#ML x reader

[frickingnerd]

chat noir's weakness

pairing: adrien agreste / chat noir x gn!reader

summary: ever since chat noir kissed you, he's been avoiding you. when you confront him after an akuma attack, you find out why…

tags: angsty confession (chat noir to reader), implied romantic history/relationship, rejection (despite mutual feelings), angst

“chat noir–!”

your voice echoed through the streets of paris. the hero had just won another battle against an akumatized villain and was on his way home, when you had spotted him.

as you called out his name, chat noir froze. he recognized your voice. how could he ever forget you? but despite that, he hurried away again. or at least he wanted to, but you had grabbed the cat's tail and pulled him back.

“please, stay–” you pleaded, chat noir's back still turned towards you. “i– i don't know why you're avoiding me. ever since that kiss on my balcony, you haven't come back. and now, you're avoiding me…”

chat sighed softly, his saddened expression not visible to you. he didn't want to push you away. nor did he want you to think he was the type of guy who would steal a kiss and dump you afterwards. he truly cared about you! which was exactly why he needed to stay away from you…

“forgive me…” chat mumbled. “but– i don't think we can see each other anymore…”

his words hurt, like someone stabbed you right in the heart. you really had thought that you had a future with chat noir. he truly seemed interested, so why–

“give me a reason… tell me why we can't see each other anymore. i promise i'll leave you alone after that, but i need to know why”

“you're my weakness”

chat noir finally turned around to face you. there was so much emotion in his expression. anger, direct at himself. pity and love, for you. but out of all of it, sadness was the strongest one. he was sad on both your behalves. he was sad he couldn't be with you and sad that you were hurting because of it.

“you're my only weakness. and if hawkmoth were to find out about it, he–” chat noir paused, unable to finish his sentence. “if i'd lose you, i couldn't forgive myself. being around me puts a target on your back. and i won't always be there to protect you. so it's better for both of us if i just stay away from you…”

you couldn't argue with that reasoning. if word got out that chat noir was your boyfriend, all eyes would constantly be on you. and some bullies at school that would pick on you for dating their favorite hero would become your smallest problem, when a psychopath with a miraculous could send one villain after another after you. you didn't want chat noir to have to decide between saving you or keeping up his miraculous. you couldn't put the burden of choosing you and the rest of paris on him…

“i understand…” you took a small step back. “i'll be keeping my distance then…”

chat noir hesitated to leave. it felt final. if he left now, he wasn't sure if he'd see you again. perhaps you didn't want to see him again. perhaps, there would be someone else by your side the next time he saw you.

but he couldn't go back now. he made his choice. both of you made your choice! you'd have to go your separate ways. it would be better that way…

[justsomewritingblog]

Unrequited Love (Part 3)

Request:  None

Requested By:  Nobody

Pairing:  Adrien/Cat Noir x reader (unreciprocated)

Summary:  Adrien and Y/n draw.

Warnings:  None?

A/N:  *dramatic music*

Word Count:  1K+

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/n wandered over to her locker, replacing her books.  She let out a breath through her mouth in a sigh.  She bowed her head and closed her eyes in defeat, shutting the locker door.

“There you are.”

Her head shot upwards, eyes growing wide.  She turned to her left, being met with green eyes.

“Oh, it’s you.”  Y/n whispered, more relaxed.

“Who else would it be?”  Adrien asked.  Y/n let out a small humorless laugh.

“Yeah.  Who else?”  She muttered under her breath.  She knew he didn’t mean it as an insult, but he could have worded it better.

“What?”  Adrien asked, cocking his head to the side.

“Nothing.  How’s Marinette?”  Y/n asked, trying to change the subject.

“Oh, she’s fine; just very clumsy.”

It seemed to work.

“I see.”  The two became silent for a moment.

“So, I’ll see if I can talk my father into letting you come over to practice piano.”  Adrien announced, breaking the slight tension.

“I don’t want to inconvenience you, or your father.”  Y/n admitted.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

~Plagg, claws out~

“Absolutely not.”

“But, father-” Adrien started to protest.

“I will not have a near stranger in this establishment.”

“But I told her I would teach her piano.”

“Well you’ll just have to tell her no, or figure something else out.”

Adrien sighed in defeat, hanging his head.

“Yes, father.”  He said, walking out and closing the door behind him.  He walked to his room and collapsed on the bed.

“Now what?”

Plagg flew out from his jacket.

“I don’t know.  He said she was a near stranger.”  The kwami noted.

“So I’ll just have to get to know her better!”  Adrien exclaimed, a huge smile on his face.  His face fell.  “How do I tell her I can’t teach her yet?”

“Be honest.”  Plagg advised.  Adrien sighed.

“But I feel like I’d be cheating her.  What if she insists on teaching me to draw when I can’t teach her piano?”

The kwami shrugged unhelpfully.  “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”  He remarked, stuffing another piece of cheese down his throat.  Adrien rolled his eyes.

“Helpful.”  He remarked sarcastically.

~Claws in~

Adrien walked up the steps to the school the next day.  He wandered around looking for any sign of Y/n.

“Where could she be?”  Adrien wondered aloud.  Plagg stuck his head out of Adrien’s jacket.

“Where does she usually hang out?”

“I don’t know.  I only met her yesterday.”

“Well, good luck.”  Plagg offered.  Adrien sighed and shook his head.  He wandered all over the school until he entered the classroom.  He looked around and saw Y/n sitting in her seat in the back, sketching.  Adrien smiled and made his way up to her.

Y/n saw his shadow and looked up, pulling the earbuds out of her ears.

“Hey.”  He greeted.

“Hello.”  She answered quietly, smiling.  Adrien sighed.

“Look, I’m sorry, but my father thinks I should get to know you better before you enter our ‘establishment’.  How lame is that?”  He explained, using quotation marks, sitting down next to her.  She smirked.

“I don’t blame him.”

Adrien looked up at her in confusion.

“Would you like a stranger in your big, expensive house with expensive things in it?”  She asked.  Adrien smiled.

“I never thought of it like that.”  He said, folding his arms on the desk in front of him.  Y/n smiled.

“Your dad’s probably just taking precautions.  We can’t be mad at him for it.”

Adrien smiled.

“You’re so understanding.”  He noted.  Her cheeks turned a shade of scarlet, but she pretended not to notice.  She hoped if she didn’t notice, he wouldn’t either.

“I’m observant.”  She clarified.  “I see things, and based on what I see, and know about that person, or thing, make a reasonable guess.  It’s really not that special.”

“If you say so.”  He said.

“So, what did you want to draw?”  She asked him.

“Oh, uh.  I don’t know.  I didn’t really think about it.”  He confessed.  Y/n looked out the window and saw a small creature fly by.

“How about a ladybug?  That’s a pretty easy start.”

Adrien looked to her and shrugged, slightly pink.

“Sure.”  He chuckled nervously.  Y/n smirked and playfully rolled her eyes.

“So, start with a circle.  For a perfect circle, place your finger and pencil down, and turn the paper.  Like this.”  Y/n advised, showing him.  He nodded and followed her guidance.  It wasn’t a perfect circle, but it was close.

“Good.”  Y/n complimented.  “Now draw a semi-circle for the head, using the same method, just don’t turn the paper all the way around.”  She showed again, and Adrien did as instructed.  Y/n looked over at his paper and smiled.

“Perfect!”  She exclaimed.  Adrien smiled down at the paper in pride.

“You think so?”

“Of course!  Now we draw spots using more circles.”  She said, drawing spots.  Adrien followed and he drew spots.  They weren’t perfect circles, but they were close enough.

“Now we draw the line for the wings when they open them.”  She explained drawing a simple line down the back of the ladybug.  Again, Adrien followed.

“Now the legs and shading.”  They drew the legs, but when it came time for shading Adrien’s pencil stopped an inch above the paper.  Y/n looked over at him.

“What’s wrong?”  She questioned.

“Just nervous.”  He admitted.  Y/n smiled softly at him.  She reached over and placed her hand atop his, pressing it gently onto the paper.

“You can’t get better if you don’t take risks.”  She advised.  Adrien nodded and began shading in the dots, head, and legs first.  Y/n smiled and glanced up at the clock, seeing 7 minutes till class.  A few people were just starting to enter.  Y/n quickly shaded in her ladybug, and shaded the paper beneath it.

2 minutes till class.  Adrien sat his pencil down and looked proudly at his paper.  He looked to Y/n’s and his eyes grew wide.

“Wow, that’s amazing, Y/n.  It looks like it’s coming off the page!”  He commented.  Y/n looked down at it and observed her own piece.

“It’s just shading below it.  Yours looks good, too.”

“Not nearly as good as yours.”

“Practice.  You’ll get better.”  She said, smiling.  She quickly glanced at the clock again.

“You’d better get to your seat.  Class is about to start.”

Adrien looked up at the clock and his eyes widened.  He quickly picked up his stuff.

“Thanks, Y/n.”  He said, holding his things.  She smiled and nodded at him.  “No problem.”

He smiled back and headed to his seat.  Y/n slid her drawing things back into her bag and pulled out her literature book, ready for class.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/n:  Repost!

