... going to the spa to get rid of a sudden tension headache. Goodbye.

“Understood, Master,” she’d said. And honestly, yes; she really did understand.

But she still didn’t like it.

The conversation weighed heavily on her mind as she went about her daily chores, and she couldn’t help but stomp around the house as she worked, a perpetual crinkle fixed between her eyebrows.

She just couldn’t quite wrap her head around it. Negative effects? Truth be told, prior to this, she’d even almost suspected that Fu had exaggerated that aspect of the miraculouses, in order to keep her on the straight and narrow path and be responsible.

Such matters had been far from her mind while befriending Chat Noir. She’d never even thought to ask him about it. How long would these effects linger on, even after his change of heart and proper use of his miraculous?

More importantly, would the effects ever fully disappear? Fu said that every case was different. Sometimes the effects did fade. Other times, they did not; and in those cases, partners couldn’t ever reveal their identities to each other. In rare instances, the wielders would even have to return their miraculouses to the guardians, because they would never be able to work in proper harmony with the other. Marinette shuddered. She didn’t want to even consider that possibility.

In any case, Hawkmoth was suffering from such negative effects as well. What could his ailments be? Chat had mentioned that he seemed to be losing control of his akumas, and his judgment was becoming increasingly clouded. But was there more?

Frowning, she stuffed folded laundry into her dresser drawers with a bit more force than necessary. She quickly stood up when she was finished, yanking the laundry basket away with a huff as she headed towards her next task.

There was also another question, one she’d had even years ago, when she’d first become Ladybug. One she’d always been too shy to ask, always trusting in Fu’s judgment, never questioning him because of his seniority and experience (respecting one’s elders having been an integral part of her upbringing, particularly her mother’s).

But now that she was older, she’d finally gathered enough courage to ask him: Why hadn’t he revealed Chat’s identity to her years ago? With enough luck, she might have been able to steal back his miraculous when he wasn’t transformed while he was out of the house. So, why hadn’t he told her?

Fu’s answer had been remarkably simple: He’d wanted Chat to have a relatively normal life outside of the mask. He’d always held out hope that Chat would turn away from his unrighteous deeds on his own. Having people around him that treated him kindly and that he could trust would give him the courage to do so. If he didn’t have that, he would have felt that he had nowhere to turn to, and no choice but to remain as he was.

Fu added that if she’d had any contact with Chat, either as herself or as Ladybug, she would have treated him differently, possibly with hostility. Marinette had wanted to deny it at first, but she knew he was right. She would have treated him differently. Probably would’ve avoided him, spoken to him harshly, given him dirty looks from across the street. She might have even tried to convince her friends that he wasn’t a good person, much like her situation with Lila. Not that that had ever worked; that girl was just way too deceptive. After all these years, she’d given up on even trying. Without any concrete evidence, Marinette’s claims that Lila was a rotten liar wouldn’t convince anyone, except thankfully for Alya and Nino; but even they had been skeptical at first.

In any case, Marinette would have most likely become angry, cold, or maybe even embittered towards Chat if she wasn’t able to retrieve his miraculous right away. And Chat would’ve responded with confusion, hurt, and resentment towards both her and Ladybug, permanently eliminating any chance to become partners.

The troubled girl sighed wearily, walking towards the downstairs bathroom with a basket full of supplies for their feline guest, still mulling over her earlier discussion. There just had to be other options she hadn’t considered yet–

Still distracted, deliberating the myriad of possibilities and worrying over every potential outcome, Marinette swung the bathroom door open... only to be greeted by a tall, toned, and very much bare backside, whose modesty was barely concealed by a small towel wrapped around the waist. Rivulets of water coursed down the valleys and ripples of the lightly tanned skin, and her eyes couldn’t help but follow them down their path, gracefully gliding from the tops of the broad shoulders, still rosy and glowing from the shower’s hot water, and disappearing into the edges of the towel, which rode low along the hips. The shock of damp, golden hair gave Marinette the confirmation of who exactly the stranger in her bathroom was. Practically tripping over her feet, she slammed the door shut, a loud screech abruptly escaping her throat.

“OHMYGOSHOHMYGOSHOHMYGOSH, I AM SOOOO SORRY!!!” she yelled in between pants. “I thought the bathroom was empty!!! I was just gonna drop off some muscles— I mean toilets— I mean toiletries!!! I’ll just... leave them here outside the door! SORRYAGAIN, BYE!!!”

Marinette sprinted all the way to her bedroom and plopped like a dead fish onto her chaise, letting out a long, shrill whine into the cushions. She flopped over onto her back, shoving a throw pillow onto her face, and considered smothering herself out of existence in order to avoid having to face Chat Noir ever again. Maybe she’d come back to Earth reincarnated as an actual ladybug, and she could flee from the city to go live in the country. Cannes was supposed to be nice this time of year.

Before her plans could come to fruition, specifically the one about becoming the insect she already felt like, she sluggishly removed the pillow from her face to get some air.

Only to be greeted by a small, floating… cat??

No, not a cat.

