#the design of her lower body makes me upset but otherwise she's cute

[number-1-kuaidul-fanboy]

I think I just have crushes on every single Ignis at this point.

[multibug]

4. your voice (adrienette)

AO3

Marinette’s morning went a little like this: 

Waking up thirty minutes past her alarm—one that literally screams into her ear, Marinette skirted the line of obnoxiously late to class and tardiness doesn’t suit you, ms. dupain-cheng by busting through the classroom doors ten minutes after the bell had already rang. Her clothes were sopping wet from the rain outside and her inability to be prepared for Paris’ sporadic rainstorms. An excuse that was so incredibly untrue and fallible resided on the tip of her tongue, but her teacher had just sighed and ushered her to her seat. 

Only to notice that her seat was taken by a certain dad-hat wearing boy and the only seat open was next to Adrien. 

Naturally, her first instinct was to glare at Nino and Alya, both of whom had identical smirks in lieu of her flushed expression. Secondly, she'd decided to raise her chin high and drop into the empty seat, ignoring the stares and whispers she received from literally everyone in the room. 

Adrien nudges her with his shoulder and a small smile meant only for her, waving with one hand—mostly his pointer and middle fingers. 

“Hey,” she whispers in response, fumbling to open her bag and tug out her half-charged tablet. 

Passing of time allowed for the squeaking tendences Marinette had while she was around Adrien to fade into small, subtle stuttering over words every now and then. Though her crush on him has only amplified into something akin to love or at the very least intense infatuation, their friendship has blossomed from a weaved-tight-in-a-cocoon pupa to a fully-grown, magnificently-colored butterfly.

With adulthood around the corner, Marinette lives for the small moments with her friends and family. Her world is going to shift from being coddled to overbearing in a matter of seconds. We’re the Millers replays in her brain over and over,  no ragrets  embedded deep in the what the fuck parts of her mind. 

Marinette takes pride in the day going fairly well up until lunch, Adrien whisked away for a photo shoot before she can get a word in otherwise. He two-finger salutes them with a side-smile that’s so achingly similar to Marinette her heart aches and brain tries to scratch the itch she’s feeling.

Think Marinette, think. 

Alya, Nino, and her sit down at their usual table, spot open for Adrien in case he comes back a bit early—though they know the likelihood of that is slim to none. 

(Out of all the times they’ve held his spot, only once has he strolled in minutes prior to the final bell, in complete confusion over the lack of a body in his everyday seat. 

Nino explained it all to him and a very rare, genuine smile appeared on Adrien’s face that warmed their hearts.) 

“Quick question,” Marinette says, arms crossing over her chest as she drops her tray onto the hot to the touch table. Nino cowers slightly at her glare. “Why were you in my seat, Ninhoe? I nearly had a heart attack walking into class.” 

Nino goes to open his mouth but Alya beats him to it, smirking. “Maybe if you would’ve made it to class on time—”

“—my alarm didn’t go off—”

“—then you’d know that sunshine has laryngitis, so his only way of communicating with us is through terrible hand gestures, texts, writing, or this  stupid  text-to-speech app he downloaded.” 

Perking up as the tone of the conversation shifts ever-so-slightly, Nino sits up straighter in his seat and grins. “You should’ve heard the things that were coming out of that robot’s mouth. I mean tablet’s speaker,” he pauses, scratching his head. “Whatever it is. Look, all I know is that I haven’t laughed that hard in a hot minute.” 

“So then how did you end up in my seat?” 

This time, Nino’s expression turns sheepish as Alya laughs, hands flying about as she speaks, “Adrien’s robot voice told Nino to, and I quote, ‘Go sit with Alya before I flick you in the noggin’.” 

All Marinette can picture is a pouty Adrien pointing to the seat behind them as a cackling Nino drags himself towards her unused chair and Marinette portrays Adrien by giggling, so hard that she clutches her stomach. “Oh, oh that’s too good!” 

“It gets even better.” Nino’s grinning too wide and his eyes are lit with humor. “When we had to do the pop quiz, which you missed by the way, he tried to hand gesture to me that he needed a pen, right?” 

And, oh no, Marinette knows by the tone of Nino’s voice where this is going. 

“So I told him to use his text-to-speech since I didn’t understand him,” Mirth swims around in Nino’s eyes as he talks vividly, the calm boy Marinette’s used to suddenly gone. “So at full volume, he types into the app and it says, ‘Nino, can I please have a penis?’ I thought I was going to have a stroke.” 

“No way,” Marinette chokes out, previous giggles lackluster in comparison to her full-belly laughter over Nino’s retelling of class this morning. “This is the one time I regret being late.” 

On their way back to class after lunch, Alya whips out her phone with her wired headphones, placing one of them in Marinette’s ear. She watches as Adrien’s face reddens so quickly, so unlike his elegant, yet nonchalant stature as soon as the robotic voice is heard. (His small smile afterwards indicates he’s not actually upset, just a tad embarrassed.)

