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fayes-fics · 3 months

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When The World Is Free: Chapter 2 - La Valse de Paris

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Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1.7k

AuthorsNote: Chapter 2 of new multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl! Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. This details our reader settling into Paris and the outbreak of war. Benedict turns up next chapter. Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy! <3

Paris, September 1939

Your first few weeks in Paris are a delightful blur.

Spending late summer exploring the city - with Solène as your occasional guide and Eloise when she is not at work. You soak up every moment, from the windswept magnificence of standing atop the Eiffel Tower, your words being stolen by the wind, to the monastic silence of the Louvre on a quiet Monday morning. And everything in between - from Notre Dame's atmospheric incense-laden gothic darkness to the airy, resplendent glass dome of Galeries Lafayette that glitters like a prismatic jewel even on cloudy days.

But perhaps your favourites are the little slices of city life: sitting watching the world go by at a corner cafe, the crunch and warm, pillowy softness of the first bite of freshly baked baguette as you wander back from the boulangerie, the lingering fragrance of the rose garden at the Château de Bagatelle in Bois de Boulogne... It's all pieces of a puzzle that fill your heart in ways that make your life before now seem drab, almost in black and white, like a photograph.

You have written to Stanley once since you arrived, effusive in your praise, a homily to your new home, however temporary. While proclaiming his happiness for you, his response tempered, a touch dismissive of your wonderment. I can scarcely believe any city could truly live up to the praise you so readily heap upon Paris, my love, he wrote back. That was a week ago, and your urge to reply has been muted.

It's during an idle lunchtime by the Seine, eating a sandwich as you dangle your feet over the river wall, that you genuinely feel a local. An elderly French couple, likely visiting from the provinces, approaches you and asks you for directions to the Musée de l'Homme. Part of you aglow they think you sophisticated enough to look Parisian, and French. And you are able to help them, giving them the information in French, not fluent but sufficient that they are surprised when you confess “je suis américaine”.

In your third week, you secure the art gallery job Eloise had seen posted. An opportunity to meet many new people, primarily British and American, who share your love of art of all persuasions. You spend many a happy hour answering questions and building your knowledge of art, not just in your gallery but across the city. Part of you is wistful to study the subject in even greater depth than the books you borrow in copious quantities from the library where Eloise works.

You grow so close to Eloise so quickly that it’s as if you have known her your whole life. A sense of kinship, a near familial bond. You know, on some instinctive level, she will always be a part of your life somehow. Your evenings are often spent in lounge bars together—venues awash with art deco splendour as you listen to jazz through a cigarette haze and flirt aimlessly with a carousel of handsome men. Life seems so full of potential, a hum in your very being.

“What do you think the purpose of life is, y/n?” Eloise sighs as she flops onto your bed after returning from one such decadent night out.

“Aaaand we are done with the brandy…” you declare, taking the bottle of Martell cognac from her grip and placing it pointedly on the dresser, your high-handed point only mildly undermined by your own unsteady gait.

You collapse down next to her, the intricate ceiling rose around your light fixture swirling slightly before your very eyes.

“Love?” you hazard in answer to her question.

“Boo! Cliché!” she jeers, elbowing you good-naturedly.

“I don’t just mean romantic love,” you protest, “the love of family… friends…”

“Ah, yes, family. Endlessly large family. Don’t suppose you want an extra sibling or two, do you? I could be persuaded to let a couple go,” she squints comically.

“Depends… can I have the artist?” you jest.

“You have to stop staring at that painting; it's getting weird,” she opines with her typical bluntness, “and no, you can’t. You know he’s my favourite,” she pouts.

“I think he’s my favourite too,” you opine over a stifled yawn, any embarrassment about being called out for your unbridled admiration overridden by the sleepy state your comfortable bed lulls you into.

“If you end up being attracted to my brother, I will have to disown you, you know,” she pats your hand drowsily.

“Hmm, good thing he’s so far away…” you trail off with a lazy giggle, eyes drooping heavily.

It’s the last words you exchange before you both fall asleep on your bed.

–

Perhaps, as with all things that are too good, the idyll is temporary. It's the news you wake up to that following morning, September 4th, which throws everything into uncertainty. Solène knocks on your door early with an uncharacteristically sombre expression, wordlessly handing you the morning paper and flicking on the wireless on your mantelpiece, the fine lines on her face deeper etched, furrowed with worry.

‘La Guerre!’ the headline screams from the newspaper. And the voice on the airwaves, your ear more attuned to the language now, details how Britain and France have jointly declared war against Germany for their invasion of Poland a few days prior.

At the sound of the radio, Eloise emerges from your room, blinking and hair asunder, a little delicate from your previous night's revelry. You sip coffee at a loss for what to think or do. It’s an odd cognitive dissonance when life at once seems identical but also changed by an invisible shape - an undercurrent of fear, of the unknown, a punch to the pit of your stomach that you don’t know how to acknowledge - even as you go through the motions of your daily routine and head to work.

By the evening you are more phlegmatic about the situation. Your spirit dampened, yes, but not crushed. You feel an immense sense of privilege that conflict is not yet at your doorstep, but equally knowing being in the capital city of a nation that just declared war against a neighbouring country is not exactly safe.

You and Eloise splash out on dinner at an upscale brassiere that night, one you have both passed and commented you’d love to dine in some time. Both of you seized by the unspoken “what if”, the previous reluctance to treat yourselves entirely absent.

Talk on all the tables around you as you dine - on heavenly butter-soft steak - is about the war. What it could mean for Paris, fear of another major European conflict so soon after the last, the economic concerns - the bite of the early 30s depression just relinquishing its hostile grip on the somewhat bruised denizens.

Afterwards, you wander the cobbled streets back to your apartment, arms looped, bellies full, occasionally staring up at the starry night sky in mostly contemplative, sober silence. It’s a beautiful evening, but something in the warm breeze feels melancholic.

When you open the door to your building, Solène is waiting, rocking on her heels.

“Eloise, a telegram has come for you!” she announces, shoving a piece of paper into her hand. “And a telephone call from England earlier,” she adds, gesturing to the black rotary phone outside her place—the only one in the building.

Eloise gives you a brief glance and then opens the message. You watch her eyes ping across the text before her shoulders slump.

“My mother,” she sighs in explanation, “it appears she is summoning me back home.”

“What?!” the selfish reflex of not wanting to be left alone is the first thing flaring in you.

“It’s not fair!” she whines in a flash of child-like defiance before continuing in a more subdued tone. “She is sending my brother to come get me. She doesn’t specify which, but seeing as Anthony is a Lieutenant General in the Army and has likely been called to Churchill’s side, I'm presuming Benedict,” Eloise surmises.

Your thoughts instantly fly to that painting hanging in your apartment upstairs. A strange flutter under your ribs at the idea you could be about to meet its creator. Quickly followed by a wash of guilt that you could even focus on such a frivolous thing.

“What will I do without you?’’ You fret aloud, grasping her arm tighter.

“There was a call for you too, y/n,” Solène pipes up. “Your father wants you to exchange your return ticket for a sailing home as soon as possible,” she relays.

“But.. I just got here!” your lament as defiant as Eloise’s. A frustrating sense you are losing a fleeting opportunity you already hold so precious - like a new toy being ripped from the meaty fist of a truculent toddler.

“Mes amis, what can I say?” that trademark Gallic shrug seizing Solène’s shoulders. “While Paris is safe for now, we do not know how much longer that will hold true… it is likely best you return home. Perhaps this will be over in weeks, and you can return?”

You know your parents have paid your rent upfront for a whole year, likely similar for Eloise, your landlady not impacted financially by your leaving, merely a wish for you to enjoy your Parisian adventures.

As you unlock the door to your apartment and wander in, both of you sigh; the illumination from the Eiffel Tower that refracts upon your window pane just adds to your melancholia, a sight that before had never failed to warm your heart.

“When will your brother get here?” your inflection dull.

“Tomorrow, most likely. It only takes a couple of hours to cross the Channel, and as you know, the train ride from the coast is just a few more. I expect he’ll be waiting for me right here when I return from work,” her tone is just as flat as yours.

You want to ask if she will pack tonight, but you stop yourself, seeing the flame that usually burns so bright behind her blue eyes dimmed. Wordlessly, you draw closer and pull her into a firm hug.

“I will miss you like a sister,” she whispers into your hair, returning the embrace just as fiercely, “maybe moreso.”

You nod and band your arms tighter briefly before letting go, bone-deep exhaustion overtaking anything else you see in her mirrored stance.

The last thing that captures your eye as Eloise turns to her room is that painting of her childhood home and, strangely, how it feels closer now than ever before.

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oneforthemunny · 1 year

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pieces of you and me |dad!rockstar!eddie munson x nepo baby!reader|

prompt: your six daughters with eddie are named after the places they're conceived. fluffy little piece I had about nepo baby!reader and rockstar!eddie and their lives as parents, more specifically how they named each of their girls.

contains: mature, sexual themes not graphic but still 18+, minors dni. mom!nepo baby!reader x dad!rockstar!eddie throughout the years.

June 1993 - Corfu Beach, Greece

Your wedding ring dazzled in the Greek sunshine, bright and clear, almost as reflective as the waters in front of you. Corfu Beach was the first stop on your honeymoon trips, after three wedding ceremonies.

The tabloids had gone rabid when you'd announced that your weddings- plural- would be spread out from May to June. Three ceremonies, extravagant but intimate. The first in Palm Springs, an estate near the San Jacinto mountains with just your family. You and Eddie were both only children, the ceremony was sweet and short, an officiant, your parents and grandparents, Wayne and his girlfriend, and the two of you. A silk, slip white dress, custom made by Donatella herself just for you. Eddie wore a tux, the sweetheart, choking back sobs when he read you his vows, promises for your life together. You'd danced under the strung lights, Forever by the Beach Boys, his hand on your back, holding you sweetly. Your private photographer, a family friend, made sure to capture all the intimate sweet moments for you, and it was secluded with no worries of paparazzi.

Then you'd jetted off to Las Vegas, sin city as a couple. Eddie had taken the liberty of renting out Elvis' Little Chapel just for the two of you, hiring the best Elvis and photographer. You'd wore a tiny, leather white dress, garter showing on your thigh. Eddie in an Elvis suit, white just for you. Your friends dressed their part, his band mates, friends from Hawkins, and yours from Beverly Hills and others joined. You didn't remember most of the night, giggling when the Elvis impersonator read you your vows in the mimicking voice. It was a blur, champagne, liquor, and drugs in a penthouse suite at the Palms. You'd woken up a little sick, veil still in your hair and aching between your thighs, ass covered in welts from the night before. Eddie had managed to find a heart shaped paddle on the strip, using it on you when you got back from the 'reception' that was in the other room, where your friends were scattered still.

Lastly, you finished in Paris. Eddie wanted it just to be the two of you, an officiant, and the city of love. He'd gone all out, his vows seemed to triple in size from the first ceremony. Tucked away in a Parisian Chateau that had a stunning view of the Eiffel Tower in the backdrop, Eddie poured his heart out to you, vulnerable and raw. You both sobbed through your vows, heavy with emotion that pored out with each word, kissing each other before the officiant ever gave you the signal.

Now you were here, Greece. The beaches were beautiful, the wine delicious, and the waters stunning. Eddie had rented a small boat for the two of you, drifting off the coast of the secluded resort you were staying at. You were thankful for the intimacy, relaxing in the warm sun, topless, the true European experience.

"I think we should do this more often," Eddie grinned, blocking the sun from your view, standing tall over you.

You shielded your eyes, looking up at him. The sun haloed around his curls, his inked skin a little pinkish from the rays. He looked angelic.

"I think you just like to see me topless." You smirked.

"I think you'd be right." Eddie scoffed, kneeling down between your legs on the towel. "Can you blame me? Look at them." He squeezed your boobs lightly. "My girls. All mine, forever."

You let out a soft laugh, his lips ghosting over yours, fingers rubbing your pebbled nipples between the two of you. He kissed you slow, sweet, taking his time to truly taste you, feel you.

He was between your legs before you knew it, his cock splitting you open, harsh thrusts that left the small boat rocking and shifting with the waves. You'd gotten on top, hips swiveling and rocking with every rise and fall, his hands gripping your hips harsh.

You two spent the day like that, him filling you up raw, pumping his release deep inside of you, leaving you dripping him for the rest of the day on shaky legs.

The thrill of the ceremonies, of the honeymoons, of being hopelessly, completely in love with Eddie had your head spinning. You were still on the high of the first two ceremonies when you'd left for Paris, forgetting your birth control on the counter of the Hills home.

It wasn't until nearly a month later, when you finally returned, still in bliss and the rush of that newly wed feeling, that you realized. Staring at the silver packet that mocked you. You hoped that maybe you'd be lucky, maybe your body was just adjusting from jet lag and the different time zones. You were dehydrated from your time in Europe, maybe that was it.

A month later, you sat in the gynecologist office, the wand pressed over your belly, showing the small blip on the screen, Eddie's ringed hand tight in yours. "Looks like you're about seven weeks along, Mrs. Munson." The doctor said, looking over at you.

Eddie's eyes shined at you, teary and wide. You were both scared, overwhelmed. "Greece." He muttered. "It must've been our honeymoon, shit- well, that makes sense."

Persephone June Munson was born February 17th, 1994.

November 1994 - London, England

"Christ, fuck, it's cold." Eddie grumbled, hands buried deep in his leather jacket, air fogging around him.

You snorted, rolling your eyes. "That's why I told you to bring a jacket." You hummed, Burberry plaid scarf whipping in the harsh winds. You held Persephone closer to your chest, she was bundled up in her hat and scarf under your own heavy jacket, but you still worried she'd still be cold.

At ten months old, she was the spitting image of her daddy. Eddie's twin through and through, shining brown eyes that were so expressive and little chocolate curls that were starting to spiral on the ends of the tufts of downy, baby hair. She was your kryptonite, your little angel, for both of you.

Parenthood fit you both very well, to the surprise of nearly all the media. You and Eddie navigated being parents like you did anything else, head first and a little stubborn. After many sleepless nights, parenting books, and the help of your own parents, you'd finally felt accomplished. Eddie didn't want to miss a second of being a dad, and you couldn't blame him, not when the most precious creation on the Earth was looking back at you.

The tour and Corroded Coffin's album had been pushed, finally releasing in September. Eddie knew he'd have to tour soon, the two of you were still working out if you'd stay or go, but when he'd been asked to play at a concert in Wembley Stadiums, headlining with Metallica and Ozzy and all the legends he'd looked up to, he couldn't turn it down.