Tag List:  @hitsugayarose, @pokengirl2, @lovableah, @1-800-starkindustrie, @jesssssmaybankk, @meikoo, @yunho-leeknow

[aomiiine]

somnophilia, sexting, creampie

older bf! zayne who takes care of your needs, day and night, without fail. Working overtime at the hospital doesn’t stop him either. He’s using every opportunity to check his phone, searching for your name on his notifs. And when he does, he opens it to see an attachment. It was a photo, of his pillow squished between your bare thighs, skirt hiked up just enough to see the blooming wet patch of your cum on the cover.

older bf! zayne who sends quick texts asking you were able to take good care of yourself in his absence. Except, he knew damn well you were frustrated beyond belief. Struggling to replicate the feeling of his thick calloused fingers rubbing your clit in slow, caring circles with your own or his pillow. He could imagine it, really. You laid on his bed, hair sprawled on the pillows with your legs taking up his spacious bed, toes curling on the sheets as you played with your messy pussy, unable to sleep without your loving, more experienced boyfriend taking care of you.

older bf! zayne who hums in amusement at your reply to his message, words mostly misspelled, no doubt holding your phone with one hand. He teases you further, fingers flying across the screen to spell out a brief yet blunt text saying ‘you shouldn’t bother me at work, dove. You know how noticeable my boners are.’

older bf! zayne knew the mere mention of his cock would send you into a frenzy, getting you to form a mental image of his bare, heavy dick being pumped by his fist lazily before he plunged it into your tiny cunt. And he absolutely loved it—knowing you’d only add yet another digit into your pussy that cried for his girth to stretch you open.

older bf! zayne who’d come back home past midnight to see you passed out on the bed, nightgown bunched up above your midriff, exposing your drenched panties that hung low enpugh to give him a glimpse of your pussy. Just one look at you in the dark of his bedroom was enough to rile him up more than he already was after getting off his phone. Now, he knew he had to take care of you. He wouldn’t ever dream of leaving his girl unsatisfied no matter how long he left you hanging.

older bf! zayne who’d scoop you knees under his hands, pushing your legs up to your gently heaving chest, belt and zipper left open to let his pants hang low, cock standing at attention. He didn’t have to do much with the thin fabric of your panties, merely tucking it to the side enough for his bulbous tip to delve past your folds to notch into your entrance. He tries so hard not to force it all in with one swift thrust, willing his entire body to restrain his flexing muscles as he held your legs in place.

older bf! zayne who’d bottom in and out of you so fucking good, his fat cock nestling deep into your fluttering pussy with needy throbs that would lull you back to sleep. He’d shush you back to sleep softly, voice tight yet soothing still even as he worked to satisfy both of your needs. He’d hiss curses underneath his breath, mumbling and cooing tender praises into the dead of the night, hoping your slumbered self could hear him in your dreams.

older bf! zayne who’d pick up the pace when he feels himself getting dangerously, the coil in the pit of his stomach tightening with each slap of his balls against your plump ass. You weren’t far off either and he could tell—hands prying up for the covers of the pillows beneath your head, balling up to fists with needy mewls leaving your parted lips, your brows knitting into a look or pure ecstasy—the same look you’d have whenever you’re about to cum too, he notes.

older bf! zayne who plunges his spurting cock deep inside your spasming cunt when he cums, jets of thick hot semen spraying your womb white. Your whines grew louder, strands of your hair sticking to your sweat sheened skin. He’d stay still even when his orgasm fades, thrusting shallowly to prolong your pleasure—and hear the lewd squelches of the mess your cum made on his cock, the nest of hair below his pelvis glistening with your nectar.

older bf! zayne who pulls out slow, careful to not wake you up from your resuming slumber. He’d put your legs back down, getting off the bed while tucking his dirty cock back into his pants half-heartedly, not bothering to zip himself up. He’d walk over to the wardrobe, picking one of your clean panties to slip back up your legs, making sure it’s cups your dripping cunt snugly, not wanting a single drop of his cum to ooze out of you in your sleep.

[snail-day]

Satoru loves watching you enjoy the little things.

The way your eyes light up when you're playing your silly little games, kicking your feet and squealing at the screen during a cutscene for some dating game. Or when you’re wrapped in a blanket ranting about your show, hands flailing, voice all animated, rambling about plot twists and fictional men. He’ll just sit beside you on the couch, one arm draped across the back, legs sprawled, watching you instead of the screen. His snowy lashes flicker with every blink, lips curled into that lazy grin that makes his whole face glow.

It’s not fair how pretty he is. Those starlit blue eyes? Unfair. The way his hair’s always a little messy from carding his fingers through it? Double unfair.

And it’s all cute… until he tries to be smooth.

One second you're mid-sentence about your latest hyperfixation, and the next - lift off. He scoops you up without warning, arms snug around your waist as your legs instinctively wrap around him, breath catching in your throat. Your arms circle his neck for balance and you blink at him, wide-eyed.

“Satoru - !!”

“What?” he hums innocently, smirking like he didn’t just interrupt your little evening on the couch.

“Put me down!”

“Mm... no,” he says, walking toward the bedroom. Smiling like a fool in love. “You looked too cute not to carry.”

You squirm a little and he grunts, trying not to laugh. “Stop wiggling, baby,” he mumbles against your lips, kissing you through a grin. “I’m not gonna drop you.”

His breath is warm, fingers splayed wide against the back of your thighs, gently squeezing the plush flesh. He kisses you again, slower this time, even as your giggles bubble up between you. And his eyes, god, they sparkle when he looks at you. Like it’s your wedding night all over again.

He peppers questions between steps:

“How was your day?”

“Did you miss me?”

“Did you think about me while you were playing your little game?”

You mumble something flustered and he grins, pleased.

Finally, he drops you onto the bed - not too hard, just enough to make you bounce and squeal - and flops right on top of you, burying his face in your neck with a happy groan. “Ughhh I missed you. Missed this. Missed us.”

You can’t stop laughing when he starts kissing every inch of your face. Smooch. “Pretty.” Smooch. “Perfect.” Smooch. “My favorite girl.” You try to squirm away but he just holds you tighter, long legs tangling with yours like he needs to be touching every part of you at once.

Eventually, he rolls you both onto your sides, cradling you to his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath your ear, and his thumb brushes soft circles over your spine. Then he takes a deep breath, voice a little quieter now, more tender.

“I love you,” he whispers into your hair. A soft kiss pressed to the crown of your head.

And then, “…still mad your lockscreen’s that anime guy and not me, though.”

You snort in response.

He groans before pestering you with kisses and tickles again.

You both know that when you're fast asleep, he's going to change that lockscreen of yours to one of the numerous selfies he sends you 🩷

[charlotteking27]

I would love to see a cat noir x reader were cat noir gets into some catnip and started acting like a love sick puppy who is determined to be as clingy as possible with reader

Chat Ate Catnip!?

Chat Noir x reader

Summary: Cat Noir gets into some catnip and start acting like a love sick puppy who is determined to be as clingy as possible with you.

It was night in Paris and here you were laying on the couch next to your boyfriend cuddling him. You were watching Princess and the Frog, best movie ever, the movie was in its final scenes in ending.

"Mon amour, are you all right"?, Chat said looking at your awkward position.

"Hmm..I just have to use the bathroom", you said continuing to squeeze your thighs together to stop the irritation.

"Just go Mon amour, why hold it", Chat smiled brightly also maneuvering to sit up like you.

"I can't, it's my favorite part of the movie", You eagerly said before you saw Chat roll his eyes and pause the movie.

"There, now go Mon amour", Chat said watching you quickly get up before running to the bathroom to do your business.

Suddenly you heard a crash in the kitchen before you quickly finished using the bathroom before running into the kitchen.

"What happened, Chat are you hurt"?, You said scared upon seeing the mess on the floor. Turning the corner you saw a bag of catnip on the floor but before you could pick it up, You felt someone jump on top of you.

"ARGHH, What the-, Chat...What are you doing?", You asked in pain before looking at Chat angrily.

"Why did you do that?", But instead of answering Chat only hugged you tighter refusing to let you go.

You found the source of the problem, Chat had eaten catnip which altered him to act so weird. You tried to create some space but Chat just chose to jump on your back, staying there.

"No, don't leaveee, please", Chat adorably replied pouting with his cute lovesick eyes, making it so hard to refuse.

You almost caved...Never mind you caved in, I mean how could you leave Chat all alone, especially in this state. So you were basically his cuddle pillow.

"Were gonna be together forever and ever right...", Chat said with his infamous sweet smile that melts your heart on how adorable he looks.

"Of course baby", You smiled before gently playing with his hair.

"Hmm, baby I'm gonna go get's some water, I will be right back", you said getting up only to be dragged back down with Chat cuddling your arm.

"NO, you are not going anywhere amour", Chat grinned before laying his head on your lap.

You gave up trying to leave Chat, from his body basically on top of you and how fussy he got when you tried to move just an inch.

"It said it should last an hour or maybe more", You google 'What to do if your cat ate some catnip'.

"Luckily its nothing serious, only the cat would get super clingy, great", You smiled at the purring kitty resting on your leg.

"You tired Baby" " you grinned gently rubbing behind chat ear.

Chat gave a sleepy nod, rubbing his face deeper into your leg and enjoying the massage.

"Do you want to go to bed or stay here", You said admiring the way Chat looked all sleepy.

"Here", Chat quietly mumbled to you.

"Why don't you de-transform so you can be comfortable", You suggested before Chat quickly mumbled out 'Plagg claws in'.

You stood up before laying Chat down on the couch, "Where are you going?", Chat tiredly said before opening his eyes glancing up at you.

"I am going to go feed Plagg and put him to bed then I will cuddle you", You sweetly smiled. Yep, Plagg and Adrien love to stay over all the time so you decide to buy a small bed for Plagg to sleep in and restock on all his favorite cheeses. As you went to leave, you could hear Adrien getting up before following you to the kitchen.

"Here Plagg some Camembert", you saw Plagg quickly stuff the cheese down his belly.

"That was the best Camembert, Yum", Plagg said burping then rubbing his belly satisfied then flying towards your room to go to bed.

You dragged Adrien back to the couch before taking some of his spare pajamas he had left over here, to change into.

Adrien quickly changed before taking your hand and laying on the couch with his hands around your waist as his face buried into your neck.

You slowly lifted the blanket onto the two of you before hearing the soft purrs of Adrien sleeping before doing the same.

[grandlinedreams]

“We should get married.” 

The question in and of itself is a strange one, made more so for the fact that it’s coming from Zoro of all people – and the fact that he’s asking you in the middle of a fight. Your back is pressed against his, the heat of his skin seeping into your clothes – and you wonder if he’s gotten hit in the head too many times. Or thrown through too many things – too much of something. 

“Are you seriously saying that right now?” Your tone is incredulous as you swing your weapon, scowling as you watch another enemy drop with a cry and a splatter of blood. “We’re a little busy right now, aren’t we?”

Zoro grins, expression manic with the deepened shadows of his face from his bandana, adjusting to place the hilt of Wadou Ichimonji in his mouth. “Is that a yes?”

You have the brief moment of considering knocking Zoro out for your opponent – clearly his daily naps out in the sun have baked his brain more than you previously thought. “No!”

–

The question doesn’t turn out to be borne from a brain-based injury flaring up, because Zoro doesn’t let the subject go. He bides his time, waiting about two weeks from when he first asked before he tries again.