A kwami.

Chat Noir’s kwami.

“Boo,” he said flatly.

Marinette sat up, careful to not bump into the tiny god.

They stared at each other for a few seconds, although she suspected Plagg wasn’t so much staring as sizing her up. Gauging her adequacy, perhaps? He’d worked alongside countless other Ladybugs these past few millennia, so the thought made her a bit nervous.

“You must be Plagg,” she said, concealing her surprise.

“I see my reputation precedes me,” Plagg replied with a showy twirl. “I am quite noteworthy.”

Marinette’s eyes crinkled in amusement. That wasn’t quite was she’d been expecting.

She extended her hand with a smile. “Hi, I’m Marinette.”

Plagg took her hand and turned it over, examining her palm. “Hmph, no Camembert?” he asked with obvious disappointment. “Introductions can wait. My stomach cannot. ”

Marinette snickered. She hadn’t expected such an ornery attitude from a kwami; nevertheless, she decided she liked him already.

She tugged open her shirt pocket and said, “Hop in. Let’s go fetch some from the kitchen.”

Plagg approached the pocket and Tikki poked her little head out.

Marinette chuckled. “I’m sure you remember Tikki.”

“Always a pleasure, Sugarcube,” he bowed deeply with an exaggerated flourish that was so entirely Chat-like, she could definitely tell that their mannerisms had rubbed off on each other.

“Hello again, Stinky Sock,” Tikki replied.

“Hey, Camembert is the most amazing fragrance known to man. It’s a shame you’re not enlightened enough to truly appreciate the beauty of fermented foods.”

Tikki rolled her eyes, but nevertheless scooted over to let him in.

Upon reaching the kitchen and making sure the coast was clear, Marinette ushered the pair out of her pocket. She pulled out a plate and made her way to the refrigerator with Plagg hovering nearby, watching her curiously.

Marinette had anticipated that he’d be hungry, so she'd gone shopping that morning after visiting Fu, specifically to stock up on cheese. Even still, she had grossly underestimated just how ravenous the kwami would be; her eyes widened as the pile on the plate grew higher and higher.

Once finished, Marinette set it down on the countertop, trying to avoid thinking too hard about how all that food would fit inside his small body.

“Uhh, do you also want some crackers, or some fruit, or…?” she trailed off, unsure of how else to be of service.

“Nothing more is needed when you already have perfection,” Plagg remarked before picking up a particularly pungent piece of cheese and taking a deep, long whiff.

Tikki’s tiny features scrunched in distaste as she put some more distance between herself and the odorous meal.

Marinette stood beside them, not quite sure what to do with herself or what to say. Maybe Plagg could answer some questions without revealing too much.

Deciding to give it a try, she asked, “So... Plagg. What can you tell me about Hawkmoth? You don’t have to go into any details. Just anything that you think would be helpful to know, so we can figure out a plan to defeat him?”

Plagg frowned, then followed up with an appalled grimace. “Seriously?! Right in front of my Camembert??” He harrumphed. “Let’s talk about that jackass some other time. Believe it or not, I lose my appetite anytime I think about him.”

“Fair enough,” Marinette relented. She puckered her lips, deep in thought as she took a seat on the barstool nearby. “Oh, I know! What kinds of hobbies does Chat have? Maybe I can get him some supplies or other stuff that he likes, so he can relax and feel more at home.”

“Hmm… Well, you already know he likes games, both videogames and tabletop,” Plagg replied in between bites. “He likes to read. The classics, fantasy, sci-fi, fanfiction, comic books...” Another bite. “He spends a ridiculous amount of time writing poetry and short stories. Also…” Chomp . “Sappy movies... Anime.” Gulp . “He’s not a great singer, but that doesn’t stop him from busting into song and dance numbers from his favorite musicals. He is a decent dancer though.” Another gulp, punctuated with a smirk. “But I’m sure you already know that.”

Marinette averted her gaze, a surge of tingles invading her entire body as she remembered that first night together. It felt like a lifetime ago, yet she remembered that evening full of dancing as vividly as if it had happened yesterday.

Plagg gobbled up the last bit on the plate, then wiped his paws on the napkin Marinette had provided. He followed up with a mighty stretch of his small limbs, sighing in contentment.

Marinette’s posture straightened upon seeing that he’d finished his meal. “We should head back to the bedroom. Chat will be looking for you soon.” She hopped off the barstool and the trio made their way back towards Chat’s bedroom.

Marinette grimaced as she placed her hand on the doorknob and let out a pathetic groan. “I better figure out what to say when I apologize for walking in on him.”

They entered the bedroom and she shut the door behind them. She raised her eyebrows, looking hopefully at Plagg. “Do you think he’ll be furious with me?”

Plagg shrugged off her concern. “Oh, puh- lease . I bet he’d actually be quite pleased that you got a good look at him half naked, if he knew who you really were.”

Marinette could only splutter incoherently, her arms waving around like noodles. “WHAT?! WH-WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT??”

Plagg gave her a smug look and crossed his little arms . “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Bugaboo , but my boy is majorly crushing on ya.”