Now, the three of you were walking down South Kensington in London, heading towards the Natural History Museum with your baby- oh, how times had changed. Eddie smirked, stepping closer to you, looking down your jacket.

"Can she breathe in there? Is she alright?" Eddie asked, eyes scanning the two of you. All he could see of little Persephone was the little pink poof that sat on top of her hat, bobbing and hitting your chin with every step.

"She's fine, aren't you Sephy?" You cooed down at her, pulling your jacket back. Eddie looked down, melting at the brown eyes that stared back at him, chubby cheeks a little red from the warmth of your jacket. "Say, quit worrying daddy, mama's got me." You mimicked a high pitched baby voice that had her giggling.

Eddie grinned, pulling you close to him, his lips pressing a sloppy, wet kiss to your cheek. The security in front of you and behind you followed closely, one holding the door while you climbed into the room. The guide waited cheerily at the front, excited to take the infamous rockstar on a private tour.

You held Persephone, still in her little hat but your own jacket shedded. Eddie watched you, how you'd coo sweetly at her, pressing kisses into her little cheeks, swaying with her when the guide would explain the areas.

Eddie felt his heart swell, boasting and filling with love and pride, and something else. Something primal and deep and lustful. It was different from before. Usually the type of thrill that came with drugs, performing for thousands, then having groupies throw themselves at his feet. Now, he felt it deep in his chest, the protectiveness he had over you, over Sephy, his little family.

"You think she'd stay down for a nap if we take her back to the hotel?" Eddie growled low in your ear, teeth nipping at your lobe playfully.

You swatted him away, rolling your eyes. "I doubt it." You gave him a pointed look. "She has like a sixth sense for when were about to fuck." You snorted playfully, looking down at your little baby.

Eddie gave a soft smile, taking Persephone from your arms, snuggling her tight in his arms. She giggled, reaching to grab onto his curls. You grinned when she did, yanking them down hard, pulling at the scalp. Eddie hissed, moving his head with her to alleviate some of the pull. "Easy, easy, sweetheart," He muttered, opening her little fists.

You told him a million times to put his hair up around her. She was going through a grabbing stage. Anything and everything. The two of you had to re-baby proof the house when she'd started crawling, her tiny hands grabbing onto anything and everything she could.

"She's got a fucking iron grip." Eddie grunted, pulling his scalp back, tossing his hair over his shoulders. He knitted his brows, looking down at Persephone playfully. "Don't you? You're just a strong lil thing aren't ya?" He cooed, excitedly, bouncing her in his arms.

You smiled at her little giggles, the faintest crease in her chubby cheeks, hinting that she'd inherit dimples like her daddy. You shouldn't be surprised at this point, she was Eddie's twin, but it still made you a little jealous every time a new feature came in and it was a carbon copy of him.

"The next one will look just like ya, babe." Eddie would wink when you'd huff to him about it. "If not, we can just keep trying and trying and trying 'til one looks like ya." He always said it like he was joking, but the way his eyes darkened, you wondered if he truly was.

Persephone had gone down easily for her nap, and you were thankful. You figured she was still exhausted from the flight. You'd flown private with the band, your parents insisted on it, which benefited the two of you more than anyone else. Her little ears hurt from the pressure, whimpering and sobbing in the little bedroom on the back of the plane while you and Eddie tried to soothe her.

Eddie had gone for a soundcheck with the band, leaving you at the hotel with Sephy, unwinding in the cool linens of the hotel. You ran your hand down the bed, gnawing at your bottom lip. The last time you'd been at this hotel in London, it was with Eddie, but very differently. The two of you had just begun... whatever you wanted to call the relationship. You'd flown out on a red eye to London when he started his European tour, letting him fuck you hard and mean, tying you up to the headboard and having his way with you.

Now, you had a baby, you were married, and life was so different.

The door clicked shut, locking gently. Eddie could hear the sound machine, white noise that washed out the busy streets below next to the crib. You held your finger to your lips, nodding towards Persephone, who napped in her little portable crib.

Eddie smiled lovingly, looking over the edge of her crib. He climbed into the bed with you, gently laying down beside you. "She been asleep long?" He whispered.

You shook your head, your nose touching his. "Just a few minutes. I fed her and she was exhausted." You smiled, hands running over his shirt, down his arms. He perked up at the movement. "I think we have some time if you want to..." You bit your lip suggestively.

Eddie's eyes flicked from you back to the crib. "Here?" He whispered, ringed finger pressing into the bed.

You rolled your eyes. "We can go in the bathroom." You nodded to the spacious bathroom on the other side of the room. "Just be quiet."

Eddie grinned wide, letting you pull him by his hand towards the bathroom. "You be quiet," He whispered, pressing the door closed softly. "You're always the one screaming."

You rolled your eyes, wiggling your pants off. "Just hurry up." You huffed, tossing your discarded clothes to the ground, bending over the counter.

Eddie grinned, dropping to his knees. He pulled the lacy little thong off, smirking at your choice of panties. "Let me taste you first," Eddie rasped, ringed hands pulling your cheeks apart, revealing your slick puffy lips. He nearly drooled. "'S been too long, baby, let me have a taste."

You bit down on the back of your hand hard, smacking the faucet on, hoping the steady water stream would muffle your whimpers that escaped while Eddie devoured you over the counter. Miraculously, Sephy stayed asleep while Eddie pounded you hard, hips snapping against yours, holding you up to look at you through the mirror, hand around your neck.

He had more adrenaline after that, seeing his cum drip and spill out of your sopping hole. He pushed it back in with his pointer finger, smirking when you whimpered, collapsed over the vanity, cheek pressed to the marble countertop of the bathroom.

Four weeks later, you were sure you'd caught a virus. Stomach lurching and exhausted beyond belief.

Eight months later, that 'virus' was crowning, pushing out of you while you swore and threatened Eddie.

Kensington Klein Munson was born on August 3rd, 1995.

February 1998 - Milan, Italy

You'd been reluctant to go. You knew getting invited to Fashion Week in Milan was a big deal, especially since your long time friend was showcasing his line there, fresh new styles curated for the runway.

"Button, just go," Your mother sighed. "Daddy and I have it covered. We've raised a baby before, and look at you, you turned out just divine."

Still, you were hesitant to leave. You never left your babies often, hating the feeling- it was one you knew all too well. It was only a few days after Persephone's birthday, it felt too soon. And Kensington was going through a particularly nasty clinging stage with you, wailing and sobbing herself to near hyperventilation when you weren't in her sight.

Eddie had coaxed you sweetly, reminding you it's only be for a few days. He knew you didn't want to travel alone, and he too had been invited, so he offered to come with you, leaving your babies with your mom and dad.

You could hardly sit through the plane ride, guilt and nerves making you tight and irritable the entire time.

Eddie pressed sweet kisses into your skin, muttering that it would be ok. You were tense with every passing second. Tense during the pre-show dinner the night before, tight lipped smile and clutching your cell phone tightly. You'd given your hotel number to your parents, and instructed the concierge to forward it to the restaurant immediately if they called.

Even the wine, your favorite from Tuscany, didn't help soothe your nerves. Pouty the whole night, ignoring Eddie's sweet touches. You'd scurried to the phone when they said there was a call for you, nearly knocking over a waitress in the process.

It was your parents calling with the girls, ready to say goodnight. "Oh, Kensie, I know, sweet girl," You cooed sweetly, and Eddie could see your own heart breaking through the phone. "Mama and Daddy will be back so soon, baby angel, I promise."

Eddie rubbed your back soothingly. He could hear Kensie's wails and blubbering over the phone, through the noise of the restaurant. "You're with sissy, and Glammy," You sucked in a breath, fighting an eye roll at your mother's outrageous name she'd chosen for her grand babies to call her. You pulled the phone away, another heart wrenching wail, making your face crumble.

Eddie wrenched the phone out of your grasp lightly, pressing it to his ear. "Is that my sweet Kensie crying?" He cooed lowly into the phone. You pressed closer to hear. Her cries stuttered, shushing temporarily at her father's voice. "That can't be my sweet Kensie crying, is it?"

"It is, dad." Persephone's grumbled voice came from the background. "She hasn't stopped crying." Even at four, she was all attitude. She might have gotten Eddie's look, but he swore she got all your sass.

Eddie bit back a grin. "Sephy, can you hear me too?" He asked. She confirmed. "I need you to be extra sweet to your sister, ok? Mommy and Daddy will be back soon."

"And we'll bring you gifts back if you're good!" You added, yelling into the phone.

Eddie glared at you lightly, rolling his eyes. Persephone seemed excited at the promise. "Kens, Seph, can you both be good for Glammy and Pop-Pop?" His younger self would be raging at the nicknames.

"We'll be good, Daddy, prowmise." Persephone said sweetly through the phone. Eddie's heart swelled.

"Good." He grinned back. "You have good dreams, ok? Call us in the morning." You reached for the phone, pulling it away from his ear.

"Have sweet dreams, my angel babies." You cooed. "Daddy and Mommy love you so much. We miss you so much."

Your mother took the phone, chatting with you for a moment before you hung up, hesitantly, shoulder's deflating in defeat. You looked tired, dull, so unlike yourself. Eddie frowned, his hand circling your waist, pulling you close.

"C'mon," He nodded, pulling you towards the door. "Let's go back to the hotel."

"But-"

"-Tell them I got sick." Eddie shrugged. "I wanna spend some time with you. It's the first night alone we've had in a while."

You smiled gently, wrapping your arms around his torso. He shielded you from the paparazzi, ringed hand shoving cameras when they crowded outside your hotel, shouting at them all the way to the elevator.

When he got you back into the hotel, his hands on your back, smoothing over the fabric of your dress. "You know what we haven't done in a while?" Eddie grinned lightly. You hummed. "You haven't let me tie you up and have my way with you in a while."

Your thighs twitched, pressing together under the dress. "Ed," You let out a breathy sigh, squealing when he pinched the fat of your ass. "Kinda hard to do that when the kids are around."

"Well, the kids aren't around now." Eddie smirked, squeezing and kneading your cheeks. "No one to bother us all week. C'mon..." He was already moving towards you, lips slotting over yours to capture your lips in a sweet kiss, tongue sliding easily into your mouth.

You melted into the kiss, relaxing for the first time since you stepped off the plane. Eddie pulled you closer, fingers splayed out on the small of your back, pressing you farther into him. His lips pulled apart from yours, soft lips pressing into your cheek gently. "C'mon, baby," He rasped into your ear. "Be my good girl."

You perked, eyes meeting his, dark, hungry eyes shining back down at you. You rolled your lips like you were really thinking it over, but your hand was already reaching for your zipper.

"Fine, but only your hand if you spank me." You warned, pointing at him sternly. "We have to sit like all day tomorrow, and I better be able to sit." You glared at him, letting the slinky dress fall to your ankles.

Eddie's grin widened, eyes lighting up with excitement. You smirked, rolling your eyes, climbing on the bed. He fumbled through his bag, pulling out the leather cuffs. You lifted a brow. "So you were planning this?"

Eddie shrugged. "Maybe. Knew we'd be alone. Figured I might as well take advantage of my opportunity." He grinned.

You snorted, rolling on your stomach and letting him cuff you behind your back. Eddie hauled you into his lap, spanking you until your ass blossomed with red splotches and you were crying out. He fucked you hard into the mattress, skin burning and nails raked down his back and shoulder.

You were limping to the show next week, only sitting through your friend's show before disappearing back to the hotel, judgmental looks be damned. Eddie had his way with you the rest of the trip, the two of you refusing to leave the hotel room, fucking hard and nasty like you used to before; before the kids and before the marriage, before you two even liked each other.

You squirmed the entire plane ride home, finding refuge in Eddie's lap while he let you curl up into his chest. You ached between your legs, ass burning, chest littered in hickies you hoped the girls wouldn't see.

Nine months later, you were back in a familiar position, screaming in pain while you pushed out not one, but two babies; twin girls. Eddie nearly fainted at the ultrasound.

Sicily Giselle and Sienna Noelle Munson were born December 1st, 1998.

June 1999 - Sharm El Sheikh, Egypt

It was an anniversary gift, celebrating your wedding date from Farrah. You loved to travel, you and Eddie both, and since you saw the feature on Egypt, you'd wanted to go.

Farrah offered to watch the kids while you and Eddie had a get away, a romantic trip to the beautiful El Fanar Beach. "Just bring me back something nice, ok?" She winked playfully.

Eddie was in paradise, literally. You, him, and a private resort a haven for just the two of you. He'd taken you shopping to the local vendors, and you knew you had to pick up a bottle of perfume. Everyone raved about the fragrance, how decadent and strong it was- one of a kind. You'd fallen in love with one, dousing yourself in it during the trip.

Eddie seemed to like it too, burying his face in your neck, wrists, chest wherever you sprayed it, nuzzling need and sweet into you, inhaling you deeply like he might lose the scent if he didn't. You giggled when he nipped at your neck, loose, flowing linen dress flying around you in the breeze of the balcony.

The water was a gorgeous turquoise, but you hadn't managed to get in it yet. Every time you changed into your swimsuit, Eddie had you crowded around whatever was nearest, bending you over or pushing you against the surface, fucking you deep and slow.

"Ed, please," You whined, his crotch digging mercilessly into you, lips sucking and nipping at the skin of your neck, still raw from earlier. "Please, I-I wanna go to the beach."

"We'll go," Eddie hummed, lips ghosting down your collarbones. "We'll go after, I promise."

"You said that yesterday." You whined, huffing when he toyed with your clit through your swimsuit. "Ed, please-"

"-You just look too good, baby, fuck." Eddie groaned. "Smell too good. They put crack in that perfume. Made you irresistible." He growled, nipping at your ear.

You giggled, relenting when he dropped to his knees, licking you slowly until you were a puddle, sliding down the wall and further onto his tongue, hands gripping his curls.

Eddie went out and bought every bottle they had of that perfume, packing it back over on the plane, his nose still buried deep in your neck.

You blamed the perfume on why you were ringing in the millennium heavily pregnant, sipping soda water instead of champagne with your friends. That damn perfume, but it had a beautiful name, one you passed on to your daughter a month later, saving the original bottle in your safe just for her one day.

Zahra Wayne Munson was born on January 19th, 2000.

March 2007- Las Vegas, Nevada

You felt a little tipsy, stumbling in your stilettos across the marbled floors backstage. It was easier these days to get drunk. Younger you would never believe that you lose your tolerance when you get older, yet here you were thirty-seven, stumbling through The Colosseum at Caesar's Palace.

