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izloveshorses · 4 months ago

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Okay, one more chapter, i promise

last update. they need some emotional closure before we let this one go. read on ao3 or under the cut <3

“Okay, how about, ‘Where is the dance club?”

“That’s an easy one,” Anya said. “Où est le club de danse?”

“Où est… la club…”

“Le club. It’s masculine.”

“Le club…” Dmitry was scribbling down the words in a little notebook, where he’d been diligently recording all the little French phrases she had been teaching him this afternoon, “dance.”

She let out a giggle. “De danse. You keep forgetting the articles.”

His cheeks were pink and he rubbed his face, hiding his smile. “This is a stupid language.”

She grinned. Her head was propped on her elbow on the back of the chaise in their suite, feet tucked under her. “You have to learn it, stupid or not.” He looked up at her, still smiling, slouching to the point of reclining. “I don’t want you to be completely unprepared for when I’m not around to translate everything all the time.”

She said it lightly, a playful and teasing spar, but his face fell, eyes serious and sad. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

The softness of his voice, the earnestness of his words, made her need to take a breath. Lately he had been the cause of an emotion stirring in her gut that she couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t the lust, it wasn’t the hunger, even though both of those things were very much there and present. It was something that made her chest a little tight, an ache somewhere deep and unfindable, a longing for something she didn’t even know. The ache of missing something she never had in the first place.

That gravitational pull between them was drawing her head toward his— just leaning down over his lips, and considering crawling into his lap so they could explore this feeling in a less wordy way right here on this chaise— when the door of their suite rattled open. They sprung apart without even looking up.

Vlad was making theatrics, sighing and whistling away while he removed his shoes at the door. “Anyone home?” he called. “Or did you both kill each other?”

Dmitry answered, “In here,” and fiddled with his lighter, cigarette dangling from his beautiful lips. Anya tore her gaze away from him to the book she had impulsively snagged, though she couldn’t process the words on the page.

“Well,” Vlad eased himself into the side chair and propped his socked feet up on the coffee table. “What did I miss? Anything interesting?”

Anya shrugged. “Just wandered around, saw some sights.”

Vlad made a disinterested hum and Anya dared a glance over at Dmitry, who was barely keeping his smile from widening. To keep herself from giving anything away she stared down harder at her book.

The sightseeing was partially true. They really did wander the city yesterday and this morning, snagging lunch and eating dinner under the Eiffel Tower, touring one of the museums, stopping at the monuments. She just omitted the part about how they held hands the entire time. Or how they spent their morning sharing the bathtub. Or how they woke up tangled in each other's arms between her bedsheets two mornings in a row.

A lilt in his voice, Dmitry skillfully redirected the attention, “Did you get up to anything interesting?”

Vlad scoffed but was clearly very pleased to be asked about his reunion with the Countess. “I was being productive, that’s what I was up to.”

“Oh?”

Anya smiled down into her book. She enjoyed her alone time with Dmitry, obviously, but she did miss listening to the banter he could carry with his friend, the way they bickered like an old married couple.

“Yes as a matter of fact,” Vlad went on. “Lily will arrange an audience with the Dowager at the ballet on Monday.”

Anya’s head snapped up, heart in her throat. “Monday?” That was so soon.

“Monday! Not to worry, dear. Your dress will be ready soon enough.”

Dmitry rose to face the window, puffing on his cigarette like a desperate man, hand in his pocket. A few days ago she would’ve taken that as bored indifference, but now she knew better. He was hiding his reaction. Vlad kept going on about tuxedos and arranging a cab and the opera house’s architecture, but Anya only stared at Dmitry’s back, the hair growing over the nape of his neck, his tense shoulders.

They didn’t go to the club again tonight, as Anya had anticipated would happen when Vlad finally returned. But they did eat at the restaurant downstairs for several hours. Which meant they had to continue the mild ruse that they weren’t sleeping together, ignore their feet touching sensuously under the table, and not lean into him as gravity commanded when his fingers grazed her knee. Which was… a challenge, to say the least, after their two nights of living open and freely and affectionately around each other. But thankfully Vlad didn’t seem to notice, too happy and content after his weekend with the Countess, delighting in the food and narrating the wonders of French cuisine.