“That poor boy!” Marinette’s laughter echoes through the halls and lasts until they arrive at the classroom. 

 ~*~

“Marinette,” a very robotic voice says to her left as class ends for the day, jolting Marinette from her daydreams about defeating Hawkmoth and living a simplistic life as a fashion designer. 

Not about the pretty model with a heart of gold that tugs on her heartstrings sometimes, nope.

“Adrien?” She questions as she purses her lips together to not laugh at the robotic voice. Half of their class immediately piles out of the room once they’re dismissed, letting their conversation become a little more private. 

Pausing his typing to gauge her reaction, Adrien’s eyes flicker from his furious typing on his tablet to her face. “Alya showed you the video from earlier, didn’t she?” 

How does he know? Is he a psychic or something? “W-What do you mean? What video?” 

Adrien sends her a slightly unamused look and Marinette’s lips quirk into a grin, arm coming up to drape over the top of the bench behind him. His eyes glance at her hand, which just barely—accidentally, she swears it—grazes his shoulder. He scoots slightly closer to her so the back of his shoulder is pressed against the front of hers, eyes blinking as if to say is this okay?

Always for you, she thinks, biting her lip.

Instead of a verbal answer, Marinette lays her arm over his shoulder and allows him to settle against her body, in a half hug. “Are you feeling okay?” 

Head resting in the crook of her neck, Adrien grunts and mutters hoarsely, “Hurts.” 

“Adrien, no offense, but your voice sounds like shit. Use your app.” 

The noise he makes can barely be considered human, and Marinette squeezes his shoulder with her hand as she laughs gently. She turns her head and her lips brush the top of his hair in a fleeting kiss, Adrien stilling against her. 

Shit. “Adrien, I’m so sorry, that was crossing a line, I—” She goes to pull away from him, but he stops her immediately, reaching for the tablet and hastily typing. 

“Nooooo-o-o-o-ooooh, Marinette it’s okay. It felt really rice.” The blush that crosses Adrien’s face is so cute, so sweet, so endearing that Marinette can’t help but wrap her other arm around him and tug him closer to her. 

For the first time ever, Marinette isn’t the one embarrassing herself in front of Adrien.

Huh, that’s new. 

“Well, your hair feels really poft,” she tells him with a small giggle, his lips curling up amusedly as his green eyes meet hers.

Embarrassing himself even more, Adrien types, “Your farms are really strong. You could probably break me in half like it was muffin.”

“That’s what you choose to say? That I could break you in half like muffin?” 

She has no idea what this means for them, whether  this is something or if it’s a fleeting moment in their timeline. Whatever it is, she’s excited and ready. 

Adrien let out a small whine, jutting his lower lip out prettily. “Stop making fun of the dick kid, Mari! It’s not nice.”

“That one was on purpose, wasn’t it?” 

The smirk on Adrien’s face says it all.

[kidneysquid]

Freak (preview of part 3)

Hello my lovelies! 

So sorry for the delay. I am currently in the Quebec providence of Canada on vacation with my family. 

I still have my lap top with me but there are a few challenges.

One: I am with my family, and it’s awkward writing into the smutty details with them around (quite the mood killer).

Two: I am skiing and hiking on a daily basis so I don’t have as much time as I’d like to write even though it’s my drug at this point.

Three: Part 1 and 2 were already written when I first posted them, hence why they were so long. While I have over 30 pages worth of drafts and notes on the story, I spend extensive amounts of time editing and rewriting (I have a strange writing process).

I am SO SORRY for how short this is. But I’m honestly debating on just doing posts that are 1,000 to 2,000 words a post to give you guys satisfaction and to give me more time to perfect my chapters.  

I know my character (played by Harry) in this is kinda OOC but NOT TO WORRY. He is still his dark demon self. This story will always be dark despite it’s moments of seeming light. 

I AM ALWAYS EDITING AND ADDING TO MY CHAPTERS and while have the dates of additions on each post, so I suggest re-reading them if you want :)

Warning: Language and explicit content and triggers

Enjoy! 

“Mm…” Soft sheets tickle my cheek.

I know where I am.

I’m home. In my apartment. Jax is purring in his corner of the bed. The white, ‘half dick’ mark splattered on his cute little otherwise black face. Leaning against his white sock paw.

The redolence of honeysuckle incense fills my nostrils.

I forgot that cozy feeling I always get in my bedroom. Filled with all the tapestries and black and white photographs I took in college. My deep purple drapes and light purple sheets.

I open my eyes, and for the first time I’m not upset to see how messy it is. Clothes scattering the floor. The oriental rug tilted to the side. Not an empty space of surface on my desks and drawers.  

I always told myself each time I’d manage to get my room clean that I would keep it that way.