This time, the stars are a witness to his buffoonery – now fueled by the bottles of sake he seems to have squirreled away everywhere on the Thousand Sunny. You watch as he tips the bottle to his lips, the brief shimmer of liquid that beads at his lips before it disappears as he swallows. 

“We should get married,” he says, and this time, you scoff. It isn’t one of disdain, rather of amusement as you wait for the alcohol induced flush to rise to his cheeks. “‘m serious, you know.”

“No,” you counter softly as you scoot closer to him, reaching up to wipe a drop of sake from the corner of his lips and bring it to your own for a taste. As ever, his own choices in alcohol seem to be tailored for him and him alone – sake still isn’t your thing. “You’re drunk.”

Zoro hums, eye flicking from the night sky above to you. “Is that a yes?”

You press your lips to his warm cheek. “Ask me again when you’re sober.”

–

The third time that he asks, he’s waited so long that you’ve almost forgotten that he ever asked in the first place. After all, Roronoa Zoro has never seemed like someone interested in the intimate entanglement of marriage – you have absolutely no clue what has possessed him to suddenly ask you with this kind of tenacity. 

“We should get married,” he says, and you resist the urge to sigh as you stare at him, his head pillowed against your thigh. Below the shade of Nami’s tangerine trees, you can hear Luffy’s bright laughter intermingled with Usopp and Franky’s. 

This time you aren’t in the middle of a fight, nor is he drunk. This time, you take a moment to study his face, the dapple of sunlight through waxy green leaves, the scent of citrus in the air. You love him, you’re sure of that – as sure as you’ve been of anything in your life. 

“We’re pirates,” you answer, tapping your fingers against his cheek in an echoed rhythm of one of Brooke’s songs from the night before. “Pirates don’t get married.”

“Sure they do.” He’s watching you now, with the kind of intensity he usually only reserves for battle, and you look away. “Captains can officiate marriages. I asked Robin about it.”

You blink and let your attention shift to Luffy for a minute – you love your captain, you do. But the idea of him being serious about much of anything beyond what matters to him (food, his crew’s safety, finding the One Piece – in that order) makes you giggle. You can’t imagine him officiating something like a marriage. 

“What if I want a ceremony?” Your fingers find his cropped green hair, stroking gently across his scalp. “Those are expensive.”

He shrugs. “We’d find a way. I’m sure Nami would help.”

Your lips curve in an amused smile for a moment before it dims at the edges. “It’d be dangerous,” you point out, and he answers with a short bark of laughter.

“Not any more than shit we’ve already faced.”

“Rings?”

“We don’t need that fancy stuff.” 

Your smile fades completely, hand stilling in his hair. “Why do you think we should get married?”

There must be an edge to your tone now, because Zoro refocuses on you, all signs of mirth gone. “Because we love each other, right? Sounds like the next logical step.” 

Your gaze hardens. “So you’re asking because you think we should? Or because you want to marry me?” He sits up, and you get to your feet. 

“Is that a no?” he asks, and you pause.

“Ask me again when you figure things out, Zoro.” 

–

“Marry me.” 

This time, his voice is quiet. Soft and vulnerable – for the late hour or the intimacy of his bare skin against yours, you aren’t sure. His hand drifts up and down your back, counting the bumps of your spine over and over. 

You shift against him, face nestled to rest against his chest. “Zoro–” 

“I’ve thought about it,” he cuts you off. “So just be quiet and listen, okay?” You don’t say a word, waiting for him to continue on his own. “I don’t want to marry you just because I think that I should, I want us to get married because you...you mean a lot to me. You’re important to me, and I –” He pauses, struggling. This kind of thing is not Zoro’s forte, you both know that – but after a moment, he resumes. “I don’t see myself being like this with anyone but you. I don’t want to be like this with anyone but you. Just want you.” A moment of silence, hearts beating in tandem. 

You move, adjusting enough that you can look at him properly, the gleam of moonlight against his face. And you kiss him. Slow and sweet, eyes sliding shut as you linger for as long as you can before you pull away. 

“Marry me,” he repeats. 

This time, you don’t squawk at him like he’s crazy. You don’t accuse him of being drunk, don’t deflect him for fear that he’s doing it because he thinks he should, not that he wants to. This time, you smile.

“Yes,” you answer. “I’ll marry you.”

[jesuistrestriste]

sage ok walk with me… so imagine virgin art that’s so deep into subspace and is so painfully hard that he’s going “m-mommy, it hurtsssss, what’s wrongggg, what’s going onnnn” like I think I have an innocence kink. Are we fucking with it or no

guhhhh ….. i’m not walking, i’m sprinting with u

corruption kink goin crazy rn ! !

thinking about lulling virgin!art into subspace for the first time. he’s all wide eyes and shy touches and sloppy kisses; letting you tease his aching cock with just a fingertip while he sprawls himself out on your bed next to you.

has he orgasmed tons of times before now?

absolutely !

but as he ever come by someone else’s hands?

well.. no.

and god, it’s a whole new world of sensations. the warmth from just the pad of your digit on the underside of his cockhead is more than enough to ignite an unstoppable flame in his stomach— one that’s completely different from all the ones that were stoked via his own touch..

you’ve been edging him for only twenty minutes (denying him already seven times, if you can believe it), and that’s just about all he can take before he’s gasping and desperately reaching down to cling to your wrist. he’s squeezing so hard you think he might break it for a second..

tears gather at his lash line so fast that he doesn’t even have time to perceive the sting of it all; looking up into your eyes with writhing hips as he feels his release pulse in his balls and threaten to climb up his shaft

“i… s-something’s wrong, i dunno— hurts, hurts- nnghh—! never… never felt like this, please help me,” he’s whimpering to you, completely lost, “dunno what’s haah-happening—“

he’s looking up at you like he’s begging for some sort of salvation, like he’s too scared to find out on his own so he’s hoping you’ll push him in instead of expecting him to willingly dive in head-first. he’s much too out of it now for that.

“please— come, come— can i come? feels weird, i wanna—.. mngh..”

all you’ve gotta do is drag your index fingernail lightly over his slit and he’s gone.

his pelvis immediately bolting up to seek you, a strangled cry of confusion and ecstasy pulled straight from his chest. he’s squirting out everything’s he’s got, the fluid spilling out over his arched tummy as he squeezes his eyes shut and finally lets the tears fall.

“thank you, thank you— sorry, i’m sorry—“

he’s a mess.

[adrien-agreste-imagines]

[frickingnerd]

love triangle with chat noir & viperion

pairing: chat noir / adrien agreste x gn!reader x viperion / luka couffaine

tags: flirty!chat noir & viperion, secret identities, wholesome fluff, romantic rivalry, giving reader gifts (both), open ending

while adrien and luka are too mature to fight over you, chat noir and viperion are different!

they know their identity is hidden and that they can let their emotions run free for once, without having to worry too much about consequences! they can be much more bold than they'd be as their civilian selves!

while adrien is more shy and hesitant, chat noir is a complete flirt! that cat boy is constantly complimenting you, teasing you and just clinging to you at all times!

and even luka likes to act more flirty as viperion! he likes to be very blunt about his flirting and watch you grow all flustered when he tells you sweet nothings~

both chat noir and viperion get along with each other, though there isn't really a friendship holding them together. so while they do play fair, they don't feel like they need to do that!

they often bicker with each other and try to blatantly one-up each other in front of you! each hero tries to be the one to save you or show off their strength in front of you!

but they both have a softer, more romantic side as well! they'll often surprise you with little gifts – usually flowers, as most other gifts can be traced back to where they bought them

perhaps a reason for their more bold approach to their romance with you is that both viperion and chat noir know that a relationship with you is almost impossible anyways

even should you like them back, their secret identities would prevent them from dating you. they can't tell you who they truly are…

but should you be able to love this version of them, then they are certain that you could love adrien and luka as well! after all, they are the same person. only as chat noir and viperion, they show a much bolder version of themselves…

[junnmoon]

MLB🐞twitter core

(fem reader)

i fear it’s been 6 months #mybad. but anywho! there’s a lot of cat noir bc he’s my favorite tbh. hopefully i translated the characters realistically (prob not). especially chat. that diva.

i luv to read ur comments and stuff cause they crack me up. lmk what u thought! -🌺

[straylightdream]

𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

feedback and reblog with tags are greatly appreciate when you read one of my fics!

@straylightdream— all rights reserved. reposting/modifying of any fic, reaction, or piece of original writing posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations not allowed

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[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | Chapter 03 Chapter 03 | peace⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

The halls of the palace were empty this early in the morning, silent except for the faint echoes of your footsteps.

The stone floors were cool beneath your sandals as you moved gracefully, carrying a tray carefully balanced with food and drink for the queen.

The scents of breakfast wafted upwards—a fresh loaf of bread, drizzled with honey and sprinkled with sesame seeds, alongside a bowl of ripe figs and a small serving of olives. A jug of goat's milk rested next to the plate, the cool liquid sloshing slightly as you walked.

You had walked these halls so many times that you barely needed to think about where you were going, your feet knowing the way on their own, your movements steady and confident.

Yet, you couldn't help but reflect on how different this all felt from when you first arrived

Back then, you had been a frightened, scrawny child, uncertain if you would even find a place here.

Now, after years of training and being in Penelope's service, you had grown into someone with purpose, someone the queen trusted and relied upon

You passed by tapestries depicting scenes of Ithaca's heroes, the vibrant colors muted in the early morning light.

You often found yourself drawn to these tapestries, seeing in them reflections of the great stories Penelope would tell you.

They reminded you of the legacy you were now a part of, a history that you had once thought too grand for someone like you

As you reached a large set of double doors, you paused for a moment before gently knocking. The sound echoed softly down the empty hallway, and you waited until you heard the gentle voice from within:

"Come in."

You pushed the heavy door open, entering the room with a bowed head.

Penelope sat at the windowsill, dressed in her mourning clothes—a deep, rich purple robe, embroidered delicately along the edges. Her dark hair was partially covered by a veil, the fabric thin enough to let light pass through, giving her a ghostly, almost ethereal appearance.

She looked out across the sea, her gaze distant, the waves shimmering under the morning sun. When she heard you enter, she turned, her lips curling into a soft, tired smile.

Even as she smiled, the weight of her sorrow remained, etched into her features—a weariness that never seemed to leave her.

"Ah, ____," she said, her voice gentle, yet carrying the weight of her lingering sorrow.