Corroded Coffin had been retired for years now, since the twins, really. Eddie had agreed to do a few shows, but hung up his guitar, trading it over to be a family man instead. He still dabbled in projects, produced, and some other things to occupy his time, but he wanted to be present with the girls, with you. It shocked the world that the both of you were as dedicated parents as you were.

Now, your oldest was thirteen, your youngest seven. Your little family complete and perfect. You were still reluctant leaving them, even if they were older, but it was a special event. Corroded Coffin live in concert at Caesar's, Eddie couldn't turn it down. And the two of you would never turn down Vegas, no matter how mature you were.

"Hey there, sexy mama." Eddie slurred, drunk and flirty. You giggled, gripping onto this leather clad arm. The show had ended hours ago, the after party raging on into the early morning.

"What're you doin'?" You giggled, watching him grab at your ass, hand ducking under your dress to squeeze your cheeks harsh.

"You just look so fuckin' good baby, goddam," Eddie grinned, swaying with you in his arms. "You're so pretty. So pretty."

You snorted. "You're horny." You grinned, feeling his half hard dick against you.

Eddie rolled his tongue over his cheek. "You're right. Can you blame me? With how good you look?"

You blushed, arms circling around his neck, pulling him closer to you. "I think-I think you look really pretty too." You smiled, nuzzling your nose against the scruff of his cheeks.

He pulled you in closer at the waist, hands still firm on your ass. You knew you were too old to be acting like this, you were parents and adults, you should behave. But you couldn't get enough of him. A little over fifteen years together, five babies, and you still couldn't get enough; that might be why you had the five babies.

"I think," Eddie whispered into your ear. "I think we should go to the bathroom." His eyes lit up suggestively.

"The bathroom?" You asked, giggling.

He was already waltzing you through the crowd, towards the private restrooms in the back. He'd had you already in the dressing room, you dropped to your knees when he came in, sucking him off until he fucked you hard over the table. Just like when you were younger, when everything was new and exciting.

He was insatiable then and still now, that never changed.

The bathroom door clicked with a lock, spacious and extravagant like the rest of the room was. Eddie hoisted you up on the bathroom counter, hands roaming every square inch of your body, needy and slipping under the fabric of your dress. You giggled, throwing your head back on the mirror, letting his fingers work you open.

He pulled your thong down, black lace with 'CC' crocheted on the front; a true artifact, made in 1992 when you went to your first Corroded Coffin concert. He fucked you back stage, and you surprised him with it. Somehow, your panties made their way into the lyric pages of their next CD.

Eddie laughed, holding them up by the band, eyes widening back at you. You blushed, shrugging gently. "Surprise, baby." You giggled. "I thought you'd see them earlier."

Eddie groaned loudly, tying his hair up with the thong before plunging head first between your legs. You squealed and gasped and writhed on the counter, his hands gripping your waist hard holding you into place.

He fucked you in the bathroom, trapping you against the wall, hips snapping into yours while you grabbed at his ass. There was no need for birth control, condoms, or having him pull out. He'd gotten a vasectomy after Zahra, you were done having babies, giving up on having your boy and accepting having all beautiful girls.

Or so you thought.

You returned to Los Angeles with more than just a hangover. The Las Vegas night was truly one you'd never forget, even if you didn't exactly remember everything, because- to both of your surprises, your urine test came back positive.

Vega Jo Munson was born October 29th, 2007.

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flightfoot · 7 months

Text

Miraculous Enemies AU fanfic recs

So I was just thinking about one of my favorite Miraculous tropes, enemies au. Whether it's Marinette getting the wrong idea about Adrien from the beginning of school, or Chat being cajoled into working for his father, I adore most fics with these tropes, and I'm betting that a lot of other people do as well, so here's a list of some good ones for people to peruse!

Note: I am only listing fics that are currently completed, so you don't have to fear any of these being abandoned. They are in no particular order (or rather, they're in the order in which I was able to track them down in for this list).

cruel youth by @anyxnka

Two teenagers are chosen to wield miraculouses. Only one becomes a superhero. Weeks later, Ladybug’s lucky charm won’t stop spitting out cats.

---

i have found someone (like a nomad finds a home) by @hanaasbananas

After Stoneheart, Gabriel figured out who Chat Noir was, and forced him to work for him, rather than with Ladybug. Years later, Adrien is miserable until one night, he meets Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

---

Unstuck by @ominousunflower

Chat Noir, notorious supervillain of Paris, experiences a wardrobe malfunction in the best and worst possible place: Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s balcony. Heart pounding, Chat pins Marinette’s wrists to the balcony. She stares up at him, her blue eyes kaleidoscopic from the lights hanging overhead, her features twisted into a scowl. “Why are you trying to take my Miraculous?” Chat hisses. “Because—you—I—” Marinette splutters, her eyes dipping down below Chat’s face. “Why is your suit unzipped?” “I—well…” Chat sighs. “My zipper got stuck.”

---

one does not love breathing by @wackus-bonkus-maximus

All of Paris watched as Hawkmoth murdered Chat Noir, taking the Black Cat Miraculous for himself. Ladybug swears revenge, but her enemy—and every Miraculous in his possession—disappear without a trace. Six years later, a new team of villains launches an attack: Volpina, armed with new powers; Queen Bee, with questionable loyalty; Argos, the new holder of the Peacock Miraculous; and Cat Walker, who Ladybug hates the most. Takes place after S4 - Strike Back.

---

with this ring by @thelibraryloser

She thought “you and me against the world” had sounded like lopsided odds before, when she hadn’t even dreamed “you against me” was a possibility. Or maybe she had dreamed it, but at least in those dreams he’d had cold blue eyes and a stark white mask. The villain she’d fought today had looked at her through her partner’s own bright green eyes. It wasn’t meant to be this way.

---

Nothing Else Matters by LiquefiedStars

Marinette couldn’t figure out Chat Noir. He was supposed to be her partner, but instead ended up working for Hawk Moth. Still, her heart betrayed her and when a strong connection forms between them, Ladybug goes to Chat looking for answers, finding out more than she bargained for.

---

home is where the fight is by @rosie-b

Nadja Chamack’s voice greeted Adrien as he sat up straight, wiping his clammy hands on his pants and ignoring the black kwami floating by his shoulder. “—shocked to see our heroine fall in battle today, taking a direct hit from the akuma just as she detransformed. Parisians are torn between blaming Hawk Moth and Cat Walker for their roles in this tragedy, which ultimately revealed the civilian identity of Ladybug, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” Adrien turned off the TV and lowered his head as his vision blurred. Written for Ladrien June Day 7: Injured

---

The Great War by icebelle24

'And maybe it’s the past that’s talking, screaming from a crypt Telling me to punish you for things you never did So I justified it' The unthinkable happens, and suddenly, Chat Noir’s allegiances change. Now Ladybug stands on the opposite side of the battlefield from the boy who was once her partner, left alone to make sense of an impossible situation. At least she still has Adrien to give her hope. Or maybe this war is not entirely what it seems.

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Miss Dial by @mysticraven20

Adrien Agreste has always considered Marinette Dupain-Cheng entertaining. Whether it was the endless back and forth of their banter, the clumsiness he found so cute or the fact her anger levels could go from 1-100 in a mere millisecond; he always found there was something about her... if only he could get to know her better. Marinette Dupain-Cheng has always considered Adrien Agreste a pompous, arrogant asshole. From his constant teasing of her, to the obnoxious laugh at her discomfort and the way he could anger her quicker than any other human being; she knew she hated Adrien Agreste with all she was worth. But what happens when Adrien accidentally sends the wrong text to the wrong person and a new friendship blossoms - a friendship deeper than either have ever known? Will Marinette choose to stay faithful to the budding relationship with the boy on the other side of the phone? Or will a new job with an old foe fill the loneliness in her heart?

---

call it even by @anna-scribbles and @sha-nwa

After a year of dating, there is one thing Marinette knows for certain: it's her and Adrien against the world. Through it all, Adrien is kind, patient, and endlessly understanding—even as she tries her best to keep her secret superhero identity hidden from him along with the rest of the world. Nothing could ruin it, not even the supervillains of Paris: Hawkmoth and Chat Noir. (adrinette dating // ladynoir enemies au)

---

oh, look, there you go with hope again by @ladyofthenoodle

After the defeat of Hawkmoth and his accomplice, Chat Noir, Marinette is ready to return to her normal life, but she can't escape Adrien Agreste, who was sentenced to a fate many consider worse than prison: public school. Specifically, her public school. Still, that doesn't mean she has to interact with him, does it? Except, if she doesn't... who will?

---

Redemption by JamieHasCatEyes

Papillon has been defeated and imprisoned, but his accomplice, Chat Noir, was given a second chance. Marinette's time as Ladybug may be over, but she still has work to do if she wants to help Adrien reintegrate back into society.

---

The Son Of My Enemy by Saccha

Cat Noir never wanted to be a villain, but he doesn't have a choice. Ladybug wishes she could save him. A reverse love square, villain!Cat Noir AU.

---

metamorphosis by @peachcitt

“I was thinking about that time you hated me.” “Why?” "I don’t know." “I didn’t.” “I know.” or three years after hawkmoth's defeat, marinette is still trying to figure out her version of normal. there's also sleepovers.

---

Stealing Freedom by @rosie-b

Adrien Agreste was a good person. Marinette knew this to be true, of course; she wouldn’t be marrying him if he were some irredeemable villain. No, her fiancé was practically the opposite of evil. He cooed over babies and kittens, literally stopped to smell the roses, and always brought large bouquets of them to dates. He had trouble killing spiders and bugs, begging his partner to take on the task whenever she was around to save him. Adrien was the sweetest person Marinette knew, the most kindhearted, the most forgiving; he was almost too perfect for her sometimes. But now, Marinette knew that the same Adrien who still blushed when his fiancée kissed him was also the well-known terror of Paris, Cat Walker.

#ml fanfic rec #miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #adrienette #ladynoir #marichat #ladrien #enemies au #ml enemies au #lovesquare #ml lovesquare

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zombiekillerbiceps · 1 year

Text

Closing In

Leon follows reader home...

Note: thank you to anon for suggesting this premise, ohhhh I did not realize how much I would like writing this - and thank you everyone for your patience!

Content: 3.9 k words, 18+, cnc with enthusiastic consent, stalking roleplay, slasher roleplay, home invasion roleplay, denial, rough sex, taunting, humiliation, crying, overstim, sadism/masochism, Slasher!Leon, obsessed Leon, LeonxReader, fem reader, no y/n.

"I dunno, I just think it's kind of romantic," you say. Your hands fiddle nervously with the tassels on your throw pillow.

"He was a stalker, babe." Leon's voice hides just a hint of amusement. "He cut women up."

"Okay, but besides that-"

"Besides the... The serial killing."

"Yes! Besides the serial killing."

Leon stared at you, an eyebrow arched in judgement. You tried to stay straight faced - by God, you tried - but he had a way of half-smirking his way past your mask with his annoying, pretty face.

"Look, I'm just saying," you roll your eyes, not even sure why you keep talking, "something about... Obsessing over someone like that is kiiind of romantic. What's the point of love if it doesn't make you a little crazy? Y'know? Anne Rice would agree with me."

"Anne Rice was horny for a Confederate twink," he points out.

You gawk for a moment. But like, he's kind of right. So instead of saying anything clever, you throw the pillow at him. He deflects it with his forearm, but that gives you the opening to jump on him. You're wrestling in no time, breathless and sweaty and... Moving against each other...

You're out for lunch with your friend, Jessie, at some too-fancy Parisian style café. You sip a caramel iced latte and share a plate of rose coloured macarons. She complains about her studies, you complain about work, and you both come to the resounding agreement that deadlines suck. She complains about her last date, some butch that was more well-read than her that accidentally made her feel stupid. You don't have the heart to tell her that they sounded cool as hell. You tip-toe around telling her about Leon. It's not that you weren't proud of him, it was just... With the nature of his job, what were you going to say? Yeah, I'm seeing this guy who has a gun case built into the dresser and is super paranoid about people visiting his place and won't tell me what he does but he's like, totally a sweet guy and not some psycho? Yeah. Okay.

You stretch, appreciating the summer sun on your limbs and the peaceful breeze around your skirt. Your phone rings. Jessie snatches it up before you have a chance to, and then gives you the most scandalous, shit-eating grin you've ever seen.

"No. Don't you dare-!"

"Hiiiii lover boy," she coos over the phone.

Oh fuck, kill me.

"Jessie, give me the phone!" You reach across the table, the ceramic plate between you clattering loudly against the glass table. You freeze, feeling eyes on you. Jessie opens her mouth in mock embarrassment.

"So you're the secret boyfriend that my best friend keeps hiding from me?"

"Jessie, come on."

She listens for a moment, then laughs. You get up from your chair and walk over to her while she tries to twist away from your grasp.

"mhm, mhm - oh, sorry, I think someone wants to talk to y-"

You finally snatch it from her grasp. You give her a stare with the intensity of someone who can kill by staring. You try to keep your voice as flat as possible.

"Hey, sorry about that. What's up?"

"Is that Jessie?" He asks. He's got that... Quirk in his voice. The one that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You can feel Jessie watching you and try to keep it cool.

"Yeah, sorry, she's like, literally five years old sometimes."

"She seems fun."

"Babe, I'm kinda busy, did you have a reason for-"

"That's a pretty dress you're wearing."

You freeze halfway to sitting back down in your chair. Jessie tilts her head, giving you that concerned-puppy-dog face she did when she knew something was up.

You clear your throat and find it suddenly dry. You sit back down but you're a little clumsy, your skirt getting caught on the arm rests. You snatch it back, and then trying to regain your cool, you take a sip from your iced latte. You hear him chuckle on the other end. Did it get cold all of a sudden?

"What, uh, what do you mean by that?"

You can practically hear him grin into the receiver.

"I mean," he says, drawing out every syllable. "I can see you. And you look pretty today. That skirt will roll up pretty easy-"

You hang up on him. Mostly in panic. There was no way you were going to do that in public! Your eyes scan the area around you. Pretty cafe patio, pretty park across the street, some people going about their daily business. You can't see him anywhere. He must be fucking with you. He must have known you were going to wear a dress, it's so hot out, and where would he even be hiding?

A cold hand touches yours and you almost jump out of your skin. Jessie's taking your hand in hers, and when you meet her gaze, she looks like she's about to cry.