In the room they played cards— Vlad was desperate to teach Anya how to cheat at poker— and otherwise the evening was uneventful. Dmitry kept flicking cigarette ash in a tray, the same way his sad and baleful eyes kept flicking away from hers if she caught him staring. Like he was watching a train leave the station. Like he wasn’t allowed to look at her.

Vlad was still up reading when Anya went to bed. Dmitry was obviously waiting for Vlad to retire first, but the man was still quite content, so she decided there was no point in trying to outlast him. And she figured that would be it for the night. So she said her goodnights, took the pins from her hair, slipped into her silky new nightgown. With her lamp on she was able to focus more on reading her book. Without Dmitry there as such an obvious and rewarding alternative.

Anya hadn’t really let herself think about the endgame of this. This… new development with Dmitry. But now she let her thoughts wander to the boy just two doors away. To the warmth he had provided. How he may have cured her loneliness. Last night and the night before were starting to feel like a dream. But it had absolutely happened, if her soreness or the smell of sex still in the sheets was anything to go by. There was something very mammalian about it. How they were acting on their instincts and urges and innate wildness without much thought. She never imagined this could happen to herself. But here she was.

A quiet rap on her door startled her out of her thoughts. Puzzled, she lifted the blankets and set her book aside and padded across the way.

Part of her was surprised when Dmitry was on the other side of the door. And part of her realized she had been waiting for him. Him and his pleading eyes.

When she let him in and let the door latch shut he was on her in seconds, mouth melded to hers, hands on her face and in her hair. She should’ve expected this. That he would need to work out some emotions this way.

“This okay?” he whispered against her lips.

“Uh huh,” was all she could say, with his tongue licking into her mouth. She knew he would stop if she asked, so she didn’t mind. Welcomed it and even craved it, actually, with the same intensity he was feeling. “But you need to be quiet.”

All he did was smile and kiss her again. His hands were everywhere. On her neck and hip and back and ass and chest. Already she could feel herself trying to mold her body around his, fusing soft flesh to soft flesh. His hands clung to her waist when she stood on her toes to get closer. They bumped into her bed and they were slanted, poised between standing and laying, when she finally gave into gravity, pulling him down with her.

That’s what they were. Gravity.

Something that transcended time and space. Something that was so natural that when it vanished, she would feel untethered and lost, drifting away.

“You thinking about me?”

Anya snorted. “Not everything is about you.”

“You sure?” His fingers rubbed between her legs. “Not even this?”

She smirked. “Especially this.”

He carefully pulled her panties down, slipping them off her legs, and she shivered. She had yet to grow used to the feeling of his hands on her skin. His mouth tasting her wherever he wanted. At this rate, she didn’t think she ever would. Even just the gentle graze of his lips on her knee made her lose her mind.

Anya wanted to stick every single body part she could think of into his mouth, just to see what it was like for him to be able to taste all of her. She even wanted him to slowly unzip her skin, however possible, so he could taste each and every one of her organs, even the unsexy ones, like her intestines or spleen or something. She wanted him to run his tongue over her heart or gnaw her ribs. Because she knew he would do it in that tender and gentle and careful way he did everything, and he would savor every bit of it and understand the importance of it all. And then she wanted him to crawl into her skin and zip them both back up, as one would a sleeping bag, until they were both cocooned in her flesh, just so he could feel what it was like to exist in her broken body, so she wouldn’t be so alone anymore. So no one would ever hurt him again.

None of this was possible, of course. But Dmitry would hold her as close to him as he could, his fingers digging into her flesh, his mouth hungry and curious and patient, that this was just the same. She couldn’t replicate the nightmare that was her mind for him. But he acted like he wanted to know what went on in her head, and maybe that was more than enough. Maybe that was all she needed to not feel so alone.