You curtsied, lowering your head respectfully. "Good morning, Queen Penelope. I've come to help you break your fast."

She nodded, her smile not fading, though the sadness lingered in her eyes, a weight that never seemed to truly lift. You walked forward, approaching her carefully, the tray balanced delicately in your hands.

As you set the tray down on the small table beside her, you couldn't help but take in her tired features—the lines that worry and waiting had carved into her face, the weariness that seemed to cling to her even now.

Your time in Ithaca had been a story of struggle and small victories.

After arriving by boat those years ago, you had found yourself amidst many others—orphans and the poor—standing outside the towering halls of Ithaca, each of you hoping for work.

You remembered how you were overlooked at first, Ithaca's head servant dismissing you and a few others with barely a glance; he had been the one in charge of hiring new servants, particularly while Odysseus was gone and Penelope was wrapped so deeply in mourning that she rarely involved herself in the day-to-day matters.

His face was stern, his patience thin, as he waved you off, deeming you too young and weak to be of any use.

You had felt a deep pang of disappointment, a sense that perhaps you truly were not enough. It was a familiar feeling, one that had often accompanied you since you lost your family.

But fate had other plans.

Just as you were about to turn away, Penelope herself had appeared, her figure somber and regal as she passed by. Her eyes caught yours, and something in your pitiful state must have struck her heart.

She paused, her dark eyes lingering on you before she stepped closer, her hand reaching out to gently caress your face. Her touch was soft, her expression filled with a mix of melancholy and tenderness.

In that moment, it felt as though a small ember of hope had sparked within you—a feeling that perhaps you were worth more than the hardships you had faced.

"You look as sweet as a dove," she had murmured, her voice laced with a deep sadness. "Such bright eyes for someone so young."

It was in that moment that she made her decision. She called you forward, and despite the objections of the head servant, she decided to take you under her care.

You were to be trained under other servants until you were old enough, learning the ways of the palace, how to serve properly, how to carry yourself with grace and dignity.

Over time, you became one of her personal maidens, trusted with tasks that others were not, your bond with her deepening as the years passed.

You came to understand her sorrow and her strength, admiring the quiet resilience she carried each day.

Penelope had given you a chance when no one else would, and you felt a deep loyalty towards her—a loyalty born from both gratitude and genuine admiration for the woman she was

Now, as you stood beside her, offering her breakfast, you could see the years that had passed reflected in both of you—her, still mourning but holding on, and you, no longer that lost child from the docks but someone with a purpose, with a role in the grand halls of Ithaca.

There was a sense of pride in how far you had come, a feeling that perhaps you were slowly repaying the faith Penelope had placed in you all those years ago.

The weight of that trust and your determination to be worthy of it were always present, driving you to do your best every day.

Penelope glanced at the tray before her, her tired smile softening further. "Thank you, ____," she said, her voice quiet. "You have always been a light in these halls."

You bowed your head again, a warmth spreading through your chest at her words. "It is an honor, my queen," you replied, your voice steady, though you could not help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

As Penelope began to nibble on the bread and sip the goat's milk, she looked at you thoughtfully. "____," she said, her tone gentle but weary, "what news do we have of the suitors?"

Your face faltered for a brief moment, the exhaustion of dealing with the suitors creeping into your expression, but you quickly smoothed it out, replacing it with a cheerful smile. "Prince Telemachus is handling them well, my queen," you said brightly, though in your heart, you felt the cracks beginning to show. The suitors were restless, and each passing day seemed to test the young prince's patience more and more; you could sense that the tension was growing, and it was only a matter of time before something would need to give. "He's been taking them on hunts and finding ways to keep them occupied. He does his best to ensure they remain... entertained."

Penelope sighed, her eyes lowering to her lap. Her fingers traced the edge of the table idly, the tiredness once again visible in her features. "How long can I keep them at bay?" she whispered, almost to herself. "It's been twenty years now... how much longer must I hold them off?"

The sorrow in her voice was palpable, and for a moment, the silence in the room seemed to deepen, broken only by the distant sounds of the waves outside.

Knowing your place, you tried to offer her comfort, your voice gentle but resolute. "My queen, remember what your husband promised you?" you began softly, stepping closer. "You told me once, in confidence, that he swore he'd sooner fall into the River Styx than betray his vow to you. King Odysseus will find his way back to you, no matter the trials he faces."

Penelope looked up at you, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She gave you a watery smile, her shoulders lifting slightly as she sighed once more, her posture relaxing just a bit. "Thank you, ____," she whispered. "Sometimes... I need reminding."

As she finished her meal, Penelope glanced at you again, her expression softer. ____, would you perhaps sing for us tonight at dinner? The halls could use some joy, and your voice has always been a comfort to us all."

You smiled warmly, bowing your head. "Anything for you, my queen," you replied, your voice filled with warmth and sincerity.

☆

☆

The palace kitchens were bustling with commotion. The air was filled with the smells of herbs, freshly baked bread, and simmering stews as people moved back and forth, their arms full with ingredients, plates, and cooking tools.

Voices overlapped, cooks shouting out commands, and scullery maids scrambling to keep up with the rapid pace. The clinking of pots and pans rang out like a steady rhythm, the heartbeat of the palace.

You moved gracefully through the chaos, the tray held carefully in your hands until you found an empty space on the counter to place it down. You glanced up just in time to hear a voice raised in frustration.

"Gods above! Another request for roast peacock and olives, as if we're swimming in olive oil and gold!" The man in question was the head cook, a greying, scowling figure by the name of Argon, his face twisted in annoyance as he ranted to a younger kitchen boy. His voice was deep, roughened from years of shouting over the din of the kitchen. His hands were covered in flour, his apron stained with the work of the day.

The moment his eyes landed on you, however, his fierce expression softened considerably, and the scowl fell from his lips. "Ah, ____," he called, cutting himself off mid-rant, his eyes crinkling kindly. "How are you, girl? Did the queen enjoy her breakfast?"

You gave him a polite bow, smiling as you replied, "She did, Master Argon, thank you. Though she did ask if it would be possible to have a lighter broth for her dinner later on. She's not feeling up to anything too rich today."

Argon's face softened further, a gentle smile replacing the frustration. "Of course, of course. Anything for the queen," he murmured. But his face soon fell back into a scowl, and he shook his head, muttering under his breath. "If only those no-good suitors were anything like the queen. They want to eat like kings every single night! Extravagance, waste... they're draining the storage dry with their demands." He let out a gruff sigh, slamming a rolling pin onto a pile of dough with a bit more force than necessary.

You hummed in understanding, your brow furrowing slightly. "Perhaps I can speak with Prince Telemachus," you offered, your voice gentle. "Maybe he can convince them to bring in more from their hunts. They should replace what they take if they want to keep demanding so much."

Argon looked at you, his eyes warming as he paused his work. "You're too kind, ____. Always thinking of everyone else. A real beauty, inside and out." He reached out and patted your arm gently before turning back to his dough, the scowl still lingering but tempered by your promise. "Go on now, and watch out for yourself. Those halls are filled with troublemakers."

You nodded, offering him one last smile before turning to leave the busy kitchen.

As you walked down the quieter hall, the hustle and bustle fading behind you, you were suddenly yanked around a corner, your heart leaping in surprise.

You found yourself face-to-face with a familiar grin.

"Cleo!" you gasped, a laugh escaping you as you steadied yourself. Cleo was a striking girl—pale skin, long blonde hair that fell in waves around her shoulders, and bright green eyes that always seemed to be filled with mischief. She was beautiful, with delicate features and a playful smile that could charm just about anyone.

Cleo giggled, her eyes sparkling. "Sorry, sorry! I just had to catch you before you disappeared again," she said, her voice light and teasing. "Are you free later? A few of us girls are planning to head over to where the young suitors will be gathering after dinner. We thought we'd do a little... mingling." She waggled her eyebrows at you suggestively, her grin widening.

You furrowed your brows, shaking your head. "I can't. Queen Penelope has asked me to sing tonight at dinner."

Cleo groaned dramatically, then giggled once more. "No worries, we'll just have to use your beautiful voice to get serenaded by those dashing suitors," she teased, nudging you lightly.

You scoffed, a smile tugging at your lips, though you couldn't help but feel a pang of concern. "You know better than to be fooling around with those suitors, Cleo," you said, your tone more serious. "They aren't interested in anything more than fleeting entertainment. You could get hurt."

Cleo just rolled her eyes, her expression shifting to one of nonchalance. "Oh, ____, you worry too much. They're rich, and we're just servants. I'm just having fun while it lasts. It's harmless." She waved her hand dismissively, her green eyes twinkling with defiance. "Not all of us have a handsome prince practically hanging on our arm."

You blinked, feeling your cheeks grow warm at her words. "Cleo, it's not like that," you stammered, waving her off, but she just laughed, giving you a knowing look before skipping away down the hall, her laughter echoing behind her.

You watched her go, your face still flushed, before you shook your head, letting out a sigh. You had to get back to your duties, and today that meant ensuring you completed Penelope's request.

As a personal handmaiden, your duties varied greatly, often requiring you to attend to the queen's comfort, whether it was keeping her space tidy, arranging her garments, or fetching whatever she needed; but today, all the queen asked of you was to bring music back to the halls.

You headed towards a small shed built on the edge of the palace grounds, a place dedicated solely for your instruments.

Not too long after you had settled into the palace, Penelope had discovered your talent for singing. She had been utterly moved, telling you that your voice was the first thing that had stirred her heart since her husband left for war.

Wanting to nurture your gift, she had this little structure built to hold the growing pile of instruments she would acquire for you.

Whenever Penelope came across a unique or exotic instrument—whether it be at a market, a gift from a visiting dignitary, or a trinket discovered in the palace storerooms—she would have it sent to you.

You always seemed to master whatever instrument she placed in your hands, your fingers learning the strings, keys, or beats with an ease that brought joy to her otherwise weary heart.

The inside of the shed was filled with an assortment of Greek instruments—lyres of varying sizes, an aulos, a kithara, and a pandura.

But there were also instruments that were much more exotic: a Chinese guzheng with its shimmering strings, a small djembe drum with intricate carvings, brought by a trader from distant African lands, and even an erhu with its hauntingly beautiful tone.

Penelope loved seeing you interact with these exotic gifts, marveling at how easily you brought each one to life with music.