“A-a crush…? On me? O-or rather, on Ladybug…?” Heat instantly rushed to her cheeks and all the way to the top of her ears. “I-I wasn’t sure, he hasn’t said anything about it, and, um…”

Plagg shrugged. “Kid’s pretty insecure. Way more than when he first became Chat Noir, thanks to that no-good father of his.” He sighed. “Simply put, he thinks you’re way out of his league and that you’d never go for a guy like him.”

Marinette sputtered, “Out of HIS league?? Have you SEEN him?!” She whipped her arm around, pointing it towards the bathroom door. “He’s more chiseled than a Greek statue! He could be a model!”

“Yeah, yeah, he’s the cat’s pajamas, I know,” Plagg scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, he’s still sorting out his feelings, and definitely too afraid to say anything out loud.” A teasing glint twinkled in his eyes. “You wouldn’t happen to know what it’s like to be too shy to confess to someone, would you?” he inquired slyly.

Marinette felt the heat travel down her neck and towards her back, and she pursed her lips in shame, having nothing to retort with.

“Plagg!” Tikki rebuked, whizzing in front of him. “Whether Marinette can confess to her own crush is no concern of yours!”

“He’s right, though, Tikki,” Marinette admitted. “I guess it’s not always always totally obvious until you actually say it to them. I just… freeze every time I try to confess to Adri– t-to this guy. It’s like I haven’t progressed at all after all these years.”

“Don’t worry, little bug,” the cat kwami reassured her. “Sometimes actions speak louder than words. I’m sure this mystery man knows you care about him.” He rolled his eyes again and added, “Even if he’s too oblivious to realize it’s a romantic attraction.”

Before Marinette could reply, they heard the bathroom door crack open.

“Plagg...?” a familiar soft voice called through the small opening.

“I guess that’s our cue to leave,” Marinette whispered. “It was great meeting you, Plagg.”

“Likewise. See ya!”

With that, Plagg zoomed towards the bathroom and phased through the door, and Marinette quietly snuck out.

Minutes later, a rather sheepish Chat Noir emerged from the bedroom. Their eyes met and he stiffened, his body gluing to the spot.

Marinette leaped out of the couch and rushed over to him, utterly mortified, body trembling, spewing out apology after apology without taking a breath in between, looking seconds away from bursting into tears from remorse.

Chat placed his hands on her shoulders and squeezed gently. “It’s okay, Marinette, really! I guess I forgot to lock the door. I’m the one who should be sorry. I didn’t mean to traumatize you or anything.”

Marinette’s eyes blew wide open. “Traumatize me?? No way, you are SO FINE! – Umm!!” Her hands shot up, waving back and forth. “What I mean is, I’m fine!!” She composed herself and continued, “Anyway, I just feel really bad about intruding and violating your privacy. So, please, please, pleeeaaase, is there a way I make it up to you?”

Chat was just about to reassure her again, but paused. He gave her a timid smile. “Actually, there is one thing… Could you teach me how to do laundry?”

(Under Paris Skies - Pearl Django)

As he had only one set of clothes, Adrien resigned himself to the fact that it was time to do some shopping. He didn’t want to go by himself, however; it didn’t feel safe. He had no idea if Gabriel knew he was still alive. He might have dispatched people to search for Adrien and... “collect” him back to the mansion.

Plus, he disliked shopping and could use some company.

So here he was, standing outside of Chloe Bourgeois’ room at the Grand Paris Hotel.

He’d scarcely knocked once when the door swung open, a clearly miffed Chloe standing on the other side.

“You’re late!! Where have you been– Oh, Adrikins! It’s you!” Her face softened and gave him a brilliant smile, kissing his cheeks in greeting, then brought him into a tight hug. “Come in! It’s been ages!”

Before he could get a word in edgewise, he was quickly ushered into the room.

They sat on the elegant, pristine couches of her lounge room. Chloe crossed her legs and reclined into the cushions, placing her hands behind her head in her usual carefree way.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure, my dearest Adrichou?”

Adrien took a breath and opened his mouth–

“Wait,” Chloe interrupted, holding her hand up, then sat up straight and leaned forward. She took a pause, looking him over. Analyzing. Scrutinizing. She scrunched her face in consternation, brows creasing in the middle. “I know that look,” she finally said, crossing her arms. “Something’s happened, hasn’t it?”

Adrien’s eyes grew wide and he suppressed a wince. How were all these women able to read him so well these past few days?? He shrugged indifferently for her benefit, mentally preparing himself to attempt to convince her that everything was fine and she was just imagining things.

Before he could say anything though, Chloe interjected sharply, “And don’t you dare try to lie to me, Adrien Agreste. I’m your oldest friend; I’ll know. Tell me everything, or I’ll kick you out.”

Adrien’s shoulders slumped and he exhaled. How is she doing this?!

Eyeing Chloe to make sure she didn’t have anything else to say, he began, “Father and I had a... disagreement.”

“I knew it!!” Chloe declared, throwing her hands up in the air.