"I'm so sorry if I caused any issues between you, I totally shouldn't have answered it. I didn't think he'd like, get angry with you," she starts to wetly babble, swaying between guilty and protective. You love her very much, but you don't know what to say.

Oh, it's just this weird sex game we play, I promise this brooding dude who you've never met and only spoken to once is definitely a good guy and not like emotionally abusive.

"Hey, hey, Jessie. Don't worry about it. It wasn't about that he's got this... Thing. Unrelated. But uh, look, I have to go."

She frowns, almost curving her pink lip-glossed mouth into a pout.

"If he so much as leaves a scratch on you, I will kill him."

Your thoughts flit to the bite marks and bruises that are just covered by your dress. If only she knew.

You kiss her cheek, snatch up one final macaron, and take your leave. You try to control your pace, look cool, act natural. Your eyes scan the buildings and alleyways around you. You seriously can't find him.

Your phone rings.

You stare at it for a moment. Your hands are shaking a little when you answer it.

"It's sweet how much she cares about you," he says. An idea dawns on you. You nod and give an mhm sound, listening around you for anything noticeable. A church bell rings just ahead of you and you hear it echo over the phone.

"You're close," you say. You try to sound threatening. He just laughs at you.

"Obviously. How else would I know you're wearing that citrus perfume I love?"

"I wear that everyday." Your voice shakes as you speak, and you can't help but whip your head around. You half expect to see him there, but it's just some guy who gives you a dirty look.

"No, you don't. You only wear it when you're going to see friends. You usually wear the vanilla one. You like that it's so subtle."

You're a little impressed he noticed that. It was kind of sweet, really, if he wasn't totally freaking you out. How did he possibly get close enough to smell your perfume without you noticing? You start walking again. You want to catch the train home. Maybe you can trap him there.

You use the shop windows as you pass to get a better look, pretending to window shop.

"Do you think I'd look good in that," you ask, with no idea what you're referring to. You're looking past whatever is behind the glass to observe the reflection. A spot of blonde hair, maybe... He got a totally different hair cut? No. Not him.

"Using the reflection. Clever."

He hangs up.

You spin around again, desperately searching the crowd. He was a beefy guy and he moved like a panther, there's no way he was just casually blending in. But, you can't find him.

You wrap your arms around your core. Knowing you're being watched makes you want to shrink into yourself. Yet you can't ignore the excitement you feel. It was kind of romantic, really. Kind of dangerous.

You liked Leon best when he was dangerous.

You set off again, somehow walking a knife's edge between nervous and confident. Both prey and prize. You keep looking over your shoulder as you pass into the crowded underground of the subway station. It's right around rush hour and it's so packed you can hardly move. Other people are breathing your oxygen and you're just recycling theirs. It's tight, and hot, and moving at the exact speed that makes you feel like no one is really getting anywhere. You pull your purse tight to your body and try to shove past people, only to be confronted with more people.

Your phone rings. You hang up. And then, in a stroke of brilliance, you call back.

His ringtone echoes out in the tiled halls. You try desperately to find it, but it only rings out twice, then it's lost in the sea of people.

"Clever," his voice is deep on the other end. "I'm almost impressed."

"Yeah. Why don't you stop hiding?"

"Oh, I know you're eager, but I didn't think you'd want me to cut you up in this crowd."

He's impatient. You can tell by the sharpness of his voice that he's more frustrated than he admits. The threat sends a shiver down your spine, and you can’t help but picture yourself bent over on the filthy tile floor, knife to your throat, fucked within an inch of your life as people step past. The ebb and flow of the crowd pushes you towards the oncoming subway.

"What exactly is your plan?" He asks. You can hear the screeching brakes over the phone. "I know you take the 76 Southbound until Queen Street. I know you get off and walk two blocks to George Street. I know you live in a turn of the century brownstone with a heritage plaque and bathroom sink that takes forever to drain."

You step onto the 76 Southbound near the front. You press your back to the wall and watch as people get on.

"Yeah, well," you say victoriously, "I know you have to go the same way."

And then you see him. He walks directly into your trap, and realizes it too late. His blue eyes widen in realization. The door slams shut behind him.

You hang up.

Some people pile up in front of you, giving you cover from him. You watch him from behind shoulders and under arms. Open, navy bomber jacket and a grey t-shirt with black jeans doesn't exactly scream slasher killer. But, something about how casual he looks keeps your attention. He blends in, he's unsuspecting. And, to your surprise, he's grinning like a fox.

He's broad, and when he moves through the crowd, people make room for him. He scans every seat and every face with purpose. Inching his way towards the back. You realize you have nowhere to go. You start to panic. Maybe you get off a stop early? And then what, he beats you to your house and waits for you?

No, you have to get home before he does. Lock the doors before he can get in. You push closer to the door so you can be the first one off. You turn to track his progress and directly meet his gaze.

Fuck.

His expression drops, his eyes glaring at you from under his brow. You're almost hypnotized by them, frozen in place while he cuts through the crowd.

You're pinned down with nowhere to go. But, surely, nothing will happen in public, right?

He pushes past a few more people and then he's on you. He towers above you, his broad shoulders cutting out other's view of you. You notice how his t-shirt clings to his body. How well fitting his jeans are. You also notice the angry squint in his eyes from under his brow.

"Did you really think you could hide from me?" He brings a hand down to touch your hip, holding it in his grasp. You quiver against him as he leans down, close enough to whisper in your ear. "Don't you know I’ll always find you?"

You turn your head away from him defiantly. Your eyes scan the train, but passengers nearby don't seem to notice. They all have that vacant long-day- commute stare.

"No one's going to help you, sweetheart." He closes in, one arm rests on the wall beside you, his body angled to ensure prying eyes can't see. His free hand slides up your body. It caresses the curves of your hips, the softness of your tummy, the round of your breast.

You flush. Your hands come up to his chest as if that will stop him from pawing at your tits.

"Leon, seriously? Here?" You whisper it, completely embarrassed.

"I can take you whenever I want." He uses that commanding voice you've only heard a handful of times before. "You're mine."

To prove his point, his hand dips between your thighs, and he presses his fingers against your pussy over the fabric of your skirt. It's so sudden and strong, your hand goes to his wrist on instinct. He doesn't stop, rubbing hard enough to make your legs shake.

"Could probably take you right here," he mutters, his breath hot on your ear. You feel yourself get wet at the thought.

"Queen Street." The robotic, automated subway voice chimes out from overhead.

The door opens. You lose your balance, but manage to recover quickly. You move fast, hoping to put as much distance between yourself and Leon as you can. You take the stairs two at a time until you breach the surface, taking in the fresh air like it would save you. But the summer heat brokers no peace, and you know Leon isn't far behind.

You don't look behind you for fear of slowing down. You take one block normally, then decide to cut through an alley way to save time. Every minute was another he could be gaining on you.

As you take a few paces into the alley, your hair starts to stand on end. It's somehow darker here, the smell of mildew and gasoline making your stomach turn. Your cell phone rings. You answer.

"Stop calling!" You snap, betraying more fear than you mean to.

"An alleyway? You're smarter than this." Leon is unphased by your outburst.

You give in, turning your head to look behind you. He stands at the other end, the sun behind him obscuring his features.

Then he moves. With long, easy strides, he makes ground quickly. His hands are stuffed in his pockets and he whistles a slow, off-beat tune.

You turn and run. Your hand meets the corner at the end of the alley and you use it to redirect your momentum. Full tilt sprinting in a sundress down a public street in the middle of the day probably makes you look crazy. Leon made you look crazy.

You get to your brownstone on George Street. You take the few steps up to the front door. You throw your phone in your purse as you frantically rip through it for your keys.

Fuck, come on, where are they? Lipstick, tampon, water bottle, wallet FUCK! There. You snatch them up like they'll save your life. Your hands shake as you put them in the lock. It turns, and you take one last look to see Leon - oh shit!

He's at the base of the stairs! He takes them by two. You manage to get the door open wide enough to barely squeeze through. His hand slaps against the door but you throw your full weight against it. It slams in his face. He turns the knob. You struggle to hold it against him as you turn the dead bolt. Then the chain. He slams a fist against the door and you slowly back away from it.

A chilling thought dawns on you.

Back door.

You run to the other side of the house, tripping over shoes and a discarded purse as you do, cursing as they steal precious seconds from you. You turn the corner and run directly into the door. Your body stings from the impact. You shakily turn the lock.

Silence. For a few, long minutes, there's just silence. You wonder, disappointed, if he gave up, but take the time to catch your breath.

Your cell phone rings. Sweat rolls down your back as you answer it.

"I got you, motherfucker."

"Did you?" He asks. His voice is cool. Calm. "How confident are you that you got to the back door before I did?"

"I would have heard you come in." You aren't so sure.

"Would you?"

Your apartment is small. You approach the bedroom, then quickly snap the door open. It lies still. Empty.

"You don't scare me," you lie.

"I really almost had you there, didn't I?" He's calling your bluff as you move into the kitchen, "What do you think I would have done if I'd caught up to you?"

The kitchen is still and quiet too. You don't have an answer for him, anxiety knotting in your stomach. You take the turn into the living room.

His arms wraps around your waist with enough strength to lift you off the ground. You scream. You kick at him, but he doesn't budge, dragging you into the living room.

You see a window open.

"Did you climb the fucking trellis?" You ask, shocked and amused at the sight. He tries not to laugh.

"Yeah."

"What are you, Romeo?"

"You said you wanted romance," and then, his voice drops again to that cold, serious tone that makes you feel like prey, "isn't this what you wanted?"

He lets you go and you take the opportunity to run. But his hand is entangled in your hair, the sharp pain making you cry out. Tears gather in your eyes and you whimper. You grab his forearm and try to pull away, but the self-inflicted pain makes you freeze. He rolls his eyes.

"You're just so fucking predictable."

He drags you across the living room floor. It hurts, bare knees roughly hitting the hard wood floor. He lifts you up with an arm around your stomach. Then, he's bending you over the couch.

You try to push back against it. You struggle against him. He pulls your head back by the hair and you nearly sob.

"Please, don't," you whimper. He rolls his eyes at you.

"Not our safe word, sweetheart."

His words make you feel so beautifully helpless. The tears finally fall down your cheeks and, at the same time, you become aware of how soaked your cotton underwear is. His hand comes up and slaps you sharply. You whimper. He does it again, this time harder. The stinging in the side of your face is enough to make your pussy clench around nothing.

He pins you to the side of the couch his hands on your hips. He rolls your skirt up, and makes a choked sound at the sight of you. He tears your underwear down harshly.

"Please, don't," he mocks with a harsh slap on your ass. "Try and tell me you don't want this."

A finger slides along your slick, from hole to clit. He presses his finger against it just slightly but it's enough to make your hips buck. He gently rolls a finger around your clit a few times, already building that high in the pit of your stomach. He barely fucking touched you and you're already desperate to cum, breath ragged, legs shaking. Leon pulls away. You whimper in disappointment. Then his hand comes down hard against your ass cheek. Then again. Then again. Then again.

The pain is overwhelming. But god, you don't want him to stop. You want hand-shaped bruises on your ass, you want to remember this every time you sit down for the next week.

"You look so pretty for me when you cry" His hand still wet from your cunt comes up and rubs your tears away, leaving an obscene mix of your tears and your desperation for him on your cheeks. The tears keep falling anyways. Then, softly, "you do remember our safe word, right?"

You nod, but you don't say it. You want to go further. You want him to hurt you more.

“Hey, answer me when I’m fucking talking to you,” he grabs you roughly by the jaw, wrenching your face to look at him.

“Yes,” you nod, desperately. “I remember.”

“Wasn’t so fucking hard,” he says. He slaps you again, hard enough to stun you into a stupid, teary-eyed grin.

You hear his pants unbutton, then unzip, then fall to the ground, but you're so overwhelmed you can't move. His hand still in your hair, still tugging enough to remind you of your place beneath him, he lines his hips up with yours.

Then he's pushing into you. One, smooth motion is all it takes, your cunt greedily pulling him in. A high pitched moan escapes his throat, followed by a groaned "so fucking wet."

He fucks you deep and slow. Torturously slow, enjoying every minute of pleasure that he gets. The head of his cock presses against your g-spot, building the high like one boils water. Slowly. Your abdomen pressed against the couch makes it easier for him. The hour of teasing and adrenaline and painful foreplay has you overstimulated. But it’s really the slow, deep fucking that drives electricity through your body. Push and pull, ebb and flow, your face and ass stinging as he works. You’re already bordering on the edge, but his pace doesn’t allow you to go over. You just hover there. And hover there. And hover there. For what feels like hours you’re kept right on the edge without ever going over, building the tension inside you until it fucking hurts, and then you’re crying again. You want him to slam his hips into you, to fuck you into the couch, to do something to make you cum, but he doesn’t.

“Leon, it hurts,” you whine.

“It’s supposed to.”

“Please,” you beg, desperation making your voice hoarse. “Please just make me cum, please.”

“Relax.”

“Leon-”

“I said relax. Or I’ll stop right now. Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” you shake your head, hair falling into your face.

He takes his time to smooth it back, looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing in the world. He wipes more tears from your cheeks. When he speaks, though, his voice is so hard and cold.

“Greedy little whore.”

With no warning, he’s fucking into you harder. Faster. It only takes a few thrusts before you’re cumming on his cock. Your body tenses so hard your muscles scream, shaking and moaning and gasping for air. Your cunt tightens so hard you hear Leon breathe a fuck, baby. It feels like it lasts forever, and when you finally come down, you’re entirely dazed.

You’re... vaguely aware of his cum dripping out of you, hot and sticky. But for the most part you just feel like you’re floating. Leon slowly lowers you to the floor, grabbing a throw pillow and tucking it under your head. You close your eyes.

You wake again when the room is an orange glow, a blanket thrown over you for comfort. Leon is lounging on the couch reading a book, and when you stir, you immediately have his attention.

“Hey,” you mumble sleepily.

“Hey. Thought I’d let you sleep, you looked like you needed it. Why don’t I run us a shower?”

“Yeah,” you smile softly, dreamy fuzziness still clinging to you. “I’d like that.”

#leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #resident evil fanfic #resident evil smut #Slasher!Leon #yes he doesn't actually use a knife but it's the energy. you know it is.#anyways it's finally here thank you for the kind messages #requested #<- forgot to tag lol #Aaaaas always! Reblogs help me find more readers and comments are really encouraging! I read every single comment and tag :)

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whoopsyeahokay · 1 month

Text

October Sun

summary: Xavier had been acting cagey for weeks, a fact you hadn't had the heart to address since Maddie's disappearance. but with his dubious return to school and how he loitered in the periphery of Nicole and Simon's orbit, you thought it was about time to get answers. too bad one pale, cow-eyed jock had other plans.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence.

i had some serious technical issues with these parts, so my fingers are crossed that everything worked!