It never happens.

I lean up on my right elbow lifting to get up, but something long and heavy keeps me pinned to the bed.

Wait, where did that come from?

 I shuffled lightly against comforting sheets. The honeysuckle scent was gone to my chagrin. Just clean, must. Masculine. Light spice.

I twisted my neck hearing it crack. It was laying on something hard. I was on my right side, as always. Thanks to the car accident I was in that destroyed my left shoulder when I was eighteen.

My lids were too heavy when I tried opening them.  

The steady hum of Baby Cat’s purrs was replaced by the unmistakable tapping of rain. On the roof and windows.

Rain

My favorite sound in the world.

Car rain in particular. 

Even after arriving at my destination, I’d sit in the driver’s seat with my engine turned off and remain engulfed in the comforting pitter-pattering beats bouncing on the roof in steady rhythms.

There was a stale decaying taste in my mouth. When I parted my lips I realized it was the distinct flavor of morning breath.

Really bad morning breath.

I swallowed hearing the familiar pop in my eardrums, unmistakably from clenching my jaw throughout the night. 

Ever since I was a little girl I’d always had problems with grinding my teeth in my sleep. The dentists told me if I didn’t wear a mouth guard at night I would ware them down to my gums.

Mom always told me it was from the night terror’s I’d experienced at a young age.

She never believed me when I told her dad was the one who started them. Not intentionally.

They say night terrors mostly occur in those who’ve experienced sexual trauma at a young age.

Dad never meant it though. He didn’t realize that his mistake would fuck me up for life.

But I don’t want to think about that now though.

I groaned wincing at the usual ache of a filled bladder upon waking.

Human bodily functions can be such a bitch sometimes.

Something warm and heavy was circled around my waist. Whatever it was, the fabric of my shirt was damp with a starting layer of sweat under its weight.

Dear Hyperhidrosis: Fuck you.

I finally opened my eyes and my heart stopped. There was a chest with facing swallows beneath the collar bones.

I trailed my eyes. There was something that looked like a cursive lowercase “g” on the front of his shoulder. Then the date “1957” above the end of his right collar bone.

My pulse throbbed in my veins. Frozen sweat trickled my forehead and the back of my neck. I was the fawn that unknowingly fell asleep in the bear’s den. And any movement to sneak out of the cave would surely wake him up.

But in this case, I was in his claws.

I finally lifted my gaze to his face.

He was truly pleasing to look at.

When he wasn’t t talking that is.

When he wasn’t doing anything for that matter.

But when the devil sleeps, he’s peaceful. Unaware of the world of pain and destruction he created.

How can something so horrible be beautiful at the same time? We are taught as children that beauty represents good. But as we grow older we realize it’s often used to mask the evil.

My left arm was folded and squished between our chests. I tried to move away but to my horror realized I was attached to him. My right arm was losing circulation with his weight on top of it. To make it worse, our legs were tangled beneath the sheets.

I always preferred sleeping with a pillow between my legs. It felt great for my lower back. Also a light pool of sweat would tend to form between my thighs when I sleep with my legs together.

No not like that.

Another fuck you to hyperhidrosis.

I tried to move but my arm, numb at this point, wouldn’t budge beneath him.

Fuck.

This is why I’ve never been a good sleeping partner. (Sleep in the literal sense that is.) I always got complaints about how much I move around in my sleep. I was a restless sleeper. My family would even wake up from the resounding hits on the walls.Thanks to my vivid dreams and I would always always always wake up in a position where any non-subtle movement would wake the poor victim sharing the bed with me. Leaving me lying in discomfort. Against heat.

I laid there. Frozen. Watching the steady in and out movements of his chest. His breaths were smooth and tickling my face.

The tensing in my shoulders ached.

I trailed my eyes down the arm snaked around me, biceps lightly budging. Maybe if I could somehow ease it off me then I’d be able to scoot away.

But that would be ignoring the fact my other arm’s still anchored to the bed.

I let out a breath and rested my head back down. Fading scratches trailed down his chest, his shoulders and his upper arm

Good.

He’s not the only one who gets to leave marks.

That’s when I caught the design beneath his sternum on his upper belly. I’d only had a quick glimpse of it, when he took off his shirt before pouncing on me.

I shivered at the memory.

I studied it and to my surprise realized it was an anatomical design of a butterfly.

I’d already known his tattoos were lame, but this one definitely took the cake.

I’ve never seen a dude with a butterfly tattoo before. Not until now. Why the hell would a guy get one?

Breaking gender conventions is always good though.

I always supported it.

It truly wasn’t a bad design though. Finely detailed, actually.I studied the shadings and the intricate lines as it lightly flapped its wings with the inhales and exhales of his breaths.

“Enjoying the view?”

The blood in my veins froze and I looked up. His eyes were open. And they were focused on me to my horror. Observing me drinking him in. The corner of his lip tugged up in a smirk.