He continued with a cringe, “And I... kinda sorta ran away from home.” He looked up at her timidly, hoping she wouldn’t yell at him for his recklessness.

“Do you have anywhere to stay?” she asked instead, without missing a beat, her voice now serious and full of concern. “You’re always welcome here, you know that. Just say the word and it’s done.”

Adrien smiled broadly. Despite all her faults, Chloe’s loyalty never faltered.

“I really appreciate that, Chlo. It means a lot.” He sighed, plopping backwards onto the couch. “I can’t though. Father knows this is the first place I’d go. But don’t worry, I’ve got… housing arrangements elsewhere. So I’ll be fine.”

She sat up straight, scooting towards the edge of the couch and leaning towards him expectantly. “Yeah?? Where at? It’s okay, I can keep a secret–” She stopped herself. “Err… wait. Actually, no. No, I can’t. So don’t tell me or I’ll accidentally blab everything to the first person who asks.”

Adrien chuckled. “Alright. Anyway, since I left in such a hurry, I didn’t bring any clothes with me. So I was wondering if–”

“OOOH, A SHOPPING TRIP!!” Chloe squealed, clapping and practically bouncing in her seat. “Yes, I’d love to join you!”

Adrien gave her a grateful grin. “You would? That would be awesome!”

“Oh one condition,” Chloe said, raising a finger for emphasis. “I get to pick out everything.”

“Wha–?” He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Everything??”

She casually examined her nails as she answered, "It’s for your own good. We can’t have you looking like a hobo. ‘Cause I KNOW all you're gonna pick is nerdy t-shirts, baggy hoodies, and ripped jeans. And that simply will not do."

Adrien rolled his eyes. “Oh, alright. I agree to your terms.”

“Wonderful!” she replied, eyes twinkling with delight.

Just then, there was a knock. They both stiffened, glancing at the door, then back at each other with trepidation. Chloe wordlessly guided Adrien into the bedroom portion of her suite, making sure he remained concealed behind the adjacent wall.

She all but tiptoed towards the door, careful not to make the floors creak. Adrien held his breath as he cast a furtive peek from behind the wall, watching Chloe cautiously peer through the peephole. She sighed in relief, throwing the door open and placing her hands on her hips in indignation.

“You are LATE!” Chloe declared, then soundly smooched the person outside the door.

“My sincerest apologies. The appointment ran long,” the guest replied as she entered the room.

Adrien recognized that voice.

Chloe scoffed. “UGH, stop it with the politeness! You always sound like you’re about to make a business deal.”

Kagami gave Chloe an unamused stare. “As you wish... ma’am,” she replied with a mischievous smile.

Chloe waved dismissively with a tsk as she made her way to retrieve her hidden friend. “Anyway, suit up. We’re going shopping!”

“Shopping? What for?” Kagami asked.

“Adrien needs a new wardrobe and he cannot be trusted on his own.”

“Hey!” Adrien objected.

Kagami shook her head. “Oh, I agree, he is definitely going to need help. Otherwise he’ll end up dressing like a hooligan.”

“Exactly!” Chloe gestured wildly to show approval.

“Hey! Not you too, Kagami!” Adrien protested.

“Let’s face it, Adrien,” Kagami replied, folding her arms behind her. “Don’t get me wrong; I know you are perfectly aware of what fashionable clothes are supposed to look like. But your…” she wrinkled her nose, “...geek ‘impulses’–”

"FETISHES!" Chloe included.

“-are just too strong for you to resist. You need us.”

Before he had a chance to argue, Chloe called for them, already opening the door. “Well? Let’s go already!”

The trio exited Chloe’s limousine and made their way into the shopping center. They pointedly avoided the “Gabriel” shop and instead entered the Audrey Bourgeois Boutique.

The girls went straight to business, grabbing and piling clothes left and right, scouring through rows of garments and quickly creating matching ensembles with clearly practiced efficiency. Before long, they had a large pile of outfits waiting to be tried on and modeled on the fitting room platform.

“But Chlo, I don’t have my wallet on me,” Adrien whispered into Chloe’s ear. “How am I gonna pay for all this?”

Chloe scoffed. “Pfft, who needs a wallet?” She turned to the nearest store employee. “Hey, you. Add everything we pick out to the Gabriel Agreste tab, will you?”

“Yes, of course, Miss Bourgeois,” the employee replied politely.

Chloe turned back towards Adrien and gave him a wink, then sat down next to Kagami in front of the gigantic mirrors of the dressing area, sliding her hand into her girlfriend’s.

A couple of hours and countless outfit changes later, the three teens exited the boutique. Adrien carried more shopping bags than he could keep track off, all of them plastered with with Audrey's icon; and a part of him hoped that with this many bags from one of Gabriel's competitors, it would somehow get back to his father. Served him right.

Back at the hotel, the concierge assisted in bringing the haul into Chloe’s suite. Chloe whispered something to him as Kagami and Adrien made their way to the bedroom area to begin the task of unwrapping and organizing the new wardrobe. Minutes later, there was a knock on the door, which Chloe answered. A few moments later, she returned with a large yet unassuming black suitcase.