You stepped into the shed, the familiar smell of polished wood and aged parchment wrapping around you like a comforting embrace.

You selected your favorite lyre, the one Penelope had given you first, and turned back towards the private courtyard—a space often used for rehearsing or practicing away from the prying eyes of the palace.

The courtyard was quiet, filled with blooming flowers and shaded by tall olive trees, providing you with the tranquility you needed.

You began practicing the song the queen had requested, your voice rising softly amidst the rustling leaves and the gentle breeze."I weep for you, my lost love, across the endless sea, and still my heart will find you, where the wild winds are free..."

The song was one of love and loss, a haunting melody of tragedy and reunion. It was a ballad you created for her; a tale of lovers separated by fate, only to find each other again through trials and tears.

As you sang, you did not notice how the sun seemed to shine down on you a little brighter, as if the heavens themselves were listening.

The small flowers around you swayed gently, their blossoms leaning towards you as though you were their light.

The air seemed to hum in harmony, a warmth spreading through the courtyard, and the leaves of the olive trees rustled softly, almost in applause.

There was a beauty in the moment that felt almost divine, as if the earth and sky were united by the sound of your voice, each note resonating with the hope and pain carried in the song.

And as the last note rung out and you struck the final chord on the lyre, you felt a warmth roll over you, like the embrace of sunlight on a cold day.

A low voice sighed from nearby, whispering, "Gods, I don't think I could ever tire of hearing you sing..."

Startled, you opened your eyes, your gaze shifting towards the voice.

Leaning casually against the trunk of a tall cypress tree stood a young man, his presence subtly commanding the tranquil courtyard. His hair, dark and curly, fell in messy waves around his face, some strands clinging stubbornly to his forehead and cheekbones.

He was dressed in the fine garments of royalty—a rich, deep blue himation draped over a white tunic, the fabric of which was adorned with golden embroidery along its edges.

His skin held a warm, sun-kissed hue, with faint traces of stubble gracing his jawline and upper lip, giving him a rugged, almost wild look. His build was lean but solid, showing a life that spoke of training and discipline.

Though youthful, there was a quiet intensity in his sharp features, a hint of something deeper beneath his calm, collected exterior. He seemed almost a part of the earth itself, grounded, unwavering, and watching.

You breathed out softly, "Prince Telemachus."

The young man's smile widened at the sound of your voice, his eyes lighting up with a mix of admiration and warmth as he began making his way over to you, his footsteps quiet against the stone pathway.

Telemachus reached you and, without a hint of hesitation, plopped himself down on the grass beside you.

Internally, you wanted to fret about him getting his fine clothes dirty, but you knew better by now—Telemachus had always been one to ignore such trivial concerns, brushing them off with that same carefree grin.

He looked at you, his eyes twinkling with a boyish delight. "I swear, I could listen to you sing that a hundred times over. Especially the part where you..." He cleared his throat, attempting to mimic a line, though his voice wobbled in a way that was both charming and utterly off-key. "...Wᵉeᵖ fᵒr ʸoᵘ, mʸ lᵒsᵗ lᵒvᵉ..."

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound spilling out as you shook your head, nudging his leg gently. "Not quite, my prince. Perhaps leave the singing to those of us who aren't heirs to Ithaca," you teased, setting the lyre aside. He chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender.

Before he leaned back, though, he hesitated. "Wait a second..." he murmured, and his fingers reached out, brushing away a stray lock of hair that had fallen over your cheek.

Your breath caught as he leaned in closer, his hand lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

His eyes met yours, the warmth in them somehow soft yet piercing. His lips curled into a smile, his gaze holding yours as he hummed in approval. "...There."

The space between you seemed to vanish, and your pulse quickened, your heart racing over this simple, fleeting touch.

You swallowed, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks as you looked back at him, your thoughts whirling. Surely he could hear the drumming of your heart?

But then he pulled away, completely relaxed, as though he hadn't just sent you into a whirlwind of overthinking.

Telemachus stretched back, lying flat on the grass with a contented sigh, his arms tucked behind his head as a makeshift pillow. His eyes drifted closed, his face bathed in the golden light of the sun.

His expression was carefree, as though he hadn't a worry in the world, and you watched the way the sunlight traced the lines of his jaw, highlighting the boyish softness that lingered in his face.

His curls shone like burnished bronze, his skin glowing with the warmth of someone untouched by the weight he carried.

You couldn't help but think how effortlessly at ease he seemed, oblivious to the way he'd set your heart into overdrive.

Suddenly, he popped open an eye, startling you out of your thoughts. You quickly looked down, fiddling with the strings of your lyre, pretending to adjust them.

Telemachus sat up, his gaze fixed on you, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Mother told me you'll be singing tonight," he said, his voice soft.

You nodded, your eyes still cast downward. "Yes, my prince, that is correct."

Telemachus hummed, absently toying with a blade of grass between his fingers. "Will you be playing her favorite song?" he asked, his tone curious.

You looked up, meeting his gaze. "Of course, my prince," you replied. His mother's favorite song was one you knew by heart, each note infused with the hope she carried through the years of waiting.

Telemachus' eyes softened, his smile turning sad. He looked up at you, his gaze earnest. "I'm glad," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I fear it's the only thing that's been keeping her 'here'."

You both knew what he meant. The weight of the years was heavy on her, and there were moments it seemed her spirit had almost drifted away.

There was a silence between you, the kind that held shared understanding, until suddenly, Telemachus' lips curled into a smirk. His features glowed with a mischievous charm, his gaze twinkling as he leaned closer.

You couldn't help but notice the light scatter of freckles across the bridge of his nose, almost hidden beneath the shade of his dark curls.

"Tell me, ____," he said, his voice teasing as he looked up at you from under his long lashes, "will you ever write a song for me?"

Your lips pressed into a thin line as your heart raced, warmth rushing to your cheeks.

Little did the prince know, you had written hundreds of songs about him—about the love you harbored for him but were too afraid to speak of. You turned away slightly, trying to calm yourself before stuttering out, "O-of course, my prince. All you need to do is ask."

Telemachus chuckled, the sound soft and almost affectionate. "It's okay," he said, shaking his head, still toying with the blade of grass. "I'd rather you write one for me without asking, for me to be your muse. Otherwise, it wouldn't be any better than me paying for a song, would it?"

Before either of you could say anything more, loud voices cut through the tranquility of the courtyard.

You looked up, startled, to see a group of suitors ambling down the courtyard, their voices echoing off the palace walls. They were dressed in hunting gear—thick tunics, leather belts, and their bows slung across their backs.

The men spoke loudly, laughing amongst themselves, seemingly oblivious to their surroundings.

Telemachus let out a groan, throwing his head back, cursing softly under his breath as he stood up, brushing the grass off his garments.

The group of suitors moved closer, one of them impatiently calling out, "Little Wolf! We're waiting for you; hurry up! We want to hunt a bit before we head back for dinner."

Another laughed, elbowing his friend as he added, "Maybe we can charm some 'desserts' out of a servant or two while we're at it." The rest of them laughed in agreement.

Telemachus cast a glance down at you, his eyes softening for a moment as if checking to see if you were alright. But after noticing that you seemed unbothered by their crassness, he frowned, turning back to the suitors. "It's uncouth for you all to lust after another household's servants," he said, his voice stern.

One of the suitors laughed him off, shaking his head. "A servant is a servant, no matter the location, Telemachus," he replied dismissively.

It was then that one of the suitors, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a scruffy beard, took notice of you sitting on the ground behind Telemachus. His eyes narrowed, and a sleazy smile spread across his face. "Well, hello there," he said, his voice dripping with arrogance as he began to move toward you.

Before he could take another step, Telemachus moved swiftly, positioning himself between the suitor and you.

The easygoing smile that had once graced his lips was replaced by a cold, serious expression. His eyes darkened as he stared down the suitor, who paused before letting out a derisive laugh. "Ah, I see. This one's taken by the prince, is she?" he sneered.

Telemachus didn't rise to the bait, his voice steady and uninterested. "We're wasting daylight. If you want to hunt, let's get going," he said, sidestepping the taunts.

With a few more muttered comments, the group of suitors eventually turned away, moving on with their plans.

As they walked off, Telemachus stood still, waiting until they were at a good distance before turning back to you. He offered his hand to help you up, and with one graceful motion, he pulled you to your feet with ease, his strength evident as he lifted you almost effortlessly.

You steadied yourself, murmuring a soft thank you. But just as Telemachus was about to walk away, you found yourself reaching out, your fingers wrapping around his wrist. "Prince Telemachus," you called softly.

He turned, his face softening as he looked down at you, his full attention on you now.

You had to tilt your head back slightly to meet his gaze, your fingers slipping from his wrist only for his hand to turn, grasping yours gently in return. The warmth of his palm against yours steadied you.

You swallowed nervously, pushing through your frazzled thoughts. "Would it be possible... to get the suitors to cut back on their extravagance? Or perhaps encourage them to bring in more from their hunts? The kitchen storage is running low. The demands are getting quite... difficult to manage," you said, your voice almost a whisper.

Telemachus met your gaze, the intensity in his eyes fading into something gentler as he offered you a small smile, his thumb brushing gently against the back of your hand. "Of course, ____," he said, his voice filled with genuine warmth. "I'll take care of it." 

[we-rice-boi]

I do not see enough fics where Caleb has a degradation kink and I'm gonna fix that. I need MC to be mean to him and for that man to bust in his pants at the thought of being under Mc's shoe.

Aka I'm working on it, cause this Fandom needs more sub Caleb.

[charlotteking27]

Do you write for Claw Noir? If not just ignore this. Can you write a Claw Noir falling in love with reader from another dimension and isn't sure what to do because he doesn't know what love is please

Love? What is Love?

Claw Noir x reader

Summary: above in the request.

Claw Noir stared at the strange, glowing portal that had appeared in his dimly lit alleyway.

He had seen a lot of weird stuff in his time as a cat burglar, but this was something else.

Suddenly, a girl tumbled out of the shimmering light. You had long, c hair and big eyes.

Claws' ears perked up as you looked around, clearly disoriented.

"Where...where am I?" you muttered.

Claw Noir approached you slowly, not wanting to scare you off. "You're in the city. What's your name?"

"I'm (your name)," you said, still looking around. "I was just walking home from the library, and then...and then this happened!"