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.5

You felt foolish, dressed like a Parisian cat burglar, but you hadn't exactly spent your night strategizing how to avoid Wally Clark come morning. Instead, you'd pored over several small, ratty books that outlined possible explanations for human-ghost attraction.

Not the kind of attraction that makes your heart beat love songs, but the kind that draws elements together. The scientific kind that had nothing to do with what the shape of Wally's mouth might feel like against various pulse points.

Thankfully, the universe seemed to be on your side. You'd managed to slip from one class to the next unnoticed, only seeing the shy boy with the glasses and the spacey girl who roosted atop the library return bins. No towering athlete with big hands and bedroom eyes.

Jesus, girl, get a grip, you chided yourself in a voice that eerily resembled Mathilda's.

Mathilda, who you'd managed to waylay that morning by dragging her into the girls' bathroom and holding her hostage until Xavier had texted you the OK. Mathilda who'd spent the time before and after History barking insults at people who'd thought it'd been a good idea to share their opinions of Xavier aloud.

What she lacked in height, she sure as hell made up for in loyalty and intimidation. Qualities you admired and wished you could emulate. If Mathilda had chaotic, ancestral ghost powers, she wouldn't let herself be pushed around by the idea of a ghost getting the better of her.

No. She'd probably browbeat the ghost into submission and get on with her day. No swarms or storms or ectoplasmic squalls; no mother eventually stepping in to fix her daughter's mistake, cursing I told you over and over again because, yeah, she had. Sadly, Mathilda didn't share your abilities and couldn't chase Wally away on your behalf.

Frustrated, you shoved the hood of your uncle's sweater over your head and yanked the drawstrings, encasing yourself in a void of soft fabric.

It sucked. You didn't want Wally chased away. You just wanted him never to figure out that you could see, hear, or wholly and completely interact with him...Which would result in him eventually giving up or losing interest and never seeking you out again, as he'd done in your sophomore year. And you wanted that even less.

When had 'don't tell anyone' become so complicated?

Naturally, you didn't want to get your mother involved. Were wholeheartedly determined to weather the storm alone. Had been doing a decent enough job of it until yesterday, despite some minor missteps here and there. But if Wally remained steadfast in his promise ("I'm not going anywhere until you admit it"), she'd find out—she always found out—and you'd never see him again. Poof. Gone. Disintegrated into the ether; his beautiful, summer-sun soul vanished from the earth as if he'd never existed.

You couldn't let that happen.

"How's the undercover operation?" Xavier's voice penetrated the dead air from somewhere above you.

You groaned in response, loosened your hood and pushed it off to stare up at him, likely making a pitiful picture with staticky hair and a pout.

He prompted you with a twitch of an eyebrow, you rolled your eyes; he grinned, you untucked your knees from your chest and opened yourself up to invite Xavier to sit with you on the library floor.

"Who are you hiding from, again?" He asked, making himself comfortable across from you between the shelves of autobiographies—the section furthest from the door.

You teased him with a delicate smile, "No questions, remember?"

"Normally, I'd respect the hell out of that, but I feel like I should be concerned." He regarded you carefully, eyes flitting between yours as if he could summon your secrets through them. "I don't have to kick the shit out of anyone, do I?"

"I love you, Zav, and, don't get me wrong, I appreciate the thought," You really did, "but, trust me, it's not that deep."

"Okay...and how many lunches do you plan to have in the back of the library?"

"As many as I need to." You replied vaguely. He bit his lip to stop a smile and nodded. "I'm good, Xavier, I swear. I just need some space right now." You weren't going to fabricate a lie for him. Anyone else, yeah, water off a duck's back, but Xavier? It toed a line you weren't comfortable crossing.

While not entirely placated by your statement, Xavier respected it, getting back to his feet and shouldering his backpack. As he was about to round the bookshelf and leave you to your business, he paused.

"You'd tell me, right?" He peered at you over his shoulder, "If things were bad...you'd tell me?"

Without hesitation, "Yes," you assured and meant it in your bones.

His expression relaxed, "Thanks."

Xavier didn't leave the library altogether, simply walked away to give you the space you'd said you needed.

For awhile, you occupied yourself with homework—notebook in your lap and Frankenstein open beside you—taking advantage of your free period to catch up on what you'd put aside last night. It would've been a good use of your time, except...your uncooperative brain kept ambling back to Wally. To his puppysoft brown eyes; his cocky, boyish grin. Then to how he'd glided his fingers up your spine and had made your blood surge.

Shit. God. No. Stop that!

Growling inwardly, you shifted to your knees, notebook sliding to the floor, and grabbed your backpack. Dragged it toward you so you could pack up and find another place to sequester yourself. A change of scenery might help prevent your brain from tap dancing into very bad no good territory.

The pen you'd been using had rolled away when you'd repositioned yourself, now sat at the end of the aisle. Standing, you went to get it when you heard someone who sounded a lot like Nicole mutter an apology. Peeking around the bookshelf, you caught sight of her as she hurried out of the library, phone in hand and boldness in her stride.

What's that about?

Before you could apprehend it, you saw movement in the corner of your eye. Xavier reshelved the book he'd been flipping through and made a hasty exit, clearly intending to follow Nicole.

Well. Now you had to know. You swooped over to your backpack, double-checked that you hadn't forgetting anything, and strolled as fast as you dared after them.

Completely unaware that, beyond the school walls, the specter you'd cosplayed Sid Vicious to avoid was gleefully running amok.

💀___________________________

PART FOUR - PART SIX

note: next part is all Wally being about as subtle as a neon sign 💀 he's too cute, i need to give the babe hugs and snugs and dry smacky kisses all over his lil' face 💕 but that's a PART SEVEN problem 😏

if you'd like to be kept up-to-date, please join the tag list!

#Milo Manheim #Wally Clark #Wally Clark x Reader #fem!reader #Wally Clark smut #Wally Clark fanfiction #Milo Manheim fanfiction #School Spirits

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dolene · 20 days

Text

MASTERLIST LAST UPDATED: APR 5, 24

𑁍 GEORGE RUSSELL

oh so dramatic.

𑁍 CHARLES LECLERC

tying you to me. muse to my melodies. le temps de l'amour. the ketchup theory. like an unknown sign. is it too late now? oh my never seen that color blue. get back on track.

𑁍 LEWIS HAMILTON

picture me naked.

𑁍 LANDO NORRIS

curiosity kills a cat. when did the camera clicked? champion to your heart. all covered. i love springsteen, faded blue jeans, tennesee whiskey.

𑁍 LANCE STROLL

welcome to new york. internet's heart. i can see you up in the parisian painting.

𑁍 OSCAR PIASTRI

sweet memories. eye catching. goddess. bad idea, right. sparks fly.

𑁍 MAX VERSTAPPEN

full of fan behavior. miss crazy cat lady. who's fred? espresso.

𑁍 CARLOS SAINZ

good angles. get him back! pancake love.

𑁍 LIAM LAWSON

lesson in impression.

𑁍 OLLIE BEARMAN

that boy is mine.

𑁍 PATO O'WARD

love languages.

#navigation.#; duhyork talking nonsense #; duhyork answers #duhyork's artwork ৎ #miscellaneous.

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littlemissjellyfish1 · 3 months

Text

HEAVILY inspired by @meowbyacow60004 comic! Hope you don't mind my little rendition! (Lmk if you'd like me to take it down!)

The sound of heavy automaton footprints across the Parisian streets echoed against the buildings. Adrien continued towards Marinette's house, unwavering and never tiring. Asleep upon Adrien's cold, metal back; Marinette listened to the soft whirring of mechanical parts as she dreamt. Marinette jolted awake when an old lamp post flickered above her.

Noticing the change in her breathing, Adrien turned his head to look at her. "Oh, you're awake?"

Marinette rubbed her eyes and scanned the area as she spoke up. "Any reason for carrying me on your back?" She questioned.

"A few, princess," His calm and calculating voice answered. "It's midnight, no traffic, and I certainly can't let you go home alone."

Groaning, Marinette sunk her face into the nape of his neck. "You know what I meant, Adrien."

"Actually I don't, I'm just a machine," He feigned ignorance, walking along.

"Are you being satirical?"

"I wasn't designed to do this."

"So you are, then?"

"...Just a little. Maybe." Adrien smiled, a smile designed down to the last dimple on his cheek; that's what made it so uncanny and beautiful.

Letting out an exhausted sigh, Marinette felt the edges of her mouth curl up. "Good, it's like the old days."

Adrien cautiously walked across the old and fractured pavement as they inched closer to Marinette's house. "Are you being satirical, too?" He asked, breathlessly---inhuman.

Marinette shook her head into the fabric of his shirt. "Nope, I mean it." Marinette let the cool air surround her as she began to reminiscence. "I've been thinking these days...a lot." She paused, still for a moment before gripping the steel of Adrien's shoulder. "I'm sorry for avoiding you for so long."

It was funny: apologizing to a mechanical boy. Yet the ticking of his clockwork heart held enough emotion to burden Marinette with guilt, so she carried on. "I'm sorry I said those words to you. That wasn't your fault." Her grip tightened as tears welled up in her eyes. "I was the one who fell for you easily."

A short stop in the ticking, almost as if Adrien had paused his breath. Marinette spoke softly through her tears, "Your kindness...your little presents." She rubbed her eyes on his shirt, wrinkling and wetting it. "Your silly jokes, the murmur of gears in your body when I get close to you...everything..."

Not fully comprehending in the situation, Adrien began to set Marinette down. "Mari, we're here."

She let out a small "oh" and wiped the tears from her face. "Sorry...for ruining your shirt." Marinette let her hand linger over the wet spots on his back.

Cocking his head, Adrien smiled brightly. "Then what's my compensation?"

Marinette raised an eyebrow, face puffy. "Is this also a setting in advance?"

A small laugh escaped Adrien's mouth. "I guess not."

Pondering for a moment Marinette raised a question. "Okay---what do you want?"

"If it won't make you uncomfortable...how about an innocent kiss?" Adrien teased, causing Marinette to pout. "Just kidding! You don't have to; anything from you is fine!" He reassured her, waving his hands. "Even a smile can make me forgive-"

Adrien had tried to retract his statement, but he already felt small, calloused hands on his cheeks. It was a light kiss, just enough to make the pair ache for more, and yet still satisfy them for a time. Streetlights illuminated the scene like spotlights on a stage. Adrien felt a shiver run through every servo and circuit. For a moment--just a moment--Marinette swore his lips held warmth.

#miraculous #miraculous ladybug #machineboy!adrien #mechanic!marinette #adrienette #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #ml steampunk au

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galvanizedfriend · 5 months

Note

what are your top ten favorite klaroline fics?

Hello, nonnie! I see your asks have made the rounds. Really nice to see lots of rec lists circulating!

I had to give this a thought. It's very hard to come up with just 10. I could easily do a part II. 😂 But without further ado, and in no particular order, 10 of my favorite KC fics:

. The Parisian Deal by Borzoi

I honestly vary between The Parisian Deal and Paradise Lost as my favorite Borzoi fics. It depends. I think I'm in my Parisian Deal era, though. I've recced this a few times over the last few months, whenever someone's asked me for my favorites or humanity-less Caroline fics. For me, this is the best one that comes to mind. Borzoi's fics are all brilliant. I love their writing style to bits. It reads like a novel, it draws in and it grips you by the throat until the very end. This one features Klaus being called to the rescue by a desperate Salvatore clan when Caroline turns off her humanity and fucks off to Europe. Unlike her friends, Klaus doesn't threaten her, doesn't try to force her to feel; instead, he offers her a deal. And it's perfect. I love this story with my whole heart, I can't even tell you.

. In the Backseat by Lila2

After leaving Hayley as a wolf in the Bayou and earning the hatred of his entire family, Klaus shows up with baby Hope on Caroline's doorstop. He has no idea what to do with a baby, is too proud to apologize and is in desperate search of some validation, which invariably leads her back to her (just like in 5x11). Caroline is torn between being mad at him for having a baby with freaking Hayley, and also the fact that she loves kids and there's a part of her that resents him precisely because he gets to have them, when she never will. In her own way, Caroline puts him in his place and convinces him to make amends and go home, take Hope back to her mother - but only if she comes with him on the road trip. And boy, is it worth it. 🥰 It's a fic that has the baby as a catalyst for everything, at the center of everyone's woes in different ways, but it's not about the baby, in case you're a baby fic hater. And the writing is just chef's kiss.

. the birth and death of the day by @little-miss-sunny-daisy

For a good while there, this fic was my entire fandom personality. Whenever anyone gave me a second of their time, I'd preach about the birth and death of the day. I was obsessed. Kelly is a brilliant writer, so, so, so talented. I am not kidding when I saw I wish I could write like her. And the greatest proof of that is how this fic was everything to me, in spite of not being at all my cup of tea on the tin. I don't like Supernatural, I never watched more than two episodes, and the Klaroline bit here kind of takes on a secondary role to the end of the of the world. But it's such an intense and brilliant character study on Caroline that it had my whole heart from the start. Her relationship with her BROTHERS Dean and Sam is so heartfelt, and it exposes so much of who Caroline really is as a character. The plot is INSANE and AMAZING and HUGE and it's so incredible how it ties in so seamlessly with the Mystic Falls shenanigans. And then there is Klaus! When I saw secondary, I don't mean irrelevant. I just mean there's more to the story than just their relationship. But it is still brilliantly developed. Honestly, just writing about it brings me back memories. I love it so much.

. Quiet Light by @definedareasofuncertainty

I am biased when it comes to Luiza's fics because I'm a fangirl and I have been one since day one, before we even became friends. But in the years (years 🥲 we have been here so long, friend) we have known each other, her writing has only gotten better and better. It's atmospheric and understated and it has this mindfulness about it that I can't really explain. It really feels like being in the characters' stream of thinking, you get instantly pulled into it. It evokes emotions without it ever having to be minutely described, and I think that's such an incredible talent. I wish I could write like this! And Quite Light not only brings all of those things forward, but it also brings COMPLEXITIES and MORAL QUARRELLS and it was also WRITTEN FOR ME. 😌✨ Luiza thought she was getting revenge on me by torturing Elijah, but LITTLE DID SHE KNOW I actually loved it. I went into this thinking it would be just a rom-com style story (which I love), but it's so much more. By the end I was crying real tears. 🥲 It becomes such a beautiful story about the relationship between Klaus and Elijah. Honestly brilliant.