Her hands found the hem of his undershirt and pulled it up until it was over his head, and now she had access to the hills and valleys of his front. She ran her mouth along his chest, along all the scars scattered over his skin, tongue and teeth playing intermittently, her hands running up and down his stomach, and he sighed when she mouthed at his nipple. His hand found the nape of her neck and he angled her head so he could kiss her mouth. All the while his hands were running up her thighs, bunching up her nightgown at her waist.

They kissed for a few minutes, palming flesh and biting lips, and Dmitry ended up on his back, with Anya straddling his torso. He gleefully tugged at her hips. “You should sit on my face.”

Her eyebrows rose. “I don’t want to suffocate you,” she said, even though the idea was making her blush like a virgin.

“But what a way to go, right?” He was still pulling her forward so she was now sitting on his chest, eyes locked between her legs. “Please.”

“You sure?”

“I can handle it.”

So she gripped onto the headboard for balance and straddled his head, slowly lowering herself until his open and hungry mouth met her. She gasped, her hips involuntarily jerking forward, and he hummed in delight.

“Anya,” he murmured against her, “you can sit more, I promise I’ll be okay.”

With some hesitation— she really didn’t want to suffocate him— she allowed her weight to fall a little more on him, and the feeling did make all the difference. His hands were on her ass, guiding her back and forth, while he practically feasted. His tongue was flicking around inside her and the feeling was so divine she had to let her head fall back and eyes shut. He was as eager and attentive as he always was, but she was in complete control here, and he seemed to like that, too.

Her hips moved a little faster against him and he matched her pace every step of the way. His brown eyes met hers, and she held onto his hair, watching him watch her. Why not give him a bit of a show? While she was still moving she lifted her nightgown off of her, now completely bare for him. He couldn’t exactly voice his approval but his enthusiasm was obvious enough.

With one hand gripping the headboard and the other in his hair, she fell apart above him, every nerve narrowing to where he was touching her. She sat back on his chest. He was panting hard, lips parted, staring at her in awe.

Instead of letting her recover, he moved her hips down, their centers touching. “Sorry, I just—” he sighed, shuddering, “need to be inside you.”

A few minutes ago he had been teasing, playful. But now he was almost desperate. Even though her thighs were burning with strain she still lifted herself enough to fish him out of his pants and angle him against her. “I know, Dima.” As she sunk around him she ran her hand down his face, thumb catching on his parted lip, down his chest, down his stomach, propping herself up with her other hand.

He thrusted his hips up, forcing himself the rest of the way in, like he would die if they spent another second apart. “You’re so good for me.”

She hummed softly, trying to find the right angle. She could feel him everywhere. His hips kept moving up, sliding in and out of her, hitting her so perfectly she had to bite back a moan.

“I know that feels good.” He was letting out broken breaths, just as eager, just as needy. Her thighs burned but he felt so good and he looked so handsome like this she powered through, moving faster. “That’s it. You know what to do.”

She pressed her palm over his mouth. “You have to shut up.” He was being so noisy.

His tongue swiped over her palm mischievously, but his smile didn’t meet his eyes. “You just feel too damn good. Can’t help it.”

“But you don’t want— our neighbor to know what’s—” she had to let out a breathy exhale when he was thrusting faster, spurring her to pick up the pace, “to know what’s going on.”

His hands were all over her, guiding her hips and squeezing her breasts and gripping her thighs. Like he couldn’t decide the perfect way to touch her. “Need you to come on me, okay?” he whispered. “You feel so good when you do.”

“Dima, I don’t know if—”

“You can. Please, come on.” She was so tired, but his voice was so soothing, so persuasive, so addicting. “I know you’re close. I got you.”

She bit her lip, moving harder against him. His hand tightened around her hip to steady her and he met her thrust for thrust, knowing exactly where she needed him, like he knew her body better than she knew it herself, watching her attentively. She was braced above him, hands on either side of his face, her hair cascading over her shoulders, eyes locked with his. Her legs were so tired but… there. She could reach this peak, like this, with him helping her along.