Claw Noir blinked. Library? What was that? But he pushed on. "I'm Claws. Do you need some help?"

you looked at him, and your eyes widened. "You're a cat! A talking cat in a suit!"

Claw Noir shrugged. "Yeah. I'm a bit of an oddity."

But to his surprise, you just giggled. "Well, Claws, I think I could use your help. I have no idea how to get back home."

Claw Noir nodded. He knew the city like the back of his paw. "I can help you find someone who can deal with that portal thingy. But first, how about some food? You look starving."

Your face lit up. "I am starving! But I don't have any money..."

Claw Noir waved a paw. "Don't worry about it. I've got this covered."

And with that, Claws took you on a grand adventure through the city's rooftops and hidden corners.

They shared fish from a street vendor, and you told him about your world - a world with towering buildings that touched the sky, and people who stared at little glowing rectangles all day.

Claws told you about his cons, about how he outsmarted the cops at every turn.

As the night wore on, Claws found himself wanting to spend more and more time with you.

He found himself grinning like a fool whenever you laughed, and he felt a pang in his chest whenever you touched his arm.

But what was this feeling? He'd never felt it before. He only looked out for himself.

The next day, Claws took you to see a guy who owed him a favor - a weird old dude who knew about magic and stuff.

The old guy examined the portal, muttering to himself. Finally, he looked up.

"I can get you back home, girl. But it's gonna take a few hours to set up."

You let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you so much!"

Claws felt that pang again, sharper this time. He didn't want you to go.

But at the same time, he couldn't ask you to stay in this hard, mean city. So he just nodded. "I'll show you around until it's ready."

As the hours ticked by, Claws found himself opening up to you in ways he never had with anyone before.

He told you about his past, about how he'd survived on the streets since he was a kitten.

He told you about his fears, about how he was always looking over his shoulder.

And through it all, you listened with kind eyes. You didn't judge him, like everyone else did.

Finally, the old guy called them over. The portal was glowing again. You hugged Claws tightly. "Thank you for everything. I'll never forget you."

Claws hugged you back, feeling his eyes sting. What was wrong with him? He never got emotional.

But as he watched you step through the portal and vanish, he realized what that weird feeling was.

He was in love. He was in love, and he didn't know what to do about it.

[bunji-enthusiast]

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙻𝚘𝚠 𝙻𝚒𝚏𝚎

Chat Noir!Reader

Summary || teenage supers weren’t uncommon to see, but you were a particularly interesting one.

A/N: ideas, ideas, ideas…. AUGH. You get ur ass invertedly adopted by the GDA, in a way. Next part is coming soon! (Reader is a teenager here.)

“Cataclysm!”

Lately there's been more and more sightings of akumas, the blackened butterflies with purple idents. On one's own, they're easy to resist. But not when the victim completely overcome with emotions, which causes a lot of problems.

mainly for one reason only: Akumatizations.

Meaning you've had to spread out your already wide area that was Paris, but as of late—you've been spotted around in Chicago as well, which rose some suspicions amongst the G.D.A, and even the civilians themselves. You were as strange one, capable of mass and pure destruction. Yet upon sighting you, you were as brave, calm and gentle as one could be for a superhero. A teenaged one at that.

Civilians had made assumptions about you, the director of the G.D.A was curious about you at most, but all in all—You didn't seem to pose a major threat, you only took care of the problem, then left as quick as you came.

You sighed as you rubbed the temple of your forehead, arching a brow as you took in the silent win. a silent smile gracing your lips. Another akuma bit the dust, and you saved the victim.

Without your partner, you weren't sure how you could've purified the akuma. Initially you had asked Plagg for help, but as usual, he was his mysterious, riddle-ridden self. That made you groan, so you had to figure out a way, study the scrolls; ask Master Fu for help and so on. It was strange to say the least, but this new extension of your hero life was nice—to an extent.

Despite it, you were a smart cat. you figured out how to purify the akuma on your own, without the ladybug yo-yo that your partner always carried around. though it took some extraneous effort, the result was worth it.

"oh my gosh." the vicim gaps, wincing as he held his head. he was confused, which was normal. stuff like this always happens after the experience, it was as if one's mind goes blank, just letting your innermost thoughts translates to your actions. fortunately you were there to help them snap out of it.

"ça va?" you ask, and the victim snaps his head back up at you in confusion. and you arch a brow, stewing in the confusion. suddenly you facepalmed your head, now immediately understanding why he was confused.

You weren't in Paris anymore, not right now. "Sorry! what I meant to say was," You began, holding out your hand to help the victim up. "Are you alright?"

"uh yeah," he mutters, shaking his head to ward off the adrenaline he was still feeling. "thanks."

You affirm the sentiment with a small nod, winking at him. "of course, it's the job of the great, charming cat noir after all." You still kept a gentle hold on him, making sure he was stable enough otherwise to stand on his own without support. the victim casts a long glance at you, and you understand why. you just wished that you didn't get so many questioning looks about your being here.

Teenage superheroes weren't abnormal, so why the hell did you keep getting weird looks towards you? all it just did is make you wish you were back in Paris, where you did your usual thing with Ladybug; then go home.

"hey uh..."

'oh here we go', you think to yourself. here comes the questions, you didn't want to stick around, seriously. but you always helped the victims, and left your partner to be answering the questions. you were used to that, but she wasn't around. so it was just you, and the victims. luckily there was no stupendous scrawling of reporters and cameras to cover this incident, not here in Chicago. it was just another day--but, were the citizens okay? they must be severely desensitized to the point that it became their normal to be watching such crimes happen.

you were concerned for the people of America.

he grimaces, and you watch as he readjusted himself on his own. your cross your arms, eyes watching him like a genuine black cat. "are you okay? you look kinda young to be doing this." he asks, and that surprises you.

you stand on the balls of your feet, tapping around the stone pavement. "I'm fine," you mutter, holding back the temptation of rolling your eyes. "you should be going back home, akumatizations can take a toll and make you feel sore." you inform, jabbing a thumb vaguely.

he eyes you wearily, but he caves. better to listen to the hero, and you were all the more glad for it.

your cat-like eyes watch him as he walks off, making sure that he was completely out of the danger zone before you finally relaxed. "good grief." you mutter, rubbing the back of your neck before you turned around, holding out your staff and extending it.

out of habit, you wait for a moment.

nobody? good.

you jump away, feeling the breeze crawl through your hair. you sighed contentedly, you held up your ring for a brief moment, watching for how many paw pads you had left.

'putain!' you curse inwardly, hopping on one foot, hand or the other. almost zoning out from your surroundings.

two pads. which meant you needed to get back to your house, and quickly. there is also the less safer possibility of having to find somewhere to hide and recharge Plagg to continue going on forward with the day, of course with the usual kicking the bad guy's ass.

you groan inwardly to yourself as you hop onto a rooftop, your ears perking each and every way as you contemplate your circumstances. on one hand, you've been fending off the akumas sent by your sworn enemy, and on the other: you had to juggle your life as a student, and a model.

frankly you were more surprised that your own forsaken and sworn enemy even manifested the energy to come after you as well, even if you were in a completely different country. you honestly gave up a mental applause for the guy, he certainly had a lot more tenacity then you thought.

and also completely deranged.

You sighed to yourself, hopping off the building rooftop with a meow. Flippantly hopping off one surface and the other as you went straight to your desired destination.

An Açaí food front, their shit was good as hell. There were very few places back in Paris that had such a thing and you wouldn’t miss out on it right now. It was too good to pass up.

This is not how you wanted the rest of your day to go. You just wanted your Açaí food bowl, but no—

"Fear me!"

you could barely make out what the perperator is saying as you take down each of them one by one.

you immediately lament every single choice in your life so far that had gotten you to this point, and quite literally, you make the thought that being six feet under the ground would be way better then what you were doing right now. your body was sore to the living heavens, and you could definitely hear Plagg screaming at you from within the ring right now.

currently, you got yourself wrapped up in a fight with a villain. well, more like a couple of them. they were dressed in scaly costumes and bore an odd white crescent shaped insignia on their chests. one was at the forefront, leading the rest of them into the fight.

you were trying your best to find them off, as you had relatively steady combat experience; and all in due part to your flexibility and agility. but they sure were relentless.

you dug your feet into the asphalt as you ground yourself, then propelled forward with a thrust. taking each and every step with a calculated precision as you knocked out the minions with a quick strike of your extended staff, controlling the length of it with ease. as you do so, you try to recall who these people are.

"you guys are the lizard league right?" you chuckle, crawling forward as you jump around the last few standing minions. and avoiding those who were running away. the leader chokes at your ignidation, his forehead bulging with an evident pulse. "thought the guardians kicked your asses a couple months ago." you grin, flashing a shiny canine as you swipe at the leader.

of course you know about the guardians of the globe, who wouldn't? most famous team of heroes in America, in all of earth actually. you heard about their lacking in effort as of late, but it seemed they truly made a comeback.

"of course we're the lizard league, but we're better then we were back then!" he spat out, throwing a punch at you, but you narrowly dodge it—sidestepping as you crouched, balling your clawed black hand into a fist, and immediately retaliate.

“That so?” You laugh, throat-punching him. He gasps as he steps back, the loss of oxygen making him panic. You throw another one directly to the gut, right in the diaphragm. He keels over to his knees.

“You really gotta pay attention man,” you grin, flashing your signature smile. “Give up yet?”

You stood over the last conscious member of the ragged Lizard League, panting, claws slick with grime and blood, the ringing of your bell drowned out by the chaos that had just died down.

Your staff trembled slightly in your grip as the leader groaned beneath your boot. His tail twitched. His tongue lolled. He wasn’t getting back up.

You crouched, ready to tie him up—or knock him out again if he tried anything stupid—when the sky split open with a sonic boom.

A blue blur shot down and slammed into the ground like a meteor.

You barely had time to react. Your ears twitched. You leapt back just in time to avoid being crushed under the sudden arrival of him.

The Immortal.

He landed like judgment itself—shoulders broad, fists clenched, piercing blue eyes scanning the scene. His presence was enough to make the air itself feel heavier.

“What the hell is going on here?” His voice boomed like thunder as his gaze swept across the destruction. His eyes locked onto you.

You straightened up, claws retracting halfway, though your tail flicked uneasily. “I had it handled,” you said flatly, nodding toward the half-conscious pile of scaly losers around you. “Was just cleaning up the trash.”