“Here you go, Adrikins,” she said, placing the suitcase on the bed. “You can store your clothes in here and take them back to whatever quaint little cottage you’re staying at.”

Adrien chuckled. “Thanks, Chlo. You’re the best!”

Chloe waved off his compliment. “Yes, well... We already knew that, didn’t we?” She hid a smile, busying herself with packing his clothes into the suitcase.

When they had finished and it was time for Adrien to go, he gave each of them a tight hug and thanked them again for all their help.

“Before you go...” Chloe reached into her back pocket, taking out a cell phone covered in glitter and faux diamonds, and handed it over to him. “Here, I had this old thing lying around. You'll need a SIM card, but the phone works fine.”

Adrien turned the phone in his hands, examining the exceedingly bejeweled exterior. “Wha-? Chloe, I can’t use this! I might go blind from all the sparkles.”

She scoffed. “Well, it’s not like you can be nitpicky at a time like this.”

“What’s the matter, Agreste? Too good for a bit of razzle dazzle?” Kagami heckled.

“You can make anything work, Adrikins. You’ll probably even start a hot new trend.”

Adrien rolled his eyes and pocketed the phone.

“Remember to call if you need anything.” Chloe gave him a stern look and jabbed a finger into his chest. “ANYTHING, you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am!” he quipped with a salute, exiting the suite with his luggage.

“Ugh, you two will be the death of me,” Chloe groaned dramatically. “Now go, enjoy your last couple of days of freedom. I’ll see you at school.”

“Bye, girls!” He waved back at them. “I’ll let you know my new number as soon as I buy a new SIM card for the phone.”

With that, Adrien turned and walked down the hall towards the elevators.

Back at the door’s threshold, the pair watched him walk away in silence.

Kagami reached for Chloe’s hand and squeezed. “Do you think everything’s going to be alright? I worry about him. Mr. Agreste has not been himself for quite some time.”

Chloe squeezed back and sighed. “I dunno.” Then she added with a sneer, “Gabriel Agreste is a sad, old bastard whose soul died long ago along with Aunt Emilie. But, he’s connected and powerful. Who knows what he’ll do to try to get Adrien back under his thumb.”

Kagami let out a small, disapproving grunt. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

Chloe lightly tugged her back into the room. “Oh, relax, you sound like a Star Wars character.”

“Star Wars? Now who’s the nerd?” Kagami teased.

Chloe sputtered. “Hush, you.”

( Life with Masks - Mystic Messenger OST)

After Chat dropped off the suitcase in his room at the bakery, Adrien embarked on his next mission: Going to the bank and withdrawing enough money to purchase everything else on his list, which included a new SIM card for Chloe’s old (and extremely bedazzled) phone, and a laptop for school.

He made his way to the bank, wearing the hood up on his zip-up hoodie, and pulling it down over his eyes whenever he saw any suspicious looking men in suits.

At the bank, Adrien filled out all the necessary forms, grateful that he’d taken the time to memorize his savings account number years back, when they’d first opened it.

However, today he encountered a different problem.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Agreste,” the bank teller said. “Like I said, I’m afraid that all your assets and accounts have been frozen. You can only withdraw money if your father accompanies you, or if he unlocks them himself.”

Adrien sighed dejectedly. “Isn’t there anything you can do?” he asked.

“I’m afraid not, sir,” she replied. “You would have to speak to your father to have him undo the restrictions. We can’t do anything until then... or until you turn eighteen years old. At that time, you can regain access without needing his permission, since you would officially be an adult.”

Adrien pursed his lips into a thin line. His birthday was still a month away.

All his savings, all the hard-earned money from his modeling work... Gabriel was keeping it all hostage, hoping Adrien would come crawling back to him, like some pitiful prodigal son.

Well, two could play that game. He filled out all the necessary paperwork to reclaim what was his, so everything would be all set up when his birthday came around. He also made sure that Gabriel would be permanently locked out of his accounts at that time.

He thanked the teller and left the bank, feeling morose and surly. He couldn’t even afford to get his used phone working, and was therefore cut off from all communication; save for whatever computers were available at an internet cafe or library. What else could he do?

Maybe Nathalie could help him figure out if there was anything else he could do legally. If he could even get ahold of her. He’d been worried about her while he was recovering at the Dupain-Chengs’; now was his chance to try to contact her.

Adrien walked to the nearest library and convinced the starstruck librarian to let him use their telephone.

The phone rang… and rang… and rang…

So he tried again. And again. And again.

But the same monotone voice repeated the same discouraging phrase:

“The number you have dialed has been disconnected.”

The boy frowned. Was Nathalie alright? He’d left her all alone with his father. He wouldn’t do anything to her, would he?

Mind whirling and chest tight, he sped to the computers to create a new email account (not risking logging into his usual one), and sent her a simple, nondescript message:

“u ok?”