But it wasn’t until his fingers found between her legs, like he couldn’t wait any longer, that she shattered, fell apart. This would never get old. She could let herself fall apart like this because she knew he would always be there to put her back together.

His arms came around her spine, her pelvis, her neck, kissing her hard. And then she was on her back with him still hard and needy inside of her. “Sorry, I just—” he was braced above her, already thrusting in and out. “I need too—”

Dmtiry was unable to finish, too overcome with need. “It’s okay,” she whispered, breathing hard, her hands holding his face. “I got you, Dima.”

He was pistoning in and out of her like a machine, eager to reach his peak, too, now that he had permission. There was a bit of darkness in his eyes, in the force of his hips, but she held him all the way, toes curling at the feeling of him, knee hooked over his hip. This was how he was working out whatever was bothering him. And she had to admit it felt good to be needed. To be loved. Even like this.

They hadn’t said it, that word. Not out loud anyway.

But she could pretend, right?

Finally, with a great thrust and a broken exhale, his hips locked with hers, filling her in every way. He kept moving a little, one thrust for each twitch of his body, for each wave that crashed over him. And the world stopped moving for that mere slip of time.

He wouldn’t meet her eyes as he pulled out, almost sullen, and then he relaxed, half on top of her, leg between hers, arm over her waist. He was panting hard into her neck.

Anya ran a hand through his hair, recovering herself, thinking hard. He was still a difficult man to understand. But if she learned anything from the past few nights, it was that the only way to understand him was to test her theory.

“Dima… you’re not going to lose me.”

He stiffened, holding his breath. There it was, then. She was right.

Maybe she understood Dmitry more than she thought.

Finally, he responded, “You don’t know that.”

“I do, though.” She wove her fingers between locks of his hair, her other hand resting above her head. “What makes you think I would let that happen?” she asked. He pressed his face into her chest, hiding, breathing deeply in the skin between her breasts. “Come on, Dima. Talk to me.”

He let out a heavy, long sigh. “I’m afraid,” he finally whispered, “of what will happen after you meet the Dowager.”

“Yeah?” Her fingertips scraped his scalp. “Like what?”

“I don’t know.” His nose was brushing against the scar cutting through her chest, her longest one. “It doesn’t matter. I didn’t mean to become such a distraction— you’re the one with the toughest job coming up, I’m sorry. I should be helping you.”

“Dmitry, don’t— keep going. Keep talking. Please.” He was deflecting, being stupid, being stubborn and selfless. She tried to joke, “I’m not even nervous about it with you around to keep me company, anyway,” but it didn’t land the way she wanted. He just pressed his face even harder into her sternum. Like he was trying to bury himself. “Is it… do you think this… you and I… will end?”

He took another heavy breath. “I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again.”

She let that hang in the air for a minute. Of course she had wondered the same thing, before she knew how Dmitry felt about her. A month ago she would’ve taken that as he didn’t want to see her again. But she knew better now. That it was some deep insecurity branded into his mind he had to work through. She whispered, “Don’t you think we deserve a say in all of that?”

“Maybe, but why—” his voice was muffled with his face pressed against her like that— “what would someone like you want with someone like me?”

“Hey, don’t talk like that.” She found his face with her hands and held his cheeks so he would look at her. His eyes were wet and it broke her heart a little bit. “Hey, Dima, hey,” her voice softened and she smoothed his eyebrows, and he nuzzled into the heel of her palm. This was who Dmitry was, deep down. A boy with his heart out on his sleeve and patches in his pants and too much pride in his chest and too much insecurity to consider that maybe she could adore him. A lost, broken, thoughtful, loving boy. Her boy.

Dmitry looked like he was already saying goodbye. “What if the Dowager doesn’t accept me being with you?” he asked. “What if you find something better on the other side?”

“What if she doesn’t accept you, what if she doesn’t accept me?” she challenged. “What if the con falls apart? What if the sky falls, what if the Seine floods, what if what if what if!” she shook her head in fond exasperation. One of her hands trailed down his neck, his shoulder, thumbing at one of the bullet wounds that had healed over. One of their twin scars. “Do you ever stop thinking?”