His gaze narrowed. His jaw clenched as he took a step closer. You tensed without meaning to.

“Who are you?” he asked, his tone shifting. Still rough, but there was something else behind it now. Not anger. Not suspicion.

Concern.

He stepped closer, looming over you with that towering frame. You were tall for fifteen, but next to him, you barely came up to his chest.

“Wait…” His eyes widened a little. “You’re a kid.”

Your tail curled tighter around your leg as your claws instinctively extended again. “I’m not just a kid,” you snapped. “I’m Cat Noir.”

You didn’t mean to sound defensive. But damn it, how many times were you gonna have to prove yourself?

The Immortal’s face twisted slightly—half confusion, half disbelief. He looked at the damage you’d done to the Lizard League, then back at you. Your mask didn’t hide the sharpness in your cat eyes, the way they gleamed with something more dangerous than teenage rebellion.

He stepped back, hands rising slightly. Not in surrender—but caution. Like he was handling something… fragile.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” he said. “Not like this. You’re fifteen, aren’t you?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. You’d seen that look before—from police, from teachers, sometimes even from Ladybug when things got too real.

But then his expression shifted again. The steel in his eyes came back. “You’re strong. I’ll give you that.” He looked around. “I’ve seen grown men with ten years of experience lose to these freaks.”

You gave a dry smile, flicking your staff back onto your back. “Yeah, well… maybe they didn’t have claws.”

He almost chuckled. Almost.

Then his gaze sharpened again, and for the briefest moment, he looked haunted—like something behind his eyes was bleeding through the cracks.

“I’ve lost too many kids,” he said quietly.

You didn’t flinch, but your stomach twisted. Something in his voice… heavy. Raw.

“I won’t lose another.”

You opened your mouth to argue—of course you were going to argue—but before you could get a word out, the sky behind him rippled.

A memory flared in your mind.

A red blur.

A splatter of blood.

“Why… why!”

The Immortal’s voice—shattered and betrayed—echoed in your ears before you even realized what it was.

You blinked. The scene shifted for a second in your head. Omni-Man. The Guardians.

You shook it off.

“You’re not going to lose me,” you said, meeting his gaze. “I’m not them. And I’m not backing down.”

He stared at you long and hard. For a second, you thought he might fly off. Or yell. Or try to stop you.

Instead, he just nodded once.

But his voice was still low, still tired. “Just… don’t make me bury another one.”

And with that, he turned, boots lifting off the ground.

You stayed where you were, the wind from his flight kicking up dust around your boots.

You didn’t say anything until he was gone.

Then, to no one in particular, you muttered:

“Guess I made an impression.”

The Lizard League didn’t give you much more trouble after The Immortal flew off.

What was left of them—half-conscious, tangled in their own weapons, bleeding into the cracked concrete—you wrapped up quickly. Your claws slid back into your gloves with a metallic click, and with a flick of your wrist, your baton extended.

A few well-placed taps to their necks, just enough pressure, and they were out cold. You zipped them up with reinforced GDA-standard flex-cuffs, pulled from the belt you’d scavenged off some of their black-market gear last week. Wouldn’t hold forever, but long enough for the clean-up crew you texted on a secure burner line. You didn’t stick around to be thanked.

The skies above the city were darkening, clouds tinged orange with the setting sun as you bounded across rooftops. Your bell jingled softly with each leap, but you barely noticed it anymore. The wind kissed your face, brushing through your tousled hair and cooling the sweat beneath your suit.

You landed with a catlike thud outside your favorite little food bar downtown—Bowl Haus. Neon sign flickering. The girl at the counter knew you by now.

"Same as always?" she called, smirking behind a plexiglass shield.

"Add extra strawberries. I fought a lizard gang today," you said, tapping the counter with a clawed finger.

Five minutes later you were perched on a nearby fire escape, savoring the açaí like it was the first thing you’d tasted in days. Sweet. Cold. Your tongue darted across the spoon with practiced finesse.

Your tail swayed contentedly.

But the feeling never lasted long.

Back at your place—a temporary residence stacked high in the quiet side of the city—you pulled the blackout curtains closed and finally let the transformation drop.

Claws in.

With a shimmer of green light and a soft hum, the magic unraveled. The suit peeled away into smoke, retreating back into the ring on your finger. You let out a breath, half-relief, half-weariness.

And then came the groan.

"Ughhh… finally," drawled a tiny, smug voice. "I thought you'd never stop leaping around like a sugar-addicted squirrel on caffeine."

You rolled your eyes and plucked a piece of Camembert from the small fridge under the kitchen island. "You’re welcome, by the way," you muttered, tossing it toward the floating black cat-thing that had emerged from your ring.

Plagg caught it midair and chomped. “Mmm. Now that’s what heroism tastes like.”

"You know, normal people nap after nearly getting vaporized by a super-lizard’s acid breath," you said, stretching your arms. "But nooo, I fight monsters, eat frozen fruit bowls, and live in a penthouse with a ghost-cat who eats $70 cheese."

Plagg smirked. “Correction: a god of destruction who eats $70 cheese.”

You sank onto the couch, glancing around the empty, too-silent apartment. The place was sleek, modern, and about as cozy as a bank vault. Left to you after your father’s death—a man rich enough to own most of the city, powerful enough to keep it all hidden.

You didn’t like talking about him.

Didn’t like thinking about him.

And so you didn’t. You just exhaled, flicked on the TV with a wave of your hand, and slouched. You hadn’t planned on stopping for the night. Probably wouldn’t. You never really did.

Plagg, full and now curled into the crook of your shoulder, snored softly.

Then came the knock.

Three sharp raps. Confident. Deliberate.

You paused.

No one ever knocked here.

You stood, the air tensing around you as you approached the door. The peephole revealed a gaunt man in a black coat, hair white and shoulder-length, the left side of his face a twisted scar of flesh and synthetic mesh.

You opened the door just enough to speak. “If this is about property taxes, I pay my rent.”

“Cute,” Cecil Stedman said. His voice was gravel and tobacco. “But I’m not here for jokes.”

You leaned against the frame, eyeing him warily. “Then what are you here for? If you’re looking to lecture me about being a kid in tights, you’re the third person today.”

Cecil didn’t blink.

“I don’t care how old you are,” he said. “I care what you can do.”

That gave you pause.

“I saw the Lizard League mess. Your prints were all over it. Not bad work. Brutal, but clean. Efficient. If The Immortal hadn't gotten in the way, I might’ve been able to watch the full show.”

You crossed your arms, ring glinting under the hallway light. “You spying on me?”

“Everyone worth watching gets watched,” Cecil said. “And right now? You’re moving higher up the list.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Get to the point.”

He stepped closer, unbothered by your sharp tone. “I want to talk about the future. Your future. Earth’s, too.”

You hesitated. Not because of the offer. Because of the way he said it.

He wasn’t offering you a spotlight.

He was offering you a war.

And something in your gut told you… the real fight hadn’t even started yet.

You stared at Cecil for a beat longer, his face unreadable under the hallway light. His scar seemed to glow faintly, like a reminder that he’d been through hell and walked out with the devil’s phone number.

You stepped aside. “Come in. But wipe your shoes. This place is rented.”

He smirked slightly—just a twitch of the corner of his mouth—and entered. His boots thudded heavily against the floor. Plagg, who had been snoozing peacefully on the back of the couch, cracked open one glowing green eye.

“Company? Ugh, tell me he didn’t bring government cheese.”

You ignored Plagg and gestured toward the chair across from the couch. “Talk.”

Cecil sat down slowly, fingers laced together as he leaned forward. His gaze was heavy. Like it carried a thousand lives behind it.

“You’re sharp. Fast. A little reckless, but I’ve seen worse from people three times your age,” he began. “You’ve been cleaning up parts of the city even my own agents don’t step foot in anymore.”

You shrugged, arms crossed. “Someone’s gotta do it.”

Cecil nodded. “You’re not wrong. That’s the problem.”

He reached into his coat and tossed a sleek black tablet onto the table. It lit up instantly. The screen showed grainy footage: you—Cat Noir—taking down three Lizard League goons with surgical precision. No hesitation. No backup.

Another swipe, and it was Omni-Man’s first strike on the Guardians. Blood. Ruin.

Then another clip—Invincible struggling to hold back a tentacled alien in Kansas. It almost killed him. It had killed civilians.

Cecil’s voice was low, sharp.

“I’ve seen the world fall apart more than once. And I’ve seen what happens when we rely on people who aren’t ready. You? You’re something different.”

You looked at the footage. Then at him.

“You want me on your roster.”

“I want you ready,” he corrected. “Because it’s not just Lizard freaks and superpowered gangsters anymore. There are bigger things coming. Viltrumites. Interdimensional invasions. AI uprisings. And those are just this month’s problems.”

You exhaled slowly. “So you want to weaponize a fifteen-year-old.”

He didn’t flinch. “I want to give a fifteen-year-old the chance to choose.”

Plagg floated over, hovering behind your shoulder. “He doesn’t like giving chances. He likes giving missions. And body bags.”

You didn’t wave him off this time.

Cecil’s eyes flicked to Plagg, then back to you. “I’m not here to sugarcoat. You’re dangerous. That suit, that power—it’s not built for parades. It’s for war.”

You turned away for a second, eyes flicking to the dark window. The reflection staring back at you wasn’t just a tired teen anymore. It hadn’t been in a long time.

“…What do you want me to do?” you asked.

Cecil stood slowly, his voice low but firm. “Train with us. Not full-time. Not yet. But we bring you in, teach you how to work with a team. How to survive. When the next world-ending threat comes, you won’t be flying solo.”

You were quiet for a moment. Then: “What if I say no?”

Cecil didn’t blink.

“Then I hope I never have to send someone to collect what’s left of you.”

He started for the door, then paused. “Think it over. We’re not in a rush. But the end of the world?”

He looked over his shoulder.

“It is.”

The door shut behind him like a judge’s gavel.

Plagg floated beside you silently. For once, he didn’t joke.

You looked down at the tablet he left behind—glowing in the dark like a warning.

So. The question wasn’t whether you’d fight.

It was who you’d be fighting with.

The next morning came too fast.

You hadn't slept.