He couldn’t help but remain glued to the computer, clicking and clicking to refresh the page, hoping for something, anything in response. He drummed his fingers on the desk. Crossed his legs. Uncrossed them. Crossed them again. Fiddled with his shoelaces. Opened a new browser tab to distract himself by reading the news, only to switch back every 30 seconds. Minutes ticked by. But still, nothing.

Eventually he resigned himself to the fact that he couldn’t stay in the library forever.

This wasn’t bad news, right? No news oftentimes meant good news. Receiving a reply in such a short amount of time was rather unlikely... Even though Nathalie always replied within five minutes, because she never turned off her email notifications… Ever. But her not replying this time surely didn’t mean anything, right?

Right… It’s fine, everything’s fine. Nathalie’s fine.

She has to be.

Adrien trudged aimlessly down a nondescript sidewalk, lost in thought, his attention eventually drifting back to his livelihood. Could he make do without a single cent for an entire month? Probably not… He’d have to find a job.

But who would hire celebrity Adrien Agreste to work in retail or flip burgers? They’d either laugh at him, or think he was pulling some elaborate prank on a hidden camera show. How would he even begin to explain that he’d left his home and was on the run from his very own father?

Adrien had seemingly no reason why he would choose to run away. He was a privileged young man who had everything: a famous and well-respected family, wealth, good genetics, people at his beck and call… the list went on. To the outside world, Gabriel was a devoted husband and father; a bit of a hermit after his wife’s “disappearance”, but not unusual for someone who was mourning a loved one.

Chloe hadn’t asked him why he’d left, but other people would. Obviously, the truth was out of the question. So, what was there to say instead? That he was just a spoiled rich kid having a rebellious phase?

It was a mess and there didn’t seem to be a way out; he was cornered. He knew it, and he knew that Gabriel knew it.

His only ace in the hole was that Gabriel didn’t know Adrien actually had a place to stay, thanks to the Dupain-Chengs. But he couldn’t rely on them forever. And, as he was quite literally penniless at the moment, his options were severely limited.

He was broke, with a famous identity and an infamous alter-ego, and near impossible to contact since he didn’t have a functioning phone. Things were looking bleak. If only he could–

“AAAACK!!!”

Adrien turned the corner on the sidewalk when a blur of pink and black slammed against him hard. Both bodies clattered to the ground, along with a myriad of bags and boxes the other person was carrying.

Adrien raised his head sluggishly with a small grunt, then opened his eyes to find–

“Marinette??” he said, eyes widening in surprise.

The girl groaned as she lifted her head, slowly pushing herself off of him. One of her eyes cracked open, then both popped wide open in recognition.

“A-ADRIEN!!” she squeaked, her face turning ruby red in an instant. “Gosh, I am so sorry!!” she yelped, practically leaping off of him. “Are you okay?!”

She offered her hand and he took it. “I’m alright, no worries,” he replied, adjusting his glasses, which had shifted on his face when he fell.

He knelt down to help her pick up the items that had spilled out of their containers. “So, where are you off to in such a hurry?”

“Oh! I- uh,” she stammered. “I was just getting some things for a friend!”

Adrien took note of some of the books, games, and movie titles as he put them back in their boxes. “Your friend has good taste.”

She squawked out a weird laugh and mumbled in agreement.

As they rose from the pavement, something caught Marinette’s eye. “Oh!” she exclaimed, bending over to pick it up. “Here, you dropped this.” She opened her palm to reveal several Euro bills and coins, and a ticket stub.

He stared at the contents of her hand. “Are you sure these are mine?” he asked incredulously.

“Well, there’s about… maybe a hundred euros or so, and a ticket stub for that new movie, ‘Les Deux Sots’. ” A flash of recognition flickered across her features, and her cheeks flushed. She continued haltingly, “D-do you remember wearing this particular hoodie to the movie theater recently?”

Adrien contained a gasp and mindlessly ran his hands over the fabric, realizing that this was the same hoodie he wore on his date with Ladybug. He hadn’t worn it since then. Not until three days ago: the day of the last akuma attack, and his subsequent fight with Hawkmoth.

“Oh,” he replied quietly, accepting the items. “Thank you, Mari,” he uttered, almost in awe.

She smiled widely at him. “No, thank you for helping me pick up all this stuff I dropped! Sorry again for knocking you over,” she said sheepishly.

“Don’t worry about it, it was my pleasure. So, where are you going with all this?”

“Uh… Home, actually,” she replied. “My friend is gonna... pick them up later today.” She stepped forward to take the boxes and bags from his arms.

“Can I help you carry it back? It’s a lot of stuff; and you could barely see over the top of it,” he offered.

Marinette fidgeted with her hands, stammering, “O-oh, I mean, I-I wouldn’t want to impose, that is– I’m sure you’re very busy and have important things to do, I don’t want to bother you, and it is a lot of stuff, plus it’s pretty heavy, and–”

“Really, it’s no trouble at all; I’m not busy right now. And I’d love the company.” He added, “If you don’t mind, that is.”