. light years by @definedareasofuncertainty

Honestly, this fic has a very specific target audience, and that target audience is ME. I'm not even exaggerating; this is one my favorite pieces of fic ever written in the KC fandom. The way a Klarolijah fic speaks to me can be so personal. 🥺 I love the Klarolijah dynamic. I really do. But it takes a very specific balance for me to feel it. It can very easily go from me loving it, to me wanting to throttle someone. And this! THIS!! This is absolutely it. 🥲 And it's just about my favorite thing ever. This is actually three mini drabbles combined into one. Each of them is written through a different POV - Klaus', Elijah's and Caroline's. And the combination of all three, the way they tell the same story through different eyes, is just !!!!!!!!! Honestly, I don't have words. This has ✨Yokan my beloved✨ written all over it and I feel it very much. Luiza has a ridiculous talent for writing things on the spot. She got prompted to write an Elijah piece, and then a Caroline piece, and then a Klaus one, and she wrote them all in like 30 minutes on one of her mini drabbles challenge, and OH MY FUCKING GOD. I hate her for how good she is. 😭 (I don't, I love her, but I also v much envy her talent).

. this is a harvest by @highgaarden

I spent a solid few minutes here thinking about which of Hannah's fics I wanted to list, because she has this huge catalogue and I've basically read all of them and have gushed over almost every single one over the years. But even though there are others that could easily be in my top 10, I always end of going back to This is a Harvest. I remember when I first read it, I closed the tab at the end and was just… Done. Not in a 'I can't stand this story/ship/fandom anymore', but in a 'this is the fic to end all fics' kind of way. And it's not so much about the style or the writing, which are both stunning, but the way the story is told. It's a canon divergence that spans over years and I felt it in my heart that this was where the story could've gone. The choices they could've made. The way Caroline's story could and should have ended. And I was satisfied. I started writing and reading KC fanfiction after TO was over because I was so indignant about the way the show ended, so unhappy that I needed to give it my own spin, and read other folks doing the same, and when I read this story I felt like I had achieved that. This is it, I can put this to rest.

Obviously, I was way too deep by then that I couldn't really abandon the fandom (even though, just between us here, I kind of wish I could), but for a whole week or two, I was at peace. This fic gave me peace. That's it.

. Into the Woods by @jinxedwood

"But Yokan, how would you like to see Klaus' part in Legacies play out?" Like this. Exactly like this. This story accepts the finale we were dealt in The Originals, and then makes something absolutely amazing with it. I love the premise, I love the mythology involved, I love how unique this take is, and I love how even though it's poignant and bittersweet, it still packs up everything about Kc that made me love this ship so much. Caroline has been in Europe for years trying to find a way to help her daughters with their Gemini situation, and then she ends up stumbling across something else entirely. While she thought the thing she most wanted to see on a brief stint on the Other Side would be Gemini witches, her heart betrays her by taking her to who she really misses the most.

. it takes a while to settle down by theviolonist

This story is so old school it was written before Steroline. It's about Tyler. But we all know who Caroline ends up marrying, so in my heart, this is really what happens before Caroline marries Stefan. And honestly, it works just as well. This story is a punch to your stomach, but it is PERFECTION in 8k words. It's hot, it's bittersweet, it's SO in character. Caroline's denial, telling herself that Klaus is there to see her because he still ones revenge on Tyler, when it becomes very obvious, very fast, as it always does on the show, that it's never about Tyler, it's all about her. UGH. Honestly, brilliant. (third fic on this list with a The National reference on the title, I SENSE A PATTERN).

. As One Wishes to Live by @lalainajanes

I had never in my life read a genie!AU, and simply could not wrap my mind around anything of the sort that wouldn't be extreme crack!fic. Imagine my surprise upon reading this story. It's bittersweet in the best possible way. At the same time it's endearing and adorable (and so very IC) to watch Caroline fumbling for a fair and non-insane way to handle Klaus, the genie Katherine accidentally gifted her with (and who just happens to look incredibly alluring), it's so very poignant to read Klaus' POV. He's Klaus in the way that he's suspicious and dismissive and kind of snobbish, really, but he's resigned to his fate. This is a Klaus who has been broken by years of enslavement as this prop who's there exclusively to serve others. Every time he mentions one of his past masters, you just get that stab - and so does Caroline. Laine is one of the most prolific and talented KC writers ever, and I have read and enjoyed so, so many of her fics, but this definitely has a special place in my heart.

. Psychedelic Kicks by @notalittlebutalottie

This is an ensemble story that has Klaroline at heart, but that gives every other character a moment to shine. And shine they do! Everyone gets their own side stories, and absolutely loved following every single one of them. Lottie made me care for characters I hate in canon, like Katherine and Kol. Even Stefan and Elena had my heart here. This fic is a journey, full of ups and downs, and it has such a satisfying end. It's also incredibly original in its setting and tone, which I think it's one of Lottie's greatest talents. It's very are for historical fics to be set in the 60s, and not only did Lottie choose this very particular time, but she also did such a remarkable job incorporating the decades' aspects into the story. Not just the fashion, and the music, and Woodstocky vibes, but the social and political unrest as well. This is a story with LAYERS, my friends, and it's incredible. I could totally see this being a TV show or a movie tbh. It's that good.

#klaroline #klaroline fic rec #klaus x caroline #yokan answers

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lady-de-mon-coeur · 4 months

Text

(There's) A Cat in My Room

AO3 link

Rated G. Language: English. 1,091 words.

Summary:

Chat Noir was the last person Marinette expected to see in her room at this time. Yet here he was, clutching at her for dear life and telling her how much he loved her. What on earth was happening?

The Representation almost reveal reimagined.

Stretching her sore limbs, fatigued after sleeping on the classroom floor, and wiping her puffy tears-swollen eyes, Marinette tried to gather her thoughts.

Despite having been so devastated the night before, all Marinette felt right now was strong determination filling her up.

Now she knew everything she needed to defeat Monarch.

She can do it. Adrien will be free. His father won't hurt his son or any of the Parisians ever again. This nightmare was nearing its end.

The only thing that was left to do before that was to take care of the akuma Chat Noir had captured the night before while she was busy watching the play starring Félix and Kagami.

***

Just when she put her graduation party dress back into the wardrobe and was about to transform, her skylight suddenly clicked, and a familiar figure came into her view.

"Chat Noir?" She asked, her eyes wide.

Yes, it was him. The person she least expected to see in her room at this time.

Chat Noir stared at her for a moment, a very odd expression in his eyes she'd never seen on him before—as if he were terminally ill, and she was the only person who was able to heal him.

The next second, he took a step forward and grabbed her in a tight embrace.

"I love you to pieces, Marinette," he whispered into her hair, pressing her to his chest, and Marinette let out a muffled gasp upon sensing his erratic heartbeat through the leather superhero suit. "I missed you so badly."

Marinette was so overwhelmed that she let him do it, but her head was buzzing with questions.

What on earth was happening? It didn't make any sense.

Yes, she knew that Chat Noir used to have a thing for her civilian self, but she was sure he wasn't being serious. Besides, he seemed to get over her a while ago, dating another girl whom he seemed to adore so much.

Yet here he was, clutching at her for dear life and whispering words of love.

Why did he come here out of nowhere to preach his love to her?

"I thought you forgot me.".

"I'd never forgotten you, Marinette. I never gave up on you. You're always here in my heart." He whispered, squeezing his arms around her.

The flashbacks of the recent past started popping up in Marinette's memory.

Chat Noir handing her the magical charm for recently de-akumatized Kagami. That was their first encounter after that memorable night.

The way he was gazing devouringly at her. The way he avoided letting his hand linger in hers, as if it were a white-hot iron. The way he smiled languidly at her. The way his eyes flickered longingly down to her lips.

The meaning of all this was completely lost on her back then. But now the realisation struck her.

He didn’t get over her.

She should have understood. He wasn't being too subtle, after all.

Somehow, the whole situation reminded her of the nightmare she once had, with her partner showing up dressed in white and suggesting that they should tie the knot. Marinette did her best to push that memory to the farthest back of her mind.

"What about your g— Wait, what's that? Chat Noir, are you... crying?"

There were sniffing and gulping noises coming from her Chaton.

He sobbed.

Marinette felt her heart clench painfully.

Seeing him like that was outright scary. She'd recently witnessed the boy she loved crying his eyes out. And now it was happening again to the person she held so dear.

What could've happened to this usually cheerful and easy-going catboy to make him so distraught?

She took Chat Noir’s face with both hands to make him look at her.

The wet tracks shimmering in the dim light were clearly visible on his cheeks.

Marinette stared in horror. Then she rose on her tiptoes and started instinctively showering his face with kisses.

She remembered the series of kisses she gave him that memorable night, when she believed for a moment that things could work out between them and they could become a couple. Those were soft and slow kisses, meant to convey the overwhelming tenderness she felt for her Chaton.

But these were angsty, desperate kisses, meant to save his life. As if she were throwing him a lifeline.

She's been distributing angsty kisses generously lately.

She forgot about her own heartbreak. She couldn't care less for why he came to her of all people searching for comfort. The only thing that mattered right now was to show him her love and affection, to try and take the pain away from this heart of gold.

Who broke this precious boy's heart? She would like to have a word with whoever was responsible for such cruelty.

She started whispering sweet nothings in his cat ears, calling him Chaton, Minou and a hundred other pet names she literally just came up with, telling him how much she loved him. Literally each and every tender word she could remember she dedicated to him, like a poem.

"You're such a sweetheart, Marinette", Chat Noir murmured eventually, his voice still a little thick from all the tears he shed. "You're always there for me. You mean the world to me."

Marinette stared at him, dazed. But the look in his eyes was so soft. She could practically feel his love and tenderness pouring all over her. She had to believe that he really meant every single word he said.

"I still don't get it. Aren't you dating someone? What about your girlfriend?"

"How did you know that I ever had one?" Chat Noir asked with only a hint of surprise in his voice, as if he were totally out of spoons to be genuinely surprised. He went on without waiting for an answer: "Well, you know what, never mind. I have something super important to tell you."

He placed his hands on Marinette’s shoulders and started gravely, emphasising every word, looking her straight in the eyes:

"You're right, Marinette, I do have a girlfriend, and I love her so much that I can't bear to hide my true identity from her anymore."

Marinette waited wordlessly for him to continue, not knowing what he was getting at with all of this, her brain being completely and utterly short-circuited due to the lack of any coherent thought in it.

She didn't know what she was expecting Chat Noir to say next.

However, it definitely wasn't "My girlfriend is you, Marinette."

#miraculous ladybug #ml fanfiction #ml representation #marichat #hurt/comfort #identity reveal #my writing #ml season 5 spoilers

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moonjxsung · 2 months

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Star I’ve cried a total of two times at Minnie going to his first fashion show ALONE, my little babbyyyyyy. He was so nervous I just wanted to hold him and put him in my pocket.

I genuinely think I keep crying cause this is the first time he’s been to one of these things without the boys, and the fact that he thinks he’s the “least liked member” and is okay with that hurts my heart, so the fact that everyone is focusing on him and screaming for his name makes me so damn happy for him 🥺

Great, IM CRYING FOR A THIRD TIME ABOUT KIM SEUNGMIN

I’m not surviving the pics and stuff, my lord 🫠🧡

- 🧡anon

NO THIS IS SOOOOO REAL I WAS ALL KINDS OF EMOTIONAL SEEING HIM IN PARIS….. he did so so so amazing and he absolutely fucking KILLEDDD every look!!! The green thneed ARE U JOKING….. ABSOLUTELY BODIED PARIS FASHION WEEK. I feel like people forget just how fucking talented Seungmin is and along with being such an amazing vocalist he looks so phenomenal in whatever he’s styled in, he’s definitely meant for the world of fashion and I’m so glad he’s finally getting the recognition he deserves. Thank u Parisian stays for hyping him up like he deserves!!! SEUNGMIN SEUNGMIN SEUNGMIN 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🤞💯💯 hang these pics in the Louvre pls

#🧡 anon #ask

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homomenhommes · 4 months

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THIS DAY IN GAY HISTORY

based on: The White Crane Institute's 'Gay Wisdom', Gay Birthdays, Gay For Today, Famous GLBT, glbt-Gay Encylopedia, Today in Gay History, Wikipedia, and more … January 7

Bayeux Tapestry - hawking

1130 – On this date the medieval poet Baldric Of Dol died (b.circa 1050). He was abbot of Bourgueil from 1079 to 1106, then bishop of Dol-en-Bretagne from 1107 until his death.

Balderic's poetic works were written almost entirely while abbot at Bourgueil. The 256 extant poems are found almost exclusively in a single contemporary manuscript which is most likely an authorized copy. They consist of a wide range of poetic forms ranging from epitaphs, riddles and epistolary poems to longer pieces such as an interpretative defense of Greek mythology. A praise poem for Adela of Normandy describes something very like the Bayeux Tapestry within its 1,368 lines. Two themes dominate his works: desire/friendship (amor)—including paedophiliac—and game/poetry (iocus).

In his collection My Dear Boy: Gay Love Letters through the Centuries, the scholar Rictor Norton publishes Baldric's many letters to male lovers.

1829 – William Maxwell is the last English sailor hanged for sodomy.

1899 – Francis Poulenc, French composer (d.1963); Poulenc was one of the first out Gay composers. His first serious relationship was with painter Richard Chanlaire to whom he dedicated his Concert champêtre: "You have changed my life, you are the sunshine of my thirty years, a reason for living and working." He also once said, "You know that I am as sincere in my faith, without any messianic screamings, as I am in my Parisian sexuality."

Poulenc also had a number of relationships with women. He fathered a daughter, Marie-Ange, although he never formally admitted that he was indeed her father. He was also a very close friend of the singer Pierre Bernac for whom he wrote many songs; some sources have hinted that this long friendship had sexual undertones; however, the now-published correspondence between the two men strongly suggests that this was not the case.

Poulenc's life was one of inner struggle. Having been born and raised a Roman Catholic, he struggled throughout his life between coming to terms with his "unorthodox" sexual "appetites" and maintaining his religious convictions.