Ignoring the pain of my swollen fingers, I pushed my free arm against his chest, moving to get away from him. He tightened his grip and pinned me to him. Easily caging me in his arms.  

“Don’t ruin the moment,” he whispered, nuzzling his face in my hair. 

At this point I didn’t give a shit if he could smell my putrid breath.

He was the definition of a space invader.

A minute passed.

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Mmm..” Something rubbed against my hair. “You can hold it.”

“I’m serious. I really have to go.”

“Just a few more minutes.”

My cheeks began to burn. “I can’t feel my arm.” I tried moving it out from under him.

A light chuckle rumbled against me. “I guess you shouldn’t have wrapped it around me then.”

Oh you fucker-

I wanted to dig my nails and slash into the swallow. But my fucking fingers. Instead, I kept trying to straighten my arm and wiggle my body against him trying to untangle out leg.

His teeth sunk into his lip and he closed his eyes. “Mm… Keep that up baby.” His hand on my waist lowered and tightly gripped my ass before lifting my leg higher on his hip as he grinded himself against my thigh resting between his legs.

Fucking pervert!

“No!” I somehow yanked my arm out from under him and shoved him back with all my might digging the fingers of my right hand in that fucking swallow, kicking my legs out of his and rolling away.

There was a crash and a wail of pain.

Laughter filled the room. “Well good morning to you too, beautiful.”

I stood up from the floor, he was curled up on his side shaking with laughter. Hair extremely disheveled, his fist in front of his face, eyes squeezed shut with wrinkles in their corners and white teeth laughing.

It was reminiscent of a little boy being caught after his prank.

Not knowing what else to do, I gripped a pillow and slammed it on him as screeched:

“Oh FUCK!” Hit! “YOU!” Hit!

He kept laughing harder, nearly cackling as he caught it on the last hit. His body shaking uncontrollably.

Rage burned my eyes and the blood scorching beneath my skin making my face red. How the fact can he be like this?! So nonchalant and carefree after what he did to me?!

Ignoring him, I stomped to the bathroom in the corner slamming the door. I could still hear his laughter in the other room.

I took down my pants, sat on the toilet and had one of the most relieving pisses in my life.

Thank. God.

I reached between my legs and observed my parts. I was significantly less swollen down there, and the ache was beginning to slowly dull.

Good. He hasn’t raped me in my sleep. Not yet at least. 

After flushing the toilet, I went to the sink and washed my hands before I brushed my teeth.

How long have I been out for?

I ran my face through cold water. Washing the grogginess out of my eyes before sipping on some water. God I was thirsty.

I looked up in the mirror. The healing of the marks on my face had progressed nicely. Including the bruises on my neck.

But something was missing.

I could see my nipples poking through the grey fabric.

No.

I gripped the hem of my shirt, yanked it up and shrieked.

To my horror, I was not wearing my sports bra. And I distinctly remembered putting it on before succumbing to unconsciousness.

Holding the shirt to my neck, I inspected the condition of my breasts. They were still tender and sore, of course. And were pocketed with yellow fading marks. I wasn’t sure if any of them were new.

Swallowing, I unlocked the door and turned the knob.

He was lying on the bed, torso still bare and tattoos proudly on display. His hands behind his head with his legs crossed (wearing pants thank god) and an infuriating grin on his face.

I looked at the lamp next to the bed, clenching my good fist. “How long have I been asleep?”

“A couple of days now. I kept checking to make sure you were breathing. You were right to only take half of the oxy, otherwise you would probably be dead.”

Shit.

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply through my nose. I looked up and straightened my shoulders. “Why is my bra off?”

“I removed it.” 

My eyes lit up and my nostrils flared. “You what?!”

“You were wheezing a little and coughing in your sleep. I figured it was suffocating you.” His gaze lowered. “Besides I can see how it would be... confining for you.”

Oh. No. He. Did. Not.

“You saw my tits while I was unconscious!?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen them before-”

“That’s no excuse to be a pervert!”

“It was to make you more comfortable. I was thinking of your wellbeing. You began breathing fine right after. It was constraining your chest.”

I inhaled through my nose and exhaled through my pursed lips. This was very true. Having a DD cup doesn’t exactly go well with sleeping with bras on. Especially sports bras. I’d already read about how bad it is for you to do that on the internet. So in a sense, he did do me a favor.

“I swear to god,” I snarled, curling my upper lip. “If you molested me in anyway-”

“Believe me, darling, you would have woken up.”

I clenched my jaw along with my good fist.

“Don’t worry, it’s right there.” His dimple popped as he pointed to the chair. Sure enough the fabric was neatly folded on it.

My face grew red. I stomped over, snatched it and disappeared in the bathroom slamming the door harder than before.

I reappeared when I was all adjusted.

“I’m hungry.”