“Oh!! A-are you sure?? Wow, you’re amazing! I-I mean, th-that would be amazing! Thank you!” she said, practically vibrating with elation.

“I’m happy to do it!” Adrien replied as they began the trek to the bakery. “I’m really glad we bumped into each other,” he replied with a wink.

Marinette’s head swiveled towards him, looking like she’d swallowed a golf ball, then exploded into a loud giggle-snort, which made him snicker in turn.

The pair walked together, enjoying some friendly, light-hearted conversation, with Marinette becoming more and more comfortable as they went. He was always thankful anytime she was able to relax around him and just be herself.

He dropped her off and they parted with a tight hug, which caused Marinette to let out a flustered squeak. While she wasn’t aware of it, thanks to her discovery, he’d be able to buy himself that prepaid SIM card for Chloe’s old phone and become reachable again. And the first thing he would do with that phone would be to send Marinette a text message, thanking her for everything she continually did for him and their friends, and for always being such a sweet person.

(Somewhere Only We Know- Keane (Max Schneider, Elizabeth Gillies, and Kurt Schneider cover)

Evening came and the city of Paris buzzed with activity, as it was the last weekend of summer vacation. Ladybug breathed in the crisp night air, hopping from roof to roof to rendezvous with her partner. A few blocks away from the Louvre, the quiet, unassuming edifice of the Saint Germain l'Auxerrois stood tall and stoic, as it always did; its stately gothic arches and ancient pillars contrasting with the chaotic energy and noise of its modern surroundings.

Ladybug spotted the distant figure of Chat Noir at the balcony of the church’s bell tower, where they’d agreed to meet. He leaned on the railing, looking content as he observed the scenery.

She nimbly landed beside him and chirped, “Hey, you!”

He turned around, his countenance brightening instantly. “My Lady! It’s so great to see your lovely face again.”

Ladybug’s insides fluttered upon hearing him use her usual nickname, the feeling becoming increasingly familiar the more time she spent with him, both in and out of the costume.

“Um, I brought some snacks from a little shop down the street,” she said, lifting up a small bag to demonstrate.

“Yum! That sounds wonderful, thank you!” Chat reached into his belt pocket, bringing out a small, rectangular box. “And I brought some playing cards!”

“Cool! I love card games! Where’d you get them?” she asked, feigning ignorance.

Chat rubbed the back of his neck and smiled wide, his cheeks becoming rosy; a look that was simply adorable on him. “Marinette gave them to me, actually. She got me some boxes full of really amazing stuff she thought I’d like. And I swear, she’s gotta have magical powers or something, ‘cause they were all totally spot on.” He rubbed his arm absently. “She’s so nice... I can’t believe she went out of her way just to help me feel more at home.”

Ladybug’s cheeks grew warm, feeling almost guilty for hearing him talk about her secret identity in such a favorable way without him knowing. Unsure of how to reply, she wordlessly offered the bag so he could pick out a snack.

“So, how did the cashier react to seeing Ladybug walking into their shop?” he asked, reaching inside. “Was he surprised?”

She chuckled. “I didn’t buy them as Ladybug, silly. I got them as myself. My civilian self, that is.”

“Oh! O-of course,” he replied with an embarrassed smile. “It’s easy to forget you’re not always Ladybug. Th-that is– obviously you’re always Ladybug, b-but not necessarily walking around as Ladybug, it’s just… y-you– uhh…”

She giggled, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, I know what you mean. We don’t know what the other looks like, so it’s hard to mentally picture anything else.” She placed a finger on her chin, tapping it thoughtfully. “I bet that in real life, you’re actually a pirate with a peg leg. A daring, swashbuckling outlaw with a hook for a hand and a secret cave full of gold,” she said jokingly. “Oh! But you like music, right? So, maybe you’re actually a professional violinist. World renowned! Or, since you’re pretty athletic, I bet you’re secretly a circus acrobat! Are you in Cirque du Soleil, by any chance?”

“Ha ha, you’re hilarious,” he deadpanned. Then he leaned forward, quirking a flirtatious smile and waggling his eyebrows, and replied, “Obviously, I’m the quick-witted and dashing Han Solo type. Breaking hearts and taking names. People stop in the streets, jaws dropping, and they gape as I walk by, admiring my charms.”

“PFFT!” Ladybug snickered at his clowning and replied, lilting, “Oh, I’m sure. I can see it now.” Her voice went into a falsetto and she swooned, clasping her hands together, “Oh, Monsieur Solo Noir, you are such a handsome rogue! Won’t you whisk me away in your Catmobile into the sunset?”

He gave a small, amused hum. “So... you think I’m handsome, huh?” he asked, turning his body towards her, and straightened up his spine, placing a hand on his hip and cocking it with a smug grin.

Heat exploded throughout the girl’s body, all the blood rushing to her face. Plagg’s words about Chat’s crush suddenly popped to the forefront of her mind, and her thoughts became a jumble.