Poulenc was profoundly affected by the death of friends. First came the death of the young woman he had hoped to marry, Raymonde Linossier. While Poulenc admitted to having no sexual interest in Linossier, they had been lifelong friends. Then, in 1923 he was "unable to do anything" for two days after the death from typhoid fever of his 20-year old friend, novelist Raymond Radiguet, Jean Cocteau's lover. However, two weeks later he had moved on, joking to Sergei Diaghilev at the rehearsals he was unable to leave, about helping a dancer "warm up."

In 1936, Poulenc was profoundly affected by the death of another composer, Pierre-Octave Ferroud, who was decapitated in an automobile accident in Hungary. This led him to his first visit to the shrine of the Black Virgin of Rocamadour. Here, before the statue of the Madonna with a young child on her lap, Poulenc experienced a life-changing transformation. Thereafter his work took on more religious themes, beginning with the Litanies à la vierge noire (1936). In 1949, Poulenc experienced the death of another friend, the artist Christian Bérard, for whom he composed his Stabat Mater (1950).

Poulenc died of heart failure in Paris on 30 January 1963 and is buried at the Père Lachaise Cemetery.

1917 – Alfred Freedman (d.2011), who was responsible for removing homosexuality from the list of mental illnesses, was born in Albany, New York. After earning his undergraduate degree at Cornell University in 1937, Freedman graduated from the University of Minnesota Medical School in 1941. He began an internship at Harlem Hospital but left before completion to enlist in the United States Army Air Corps. He left the service having attained the rank of Major.

After initially studying neuropsychology, Freedman trained in both general and child psychiatry, undertaking a residency at Bellevue Hospital. He became the chief of child psychiatry at the SUNY Downstate Medical Center, a post in which he served for five years, before becoming the first person to serve full-time as the department of psychiatry Chairman at New York Medical College, a post which he held for 30 years.

In 1972, Freedman was approached by the Committee of Concerned Psychiatrists, a group of young reform-minded doctors, who encouraged him to run for the presidency of the American Psychiatric Association. He won the election by 3 votes out of some 9,000 that were cast.

In his position as president, Freedman immediately supported a resolution offered by Robert L. Spitzer to delete homosexuality from the list of mental illness diagnoses. On December 15, 1973, the APA's board of trustees voted 13—0 in favor of the resolution, which stated that "by itself, homosexuality does not meet the criteria for being a psychiatric disorder" and that "We will no longer insist on a label of sickness for individuals who insist that they are well and demonstrate no generalized impairment in social effectiveness."

LGBT rights organizations have hailed this decision as one of the greatest advances for gay equality in the United States. Freedman himself believed that passing this resolution was the most important accomplishment of his one-year tenure as president. A second resolution called for an end to discrimination based on sexual orientation and the repeal of laws against consensual gay sex.

Alfred Freedman died in Manhattan on April 17, 2011, following complications after surgery to treat a hip fracture.

1946 – Jann Wenner is the co-founder and publisher of the music and politics biweekly Rolling Stone, as well as the current owner of Men's Journal and Us Weekly magazines.

In 1967, Wenner and Ralph J. Gleason founded Rolling Stone in San Francisco. To get the magazine off the ground, Wenner borrowed $7,500 from family members and from the family of his soon-to-be wife, Jane Schindelheim. In the summer following the start of the magazine, Wenner and Schindelheim were married in a small Jewish ceremony.

In 1995, Wenner found himself in the middle of a media storm when it was revealed that he was leaving his wife Jane after more than 25 years of marriage and had become involved in a relationship with Matt Nye, a former male model turned fashion designer. Wenner's outing, which may or may not have been at his own instigation, seems to have had little effect on his business empire, but it inspired a number of accusations regarding an alleged "Velvet Mafia" of powerful closeted gay men.

Although it had long been rumored that Wenner's marriage was an "open" one and gossip of his bisexuality was widespread and had been mentioned in gay magazines, in 1995 he was publicly outed—on the front page of the Wall Street Journal, no less—when the newspaper revealed that Wenner had left his wife of 28 years for Nye, a considerably younger man who was a former Calvin Klein underwear model.

Rumors of an alleged conspiracy to suppress the news began to circulate. Several journalists reported that the so-called "Velvet Mafia"—a coterie of powerful media, entertainment, and fashion executives who are reputedly gay—had threatened to pull advertising from any publication that wrote about the breakup.

1977 – John Gidding is a Turkish-American architect, television personality, and former fashion model.

Gidding was born in Istanbul, Turkey to an American father and a Turkish mother. He lived in Turkey until moving to the United States for college after attending Leysin American School in Leysin, Switzerland. He graduated from Yale University in 1999 with a BA in architecture, then the Harvard Graduate School of Design with a Master's in architecture.

At Yale he sang a cappella with The Society of Orpheus and Bacchus, and choral music with the Yale Glee Club, and at Harvard he sang with the Harvard-Radcliffe Collegium Musicum. He was voted one of "Yale's 50 Most Beautiful People" in 1999 by Rumpus Magazine, one of "Boston's 50 Most Eligible Bachelors" by The Improper Bostonian in 2002, one of "Atlanta's 50 Most Beautiful People" by Jezebel Magazine and as one of Atlanta Homes and Lifestyles's "Emerging Talent: Twenty Under 40" in 2008.

He is openly gay and, as of August 2013, married to dancer Damian Smith.

Gidding started modeling in 2000 as a graduate student, performing runway shows for Armani, Gucci, and Hugo Boss before being represented by Wilhelmina Models in New York City. He's also been on the covers of numerous romance novels.

Gidding moved to New York City where he started John Gidding Design, Inc. after working for two years as a landscape architect for Michael Van Valkenburgh Associates.

Gidding's start in television was with the ABC Family TV show Knock First, where he and three other designers took turns making over teenagers' bedrooms. Designed to Sell (Giddings' previous show from 2006 to 2011) was canceled in early 2011 but still airs repeats on HGTV, and Knock First is still running in syndication internationally.

He is currently best known for being the architect-designer on Curb Appeal:The Block where his team spends $20,000 on improvements to the exterior landscaping of chosen homeowners. Less expensive touch-ups are done for 2 or 3 nearby neighbors' homes to improve overall neighborhood property values.

1990 – Michael Sam is an American football defensive end. He attended the University of Missouri, where he played college football for the Missouri Tigers football team for four years. Recruited by a number of colleges, he accepted a scholarship with Missouri. He was a consensus All-American and the Southeastern Conference Defensive Player of the Year as a senior.

Sam is the seventh of eight children born to JoAnn and Michael Sam, Sr. His parents separated when he was young. As a child, Sam watched one of his older brothers die from a gunshot wound. Another older brother has been missing since 1998, and his other two brothers are both imprisoned. A sister who was born before him died in infancy. At one point in his childhood, Sam lived in his mother's car. He was once accidentally maced by police who were arresting one of his brothers.

Sam argued with his mother over playing football, as she did not agree with those pursuits. Sam often stayed with friends while in high school; the parents of a classmate gave him a bedroom in their house and had him complete household chores. Sam is the first member of his family to attend college.

After completing his college football career, Sam publicly came out as gay. If he were to be signed by a National Football League (NFL) team, which analysts think is likely, he would become the first active NFL player to have declared his homosexuality publicly.

In August 2013, Sam took the opportunity of a team introduce-yourself session to inform his Missouri teammates that he was gay, and found them supportive. He avoided talking to the media to avoid addressing rumors of his sexuality. He came out to his father a week before coming out publicly. The New York Times wrote that his father, a self-described "old-school ... man-and-a-woman type of guy", said "I don’t want my grandkids raised in that kind of environment." His father told the Galveston Daily News that he was "terribly misquoted", though The Times maintained that he was quoted "accurately and fairly."

On February 9, 2014, he announced that he was gay in an interview with Chris Connelly on ESPN's Outside the Lines, becoming one of the first publicly out college football players. If he is drafted in the 2014 NFL Draft or signed by an NFL team as an undrafted free agent, he could become the first active player who was publicly out in NFL history. Though he was projected as a third- or fourth-round pick in the NFL Draft, anonymous NFL executives told Sports Illustrated that they expect Sam to fall in the draft as a result of his announcement. Those statements caused National Football League Players Association executive director DeMaurice Smith to respond that any team official who anonymously downgrades Sam is "gutless". From jail, his brother Josh said "I'm proud of him for not becoming like me. I still love him, whatever his lifestyle is. He's still my brother and I love him."

On February 15, Sam returned to Missouri with the Tigers football team to accept the 2014 Cotton Bowl championship trophy at a ceremony held at the halftime of a Missouri Tigers basketball game at Mizzou Arena. It was the first visit to his alma mater since he came out as gay. Anti-gay activist Shirley Phelps-Roper and about 15 other members of the Westboro Baptist Church, an organization widely considered a hate group, protested his appearance. Students organized a counter-protest numbering in the hundreds if not thousands, assembling a "human wall" in front of the protesters.

In May, 2014, Sam was drafted by St Louis Rams. He celebrated with a kiss for his boyfriend Vito Cammisano at an NFL draft party. The kiss went viral.

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alrightbuckaroo · 10 months

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Happy Sunday, everyone! Hope all's well in your part of the world. Thanks to @carlos-in-glasses @lemonlyman-dotcom, and @catanisspicy for the tags, as always. Here's a the littlest bit more of my Parisian summer romance fic in which TK is doing his best to convince himself he can keep things casual. Poor boy, he's got no clue 😞

---

TK doesn’t want to fall in love, but maybe he can allow himself to flirt with infatuation, dance with the idea of it. Hold it close until the very last lyric of this song is sung.

He can welcome the rush of tide without truly diving in. He can tease the taste of it without fully sinking in his teeth. He can scratch just enough to relieve the itch before truly breaking the skin.

Maybe he can let his heart feel familiar, but not comfortable. Maybe he can revel in the euphoric feeling of rushing through it. Maybe he can experience the excitement of feeling it pass by as he falls through it; before he has to crash back down to the Earth, to the reality of his situation.

---

no pressure tagging: @reyesstrand, @catanisspicy, @chaotictarlos, @rosedavid, @welcometololaland, @bonheur-cafe, @basilsunrise, @strandnreyes, @rmd-writes, @sanjuwrites, @heartstringsduet, @wandering-night19, @irispurpurea and here's an open tag for anyone who wants to join in (tag me back, i want to read!)

#when i'm in i don't want to fall in love with you but i probably will contest and my competition is tk: 😟#my god i love my metaphors don't i?#fic: summer slipped us underneath her tongue #seven sentence sunday

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oigimi · 5 months

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. fantasy: act one .

. arthur x reader . 2k words . tw: attempted assault (not from arthur, similar to in-game content) .

this is gonna have a sequel, perhaps. lemme know what you think!

I sighed and looked out the window of my shop. The skies were blue, the wind was still, and the air was a crisp chill, perfectly suitable for autumn. The cold air was attracting a lot more customers to my cafe, which was something I both looked forward to and dreaded. We’d only been open for business for about one year, so gauging how good or bad each season was was still something I was getting a firm grasp on. This season was always fun, though. Everyone’s coffee order was different. Some people wanted caramel syrup and extra foam, some wanted it cold with no ice somehow, and others wanted things we don’t even serve. It was strange, but I always had a customer who ordered his coffee black. Who orders black coffee at a cafe? But he’d always give a charming smile and say something sweet, so I didn’t mind it. Plus, a black coffee is much less work for me.

Around 2:00 PM is when he stepped into my shop that crisp autumn day. He ordered his black coffee as usual, but I heard an unusual yet all too familiar sound.

“Ah, Vic! Quiet please, they’re doing us a service. I’ll add a bit of beef to that order, too. Don’t bother with putting it on a biscuit. How much extra would that be?” he chuckled, looking down. I peered over the counter and gasped. At the man’s feet was a fluffy Cavalier King Charles spaniel, letting out a little bark and wagging his tail as fast as he could.

I couldn’t suppress the smile growing on my face and the giggle that escaped my lips. “Aww, don’t worry about it. I’ll give it for free,” I offered, turning to grab a piece of beef.

“Are you sure about that? It’s really no trouble, I’m not about to con a lovely bird like yourself.”

“No, no. I’m happy to get something for him. You know, in my year running this place no one’s ever brought a dog in.”

“Really? Well, it’s a little small. Or, intimate, I should say. It makes sense why dogs wouldn’t be in here all that much.”

“It’s small now, but I’m gonna grow it. Just you wait.” I fixed him some black coffee and put the beef in a bag. “Here you are. Enjoy! And I hope she enjoys it too.” I smiled again and waved at Vic.

“I’m sure he will. Vic here is a boy,” he corrected, but smiling anyway. “I don’t blame you for getting confused. He fooled me too at first! Ah…” He took a sip of the coffee and sighed. “Perfect. Here. For excellent service and to support your growing business endeavors.” He took some coins out of his wallet and dropped them in a little cup on my counter.

Peering into the cup, I let out a sharp gasp and covered my mouth. How on earth did he get that much…? “A-ah! Thank you, but I can’t accept this! This is a lot of money, sir!”

“Really? I think a beautiful little thing like you should get more, frankly.” He stretched. “Well I’m off. I hope you have a lovely day.” He gave me a wink and turned out the door.

Something changed in me as soon as I saw him disappear into the Parisian streets. The air became… warmer somehow. The sun shined a little bit brighter, and all of a sudden I grinned at every little thing. Someone was out there who cared about my little cafe, the little cafe I’d always hoped for since I was small. The idea satisfied some of my fantasies from that time, if I was being honest. The man was very handsome, with a very distinct, charming smile and shining blue eyes. He moved like someone with staggering confidence, but led his dog like a kind, caring owner. He was everything I’d ever wanted, but I didn’t even know his name. How silly. How… juvenile.

He’d come in every day as of late. He’d always have something new to say, and something to compliment me on. I had to keep my cool, trying to pretend like his words didn’t send my heart into a rhythm no metronome could ever count. He’d proven himself generous and kind, always asking about my day outside of the cafe. I didn’t think to ask about him, I was too nervous. But he was sort of mysterious, and I liked that. He had the face and mannerisms of a man who was perfect for anyone as a partner. Someone you could count on to make your day.

“Maybe he’s got a secret or something…” I mumbled, cleaning up the tables during a closing shift. “Wouldn’t that be something? What if he’s like… A British prince or something? Or a wizard? A wizard would be cool.” Letting these childish fantasies about the man who would frequent my shop, leaving something a little extra (in terms of money and flirtatious exchanges) every day was a perfect time killer. His smile and shape of his lips filled my thoughts, and I began to fill in the blanks myself. What it’d feel like if he wrapped his hand around my waist and pulled me in, pushing my hair behind my ear, leaning in to warm my already burning face with his breath as he kissed my lips. Oh, how soft they looked. I’d’ve done anything to taste them…

“Or what if he’s a vampire or something? Now that would be crazy.” I laughed and closed the door behind me, making sure it was properly locked. “Ah… What a kid I can be.”