Too many questions. Too many possible futures pulling at the edges of your thoughts like claws against glass. But in the end, you tapped the tablet, typed ‘I’m in’.

two minutes later, your apartment was pinged with coordinates and a time.

Now, standing in the middle of a steel-reinforced training facility buried beneath a mountain, you were wondering if you should’ve at least eaten something beforehand.

Cecil stood on a raised control platform above the main training floor, arms folded, flanked by two silent GDA operatives in black armor.

His voice came through a hidden speaker, sharp and impersonal.

“Welcome to Day One. This is where we find out if you’re just fast and lucky, or if you’re the real deal.”

You adjusted your gloves, claws flexing out once—click-click—before retracting.

Across from you on the training mat stood three other figures. You recognized them immediately:

Brit – The old-school tank of a man with super strength and invulnerability. Moved like a freight train.

Bulletproof – Speedster with density shifting. A living missile when he wanted to be.

And Monster Girl – in her teen form, she looked like your age, but you knew better. Sweet voice. Demon fists.

Great. They’re throwing me in with the ‘no mercy’ crew.

A buzzer blared.

“Show us what you’ve got, kid,” Cecil said. “And don’t hold back. They won’t.”

The floor vibrated as Brit charged first.

He came in swinging—a full-arm punch that could crack a van in half. You ducked under the punch with catlike reflexes, your tail flipping up behind you as you vaulted backward and over his head.

"Too slow, grandpa!" you called mid-flip.

He snorted. “Fast mouth. Let’s see if you can back it up.”

Bulletproof came in next—

A blur of black and gold slamming into your side like a sledgehammer. You flew across the mat, hit the wall, and bounced off it—but twisted in the air just enough to land on all fours.

“Okay. Ow,” you muttered, half a grin forming.

You cracked your staff out—

The baton extended with a satisfying SNAP, and you jabbed it into the ground to launch yourself at Monster Girl just as she transformed mid-air into a snarling demon-beast. Her claw met yours—black on green—and the shockwave of the impact knocked the air out of the room.

You twisted mid-swipe, your staff wrapping behind her leg. A yank. A sweep. She hit the mat hard.

For about two seconds.

Then she growled and punched you halfway across the mat into a stack of reinforced sandbags.

“Okay,” you coughed. “Note to self. Don’t piss off the demon toddler.”

The rest of the fight blurred.

Your suit was scuffed, the bell at your throat dented, your claws cracked. But you’d left marks of your own. Bulletproof’s visor was scratched. Brit’s jaw was bruised. Monster Girl was panting.

The buzzer blared again.

“Enough,” Cecil said.

You stood, panting, adrenaline still thrumming through your limbs.

He came down from the platform, boots echoing.

“I’ll be honest,” he said, giving you a look. “I thought you’d fold in under a minute. You lasted ten.”

You wiped a trickle of blood from your lip and grinned through the ache. “Is that a record?”

“No,” Brit muttered. “But it ain’t nothing.”

Monster Girl, back in human form, offered you a half-nod. “You hit harder than you look, Cat Boy.”

“Cat Noir,” you corrected, groaning as you stretched your back.

Cecil stopped in front of you. “You’re raw. Undisciplined. But you’ve got instincts. And you don’t let fear slow you down.”

He handed you a sealed black file folder.

“Consider this your unofficial acceptance. Keep showing up like this, and maybe we’ll make it official.”

You took the folder, heartbeat steady now. Still sore. Still tired. But standing.

“Good,” you said. “Because I wasn’t planning on leaving.”

Cecil gave you one last long look. “Let’s just hope you live long enough for us to be glad you didn’t.”

Then he turned and walked off into the shadows of the facility.

You looked down at the file in your hands.

Your name wasn’t printed on the cover.

Just one word: “Asset.”

You waited until the others had cleared the training floor.

Plagg had already slipped into your hood, grumbling something about bruised ribs and lactose-based compensation. The lights dimmed around you, the mechanical hum of the facility fading into the background.

You sat on a nearby bench, muscles still thrumming, and peeled the seal off the black folder with a slow, deliberate motion. The moment it opened, a faint hiss escaped—some kind of auto-unlock mechanism built into the paper itself. Fancy.

Inside?

Several sheets. No names. No titles. Just cold, clinical language.

—————————

[Subject Codename: CHAT NOIR]

Clearance Level: Tier-2 GDA Operative Candidate

Status: Provisionally active

Assigned Handler: Stedman, C.

Psychological Profile (Redacted)

Subject demonstrates high cognitive adaptability, advanced moral reasoning in contrast with destructive capacity. Recent trauma has amplified vigilante tendencies. Caution advised. Possible destabilization under stress.

Recommendation: Monitor closely. Potential asset. Potential liability.

—————————

[Suit Analysis – “Miraculous Armor”]

Composition: Unknown (non-terrestrial in origin). Appears to bond at a molecular level with the user via ring artifact.

Properties: Reactive defensive layering. Enhanced mobility. Energy dissipation field. Retractable claws possess nano-filament threading—can cut through reinforced titanium at close range.

Weaknesses: Recharge-dependent. Power source linked to non-human symbiotic entity (Code Name: PLAKK).

Notes: Attempts to isolate power source from the user have been... unsuccessful. (See: Incident Report #613.)

—————————

[Entity Profile – “PLAKK”]

Status: Unknown. Symbiotic. Possibly interdimensional. Sentient.

Risk Assessment: Extreme.

Recommendation: Do not engage directly. Containment protocols classified Level Omega.

Observation: Entity displays feline traits. High intelligence. Voracious cheese dependency. Attitude: Insufferable.

You glanced over your shoulder. “They nailed you.”

Plagg peeked out, unbothered. “Can’t argue with science.”

The final page was heavier. Thicker. It wasn’t typed—it was handwritten. Cecil’s penmanship was sharp, decisive.

‘I’ve read the reports. I’ve seen the footage.

You’re dangerous, kid. And if I’m being honest, I like that.

But make no mistake—this isn’t a team, it’s a war machine.

The GDA doesn’t build heroes. We build survivors.

And if you want to make it through what’s coming next? You better be both.’

– Cecil

You closed the folder.

The weight of it stayed in your hands, like it didn’t want to be put down.

You weren’t just playing superhero anymore.

You were on the board.

And every move from here on out? Had consequences.

Plagg floated up beside you, unusually quiet.

“…So,” he said. “Still wanna play with the big dogs?”

You stared ahead, eyes narrowing.

“No,” you said.

“I want to run the damn pack.”

Downtime hit like a silence you weren’t ready for.

After that first training session, Cecil didn’t call. No pings. No late-night encrypted texts. The file stayed locked in your desk drawer, sealed under biometric access, but it felt heavier than any mission briefing. It wasn’t rejection. It was worse.

They were watching to see what you’d do next.

The sun had dipped low, slicing gold across the city’s skyline. You sat on the edge of the rooftop outside your temporary apartment—barefoot, still in your civilian clothes, the wind tugging lightly at your hair.

Plagg was curled beside you, a cheese wheel bigger than his body slowly vanishing one smug bite at a time.

“You know,” he mumbled mid-chew, “you could’ve been a pastry chef. A magician. Even a fashion designer. You’ve got flair. But no. You pick world-saving. With these people.”

You leaned back on your hands, the ring on your finger catching the light. “Not like there’s much left for me to bake for.”

Plagg didn’t say anything to that. He never did when it came to your dad. Or what happened. Or the way you couldn’t stand the echo in your own apartment sometimes.

You looked out at the city below.

People moved like blood through veins. Fast. Purposeful. Living. You weren’t even sure what that meant for you anymore. You weren’t famous. You weren’t part of the Guardians. You were a black cat in a world full of wolves, Viltrumites, and gods.

But you were still here.

That had to count for something.

Your phone buzzed beside you. Just a text from the açaí place. A new flavor drop.

You smiled faintly.

“You ever think maybe the world doesn’t need another superweapon?” you asked.

Plagg yawned. “The world never needs one. It just keeps making them.”

“…What if I don’t want to be one?”

Plagg turned his glowing green eyes toward you. “Then don’t be.”

You looked down.

“Pretty sure it’s already too late.”

You didn’t transform. Not tonight. No patrol. No missions.

Just you, the skyline, and a black cat god chewing through Manchego like it was popcorn.

You stretched out on the roof, one arm behind your head, eyes trailing stars.

“I don’t think Cecil trusts me.”

Plagg chuckled. “Cecil doesn’t even trust himself. But he’s right about one thing.”

“What?”

“You’re dangerous.”

You turned your head to him, raising an eyebrow.

Plagg smiled, fangs barely showing.

“And you haven’t even started yet.”

[tra1nchi]

trainy please I'm begging for subbot amab welt 🤧🤧🤧 there's no content and I am STARVING

some degradation and breeding never hurt him... maybe a biting and collar kink too 😞🙏🙏🙏

- 🕳️anon

MINORS DNI!! top male reader,, feeding the like two welt fans lol,,Degradation,,breeding,,collar,,

He looked so pretty for you like this, Welt was layed so cutely back against the bed. His eyes shy and averted away from your hungry gaze as he felt it trail all around his body, his cock unbelievably hard and leaking against his tummy.

"You..can't just stare at me like that." Welt scolds weakly, his chest heaving as you checked the tightness of his collar, his breath hitching at the feeling of it tightening so perfectly around his neck, squeezing at just the right parts.

His whines would be so sweet as you trailed up the skin of his shaky thighs, he was so embarrassed to be exposed like that infront of you! He was so vulnerable, he could feel each sweep of the cold air of the express kiss his cock, he couldn't handle how slow you were going! So without thinking he wrapped his arms around your neck and pulled you flushed against him.

"Please, take me..I'll be your good little slut." He grumble out embarrassed but before he knows it, he was flipped over onto his tummy, his brown hair being gripped until his mind felt fuzzy as your cock perfectly pistoned in and out of him, he couldn't help his eyes from rolling back from how perfectly you found his prostate, like his body was meant for you, yo be fucked by you.

"Yes yes! I'm yours! Please, harder!" He knew he sounded like a whore but he didn't care, he didn't care about anything except for how you fucked him, how good it felt to have his mind completely blur just by your thrusts.

Welt needed more and more, to be filled to the brim with your cum and stuffed full of your babies, he could barely think straight but he knew how much of a good father he'd be, all he could do is pray that you'd come inside and not pull out to tease him!!