She stammered, “W-well, I mean, obviously you must already be aware th-that you’re conventionally attractive, b-but I-I, that is, it’s not like I just sit and ogle you like some kind of perv or something, but you’re definitely— y-you’re very– uhhh...” She continued babbling, hands flapping like flags.

Chat couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re so adorable when you get all flustered, Buginette. And I really mean that in the best way.”

Ladybug pursed her lips together into a thin line. AUGH, this… this GUY!!! Why did she have to act so foolish around the two blond boys that she’d hung out with today?! She never knew she had a type. But that must be it, right?? That she apparently had a thing for tall, green-eyed blondes? Was that what was going on, or was she actually crushing on Chat Noir while already in love with Adrien? Was that even possible?? Was she simply projecting her desire to be loved onto Chat because she knew he had a crush on her, whereas Adrien did not? That would be unfair to him; he didn’t deserve to be some rebound love. She needed to figure out whether her feelings were genuine, or if she was just being shallow and largely motivated by hormones.

UGH!! Why was everything so incredibly confusing?! Not that it mattered. By this point, they both probably thought she was a giant clod, what with her tendency to constantly make an utter fool of herself.

Thankfully, Chat took pity on her and changed the subject back. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. And actually, you were partly right. I am into music. Not violin though. Uh... percussion,” he added vaguely. He turned back towards the scenery, leaning on the balcony railing, and asked, “So, how about you? What are you like?”

Settling down from her utter failure at being suave, she replied, sighing, “Well… it’s hard to say. I’m a bit of a hot mess, actually.”

“Pfft, you?? No way! You always seem so on top of everything,” he replied, incredulous. “Although... I definitely believe the ‘hot’ part,” he teased with a wink.

Stifling a squeak, Ladybug’s insides seemed to seize up, and she fought the urge to jump off the belltower to prevent him from noticing her surely crimson-colored face. Attempting to sound aloof, she replied, “You flirt. I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Would it upset you if I did?” he asked, voice inscrutable.

Her eyes popped open and she whipped her head around, the heat in her body inexplicably replaced with an uncomfortable chill down her spine. Was she... jealous?! She didn’t have any right to be. She had no claims on him. But knowing that didn’t make the thought of Chat lauding praise and paying special attention to someone else any less unpleasant, and she couldn’t help but feel mad at herself for feeling as such.

“Uh… I’m–” her gaze darted away nervously, trying to figure out what to say without embarrassing herself.

He scooted closer to her, shoulders almost touching, and leaned back on the balcony. He playfully bumped his hip against hers. “No need to be jealous, Bugaboo. Believe it or not, I’m actually kinda shy in real life, and pretty socially awkward; almost painfully so. Any attempts at flirting are clumsy at best, if I ever even bother to try.”

“I-I wasn’t jealous!” she huffed.

Veeerrrrry convincing, Marinette, she thought to herself.

“B-but anyway, I never knew that you were actually shy,” she continued. “You always seemed so confident.” It seemed there was a lot more to discover about her new partner; things she never would have guessed based on his demeanor, back when they were enemies.

Chat shifted the topic away from himself and began shuffling the cards as he sat on the floor. “So, before I interrupted you with my lame attempt at flirting, you were gonna talk about yourself. What do you do when you’re not Ladybug-ing and saving Paris from corrupted butterflies?”

Ladybug giggled and joined him on the floor as he dealt the cards. “Well, I enjoy making stuff, crafting and whatnot. As you might guess, my favorite subject in school is art. I enjoy movies and videogames…”

A few hours, several games, and countless laughs later, the pair reluctantly agreed that it was time to part ways.

“Thanks for meeting up with me tonight, Ladybug,” Chat said, voice a bit quiet. “I haven’t had this much fun in a long time, so it really means a lot,” he added, timidly rubbing the back of his neck.

Ladybug’s stomach did a tiny flip. She wasn’t sure whether she was happy that he’d enjoyed himself because of her, or if she was sad because he’d hardly ever been allowed to have fun.

She shifted her weight, twiddling her fingers and replied, “I had a lot of fun too, Chat. I’m really glad we did this. We should turn it into a regular thing.”

He replied, voice husky, “I’d love that.” A shade of pink spread across his face, and he cleared his throat. He abruptly straightened up and sauntered towards her, wearing a smirk. “Soooo… can I walk you home?” he asked playfully. “I do want to be a gentleman for My Lady, after all.”

Ladybug snorted and lightly shoved his shoulder. “Nice try, Chaton. But a Lady’s gotta have her secrets.”

Before he could reply, Ladybug’s communicator beeped urgently with a notification, which could only mean one thing:

An akuma attack.

Ladybug sighed, stretching her arms over her head. “Welp… looks like our time together just got an extension.” She winked at Chat and asked, “Ready to go kick some akuma butt?”

He smiled, his hand reaching for hers and giving it a tight squeeze. “With pleasure.”

#Discordant Sonata #Miraculous Ladybug #Ladynoir #Enemies AU #Adrien Agreste #Marinette Dupain Cheng #fanfiction #Adrienette #Fan Art #My Art: Miraculous Ladybug #Eden Art #Eden writes

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