About halfway down the path to my house, I began to sense something was off. Sometimes I heard faint footprints, or see a shadow moving behind me. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I slowly sped up my walking until I was in a slight jog. Unfortunately, this tipped off my followers, and I was grabbed and yanked backwards.

Two huge men, dressed in dark clothing, pushed me against a wall, and began to tie me up. I tried to scream for help, in the loudest screech I could muster. I thrashed, I wriggled. I did everything I could, but the brute force against my body was enough to make my strongest efforts as futile as that of an infant. “Just look at them, how much do you think we could get for them?”

“A few thousand at the very least. Soft skin, shining eyes, soft hair… Yeah, this one’s a jackpot for sure. Get them back.”

“NO!” I shrieked, only to be gagged with some sort of cloth. They began to push me into a carriage, until something knocked them down off their feet. Forcing myself to look up, I saw an extremely familiar face, next to a completely unfamiliar one. It was the man from earlier! And… someone else! They locked themselves into a fight with my assailants, throwing punches that bruised entire patches of skin. They kicked, they swung, they dodged like they had superhuman abilities. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen before, and I clung close to the wall I was originally shoved into, praying nothing else would try to touch me while the two men who’d tried to capture me were becoming weaker and weaker.

“That should take care of them. What bastards. Attacking people in the dark,” the unfamiliar man grunted. He had soft-looking brown hair, a very tall build, and a nice brown coat. “Hey, are you okay?” He came over to me and offered his hand, but I just remained where I was, unable to move.

The one I’d come to know looked around, making sure no one dangerous was around anymore. “Give them some space, Theo,” he replied. “That was a truly awful thing they went through…”

Theo backed off and watched me. “Maybe you should walk them home, Arthur. Make sure they get back okay. Is that alright with you? You two seem to know each other or something.”

“Uh…” My gaze shifted to Arthur, who had the most concerned look on his face I’d ever seen. His brows were furrowed upward, eyes wide and glossy. I wiped away tears I had no idea were streaming down my face and rushed forward, sobbing into Arthur’s chest. “Th-thank you! Thank you so much! Th-tha-thank you and your friend both! I’m- I-“ As I bawled, Arthur hugged me and rubbed my back.

“There there, bird…” he whispered. “I’ll make sure you get back home. We’ll go when you’re ready.”

I nodded and looked over at Theo, giving him a quick hug too. “Thank you too.” I got on my toes and pecked his check quickly, to which he just looked downwards and cleared his throat. “It’s nothing. As long as you’re okay,” he grunted, clearly attempting to mask his flustered reaction.

“I think I’m good to go,” I told Arthur, returning to his side. He gave a small smile and linked our arms together.

“Good. Let’s go and get you home.”

As we walked, I couldn’t keep in the tremble in my steps and the slight vibration in my body. I looked around us, trying to verify our safety whenever I felt like I needed to - which was a lot.

“You fight really well,” I mumbled. “It was crazy to watch! I mean, the fast movements and how hard you could punch! It was like… Like you aren’t human or something.”

Arthur laughed and shrugged. “What can I say? You pick up a thing or two in pub brawls.”

“That’s it then? Pub brawls?”

He kept walking, declining to fully answer. “We were actually leaving the pub when we heard you. I’m glad I convinced Theo to go the short way home tonight. I don’t want to imagine what they’d do to you if we weren’t there…” He frowned again but quickly cleared his throat. “Anyway! Where do you live? In this neighborhood?”

“Yeah, actually! How did you know?”

“I could tell by your clothing and makeup. The style of it indicates someone who is by no means rich or poor. And your shop opens at 8 in the morning, giving you enough time to wake up and get ready and leave an hour before 8 to prepare. With all this, you must live around 20 minutes away, and this is the only middle class neighborhood 20 minutes away.”

I stared for a moment, completely unsure how to respond. “You got all that from my clothing?! What- what-?”

“I’m a mystery author, love! As well as an independent part time detective. It’s my business to know these things.”

“You’re good… Wow,” I huffed.

“Not the first time I’ve heard that phrase.” He looked at me, as I tilted my head. “Sorry! Sorry.”

I shook my head. “So you have a partner?”

“Me? No. Not now or recently.”

A glimmer of hope sparked itself in my heart. This was it! My handsome, romantic savior was single on top of everything! There was something inside me that felt ashamed for thinking this way after everything that happened, but it was better than dwelling on it all. I knew I’d spiral otherwise. “I see.”

We arrived at my house, and I led Arthur to my porch. “Thanks for everything. The tips, the frequent business, the conversation, the saving… It means so much to me. You mean so much to me.”

He smiled a warm, earnest smile. Different from the confident ones he sported in my cafe. This smile was comforting in a way I’d never felt before. “Well you’re welcome, dove. We should have a meal sometime. My treat.”

“Really-?! Are you sure? You already do so much!”

“Don’t worry. Once you open a world-class cafe I’ll let you pay. I’m sure that day will come soon. Alright, goodnight. I hope you sleep well. I’m truly sorry about what happened to you.”

I shook my head. “Yeah, it’s… I’m just grateful it ended how it did. You’re amazing, Arthur. Like I said, almost superhuman.”

With another smile, Arthur leaned forward and kissed my forehead. “See you tomorrow.” He poked my nose and turned around.

And as he left, I could’ve sworn I saw a pair of vampire fangs in his mouth.

————————

@drachonia since you wanted me to tag you in this! :3

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp arthur x reader #ikemen vampire arthur x reader #ikevamp headcanons #ikevamp scenarios

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effervescentdragon · 1 year

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piarles + boarding school

"So why did you get sent here?"

Charles turns away from where he's unpacking his things and trying not to cry to face his roommate. The boy is laying on his bed, his tie crooked and his posture relaxed. He is beautiful, with clear blue eyes and a wisp of a beard on his face. Charles feels too out of his depth.

"I don't know," he says, because he doesn't know what to say and not lie. "My parents thought it was a good idea."

The boy hums, dragging his eyes over Charles. He feels his cheeks burn and tries to act unaffected. By the way the boy is smiling, he is failing.

"Nice accent you have there," the boy says, and Charles tries not to freeze, or show how his hands are shaking. "Very posh, though unfamiliar to me. Not Parisian, no," he hums again. "Maybe vaguely familiar, from the TV, or -"

"I was homeschooled," Charles says quickly. "My, uh - my tutors were very - very prim and proper."

The boy's eyes flash. His lips widen into a smile, and it makes Charles' heart beat faster and his palms sweat.

"Yes. I bet they were."

Charles can't look away. He's not sure he wants to, really. He prays the boy believes him.

"I'm Pierre," the boy - Pierre, says. "Nice to meet you," he smiles, "Charles."

Charles smiles back, and then he freezes as he remembers.

He never introduced himself.

#charles is royalty #if you havent figured that out #idek i started with dps au but then it moulded into those royal aus or whatever #piarles #f1 rpf #my writing #effervescentdragonwrites #idk what im doing #short prompts (hopeful)#i know nothing about boarding schools except what i learned from fanfics and romcoms if you havent noticed

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miabrown007 · 1 year

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On Borrowed Time

The life of Paris’ Golden Boy is all shine and glamour; blindingly bright smiles, neverending parties, bargaining for just a shard of time for being happy. But that’s alright; Adrien has long given up the false hope that someone will get it. That is precisely why it’s a spectacle when she does, when she barges in like a hurricane in crimson and turns his life upside down. Heaven knows, it’s time for the wind of change. *** aka Adrien and Ladybug run into each other at a gala. then at another. and another. some would say, it’s a bonding opportunity alike moonlighting on a civilian’s balcony

gala friends Ladrien for this year's @mlbigbang, letsgoo!!

don't forget to check out the stunning illustrations @curlymakingswirlies made for this chapter! <3

On Borrowed Time (words, Teen, 1/3 chapters)

Time is of the essence, my dear, his mother always used to say, but Adrien was so young back then — just a kid trying to sneak away from his mother’s skirt in the crammed and stifling ballroom — he never really got what she meant. He had a vague understanding of it, something about time and timing being important, but he could never put a finger on the reason behind the benevolent smile on his mother’s face, and then it was too late to ask.

Now, Nathalie has her own motto.

It’s something something being punctual like clockwork and skilled in social situations like a particularly agreeable Swiss Army knife. And though Adrien can’t recite that by heart, it still holds true enough to his motherly heritage of time-themed wisdom for him to do his best to follow — even if his stomach violently contracts at the thought of the strained vivacissimo his life has to adhere to if he wants to keep up. But he understands, of course, that as the ambassador of the Gabriel brand, it's essential that everybody, all day long, like him so much.

According to his father.

In all honesty, his father would probably be ecstatic — as ecstatic as it gets for a man who has never once smiled in the last ten years — if Adrien wasn’t just an attempt at emulating the perfection expected from him at the price of sweat and tears. (Not that it's much of a concern for Gabriel on a personal level, but, quite frankly, a crying teenager in the charity gala's bathroom is the definition of a PR disaster.) But Adrien — despite his father's valiant attempts at concealing this shortcoming — isn't perfect.

He’s French.

French, with all the ups and downs, all the over-the-top romanticism and rebellious streaks, all the moony-eyed, longing stares that follow her carefully — always observing, but never close enough to reach. He can’t help it, though. The way she pulls him is like a rule of nature, a crimson inevitability. Unbidden, unconscious, unparalleled, and Adrien knows no other option than to succumb to it, to her celestial power of baring his soul and making him feel Frencher than he ever thought possible. When he’s with her, he can’t help his slowly crumbling essence surging for the surface with a new force; can’t help his heart leaping to his throat as he's being reminded — in the sweetest, most torturous ways possible — that Paris is the city of love.

And Adrien, Adrien's Parisian to the core; even if his core — doesn’t matter that he wishes to wear it on his sleeve — only shines through when he’s with Ladybug.

*** 21:00 ***

It’s ‘by pure accident.’

The charity gala’s ballroom is gargantuan, filled to the brim by the crowd of celebrities, politicians and businessmen. They bustle around — chat under the pompous chandeliers, shake on agreements by the chocolate fondue fountain, and hover on the dance floor to the string-quartet’s beat, in what appears to be a poor substitute to rehearsed ballroom dances none of them are well-versed with. The maroon tapestry could sing odes about the Parisian elite’s secrets and illicit escapades, but it keeps them all; its discretion only rivalled by that of the catering staff and security.

Adrien doesn’t care much about rumours either. He’s on a mission of ‘pure accident’. The sole objective is talking to her; a worthy endeavour, even if it only lasts for a minute.

He drifts next to her at the bar, in the most casual manner he can manage. His fingers fiddle with the cufflinks of his dress shirt; his arms by his side, prim and proper, instead of reaching out and pressing a kiss against her knuckles. But he still flashes his Frenchest smile at her, because that’s not something within his control to amend.

"Good evening, Ladybug!”

"Good evening, Adrien!" It's hard to believe, but she beams right back, as if he just made her night by this chance encounter. "It is a lovely night. You should really try the champagne," she says, her voice airy as she swirls the drink around in her own glass.

She's making smalltalk. It's only natural. After all, right now he’s no more than an acquaintance; and she definitely doesn’t have any idea that this almost stranger finds the way fizzy drink drizzles out of her nostrils, when he makes her laugh too hard, quite charming.

"I've heard it's pretty good," Adrien nods, never one to be remiss about the rules of conversation.

That is—

He nibbles on his lower lip before continuing. "What I've also heard is that you have had to come alone tonight. Again."

"Ah. Yes," she hums, her smile faltering. Then she leans closer and her voice drops low as she adds in a conspiratorial tone. "Maybe you wouldn't believe it, but Chat Noir isn't the ballroom dancing kind," she tells him — the very same excuse Adrien had to feed her — and he's compelled to laugh along; if nothing more, at the dramatic irony.

"Or so I've heard. Can't blame him too much, though. Granted, with four paws he must have two left feet."

Ladybug laughs at the stupid joke, and oh, if that isn’t the most beautiful sound. “That’s exactly the kind of thing he’d say. I don’t believe him, though,” she muses, a fond look in her eyes as she shakes her head gently, the flyaways dancing around her face like a holy halo. “I’m sure I have enough experience for the two of us, I could teach him the basics pretty fast.”

Adrien’s breath hitches because oh, the way she says she misses him beats her laugh anytime, even if only by a hairbreadth.

“I’m sure he’d like that,” he says, clearing his throat. Her words make his heart swell, and the bigger it gets, the easier it is for it to spur him on, to make him a little more daring than his father likes. "But since Chat Noir isn’t here tonight… Maybe I could keep you company instead of him?"

Ladybug just stares at him for a long second, eyes wide and mouth forming a little ‘o’, before life returns to her face and she looks away, her cheeks tinted pink under the scarlet of her mask. "It wouldn’t be the same, but I'd like that. I'd like that very much.”

"It's a da— deal, then," Adrien grins, toothy and giddy, trying as he might to swallow back the word ‘date’ from the tip of his tongue mid-sentence, because no. It is most definitely not a date.

He extends his arm to lead her to the dance floor, or out of the city hall — truthfully, he doesn’t even care as long as she stays this close — but just when he does, a cold voice calls from behind his back.

"Adrien, you have to meet Mr. Giorgio in five minutes. I hope you didn't forget about your duties!"

His shoulders sag but he hides his clenched jaw behind a million-watt smile as he turns. "Of course not, Nathalie. I'll be right there!"

An apologetic glance at his Lady is enough for her to let go of the ball gown she has just pinched up to float to the dance floor. She wraps the gloved hand so far extended for him to take around her torso.

"I'm sorry, Ladybug, it looks like you'll have to take me up on my offer another time," Adrien sighs.

"It's alright, I understand!" she says, but her sour smile makes Adrien wonder if she’s choosing her words carefully, deliberately avoiding saying ‘it’s no problem’. “Have a good time!" she offers, and he can only nod, heart aching.

He never has time. And he certainly never has a good one without her.

[read the rest of the chapter on AO3]

#miraculous ladybug #ladrien #miraculeakless #ml leak free #fanfiction #adrien agreste #ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #gala friends ladrien #on borrowed time #ml big bang #ml big bang 2022 #miaraculous writing

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