His lips twitched, as if in spite of himself. He was always so self-deprecating. And then he was looking at her with his wet eyes and upturned eyebrows. “You make things feel quieter,” he admitted. “You make it all go away.”

She swallowed at this confession. Her knuckle brushed a tear from his cheek. “Then fight for it.”

His jaw clenched and somehow his eyes got even sadder. “I just don’t think dowager empresses like street rats in their house, Anya.”

She wasn’t sure how to describe it, this emotion storming in her chest, this emotion that was only invented for him. The enormity of it. It was rather scary how much she was already spiraling about him. How she was ready to scrap the con altogether, to just live like this with him, swanky hotel or no. How forever was starting to look like his smile and sound like his laugh and feel like his arms.

She wasn’t ready to voice all of that aloud, though. And she wasn’t sure if he would understand the bit about how she wants him to literally crawl inside her skin and stay there so she could keep him. At least, not right away.

So Anya would have to think of a more tangible way to make him believe her, then.

“First of all,” she started, “if this particular dowager empress doesn’t like you, then she certainly won’t like me. I’m just as much of a street rat as you are.”

He gave her a weird look.

“And if she doesn’t like you, well, then, I want nothing to do with her.”

“Anya…”

“I’m serious. If she can’t see…” she felt tears prick her eyes, surprised by the sudden emotion. Perhaps it was best for them both to leave that thought unfinished. “And at the end of the day, if we’re separated with no hope of reconciling, if something takes you away from me…” she rubbed at his cheekbones, still amazed by the structure of his face. “I’ll find you again.”

His eyes raked up and down her face, holding his breath, as if not daring to believe her. She pulled him down to give him a kiss. It was soft and gentle and simple, but by the time he pulled away, he was smiling again. His smile, the one that lit up the room, the one that met his eyes.

“You won’t lose me,” she repeated, keeping her voice stern and soft at the same time. “I promise.”

He kissed her again. Her mouth, her cheeks, her eyelids, her jaw, her neck. So much that she started silently giggling.

“I’m guessing you feel better?” she asked.

“Uh huh.” He met her eyes. “I don’t know how you do it.”

She sighed, touching his hair. “I know. I’m just so smart and wonderful.”

He laughed, too loud for this late in the night. “You are.” He wet his lips, swallowing. “Do you want me to go…”

“Absolutely not.” Her arms came around his neck. “Never.”

Dmitry smiled with half his mouth, then kissed her again. Slow and lingering and sweet and everything she could ever want. “Okay, Anya,” he murmured, settling to lay his cheek on her chest, tucked under her chin, “I’ll stay. As long as you’ll have me.”

Anya settled deeper into the blankets, understanding what he was saying. That he wasn’t just staying tonight, but for the foreseeable future. “Good.”

so no to the dancing

dimya one shot, canonverse, 5k, M, smut, jealousy 👀 some rough and possessive sex under the cut, but like in a feminist manner so it's okay don't worry about it. i posted this two weeks ago but i was embarrassed to link it here lol but whatever. here u go. have fun ladies <3 read on ao3 or down below!

Anya couldn’t figure him out.

Not when they met in a dusty palace, arguing on either side of a broken chaise, when she was about to pass out from hunger. And certainly not now, months later, in this crowded nightclub in Montmartre, with these glances they kept stealing, eyes burning brighter than the embers at the end of the cigarettes between their lips.

It’s not like Dmitry wasn’t… complicated. He was. He had a short childhood and a long life of hardship, he loved his city but hated his country, he revered his father but was too apolitical to follow in his footsteps. He was a walking contradiction, for sure. But she was usually pretty good at reading people. Figuring out their motive, their ticks. Nothing about Dmitry made any sense to her, though. All she had was a collection of data and observations that didn’t add up to anything. He would mess with his hair when the conversation lulled. He lit a cigarette when he was upset. He smiled a lot but she didn’t think he always meant it.

There was a time where she hated his guts, she had to admit. And then he confused her even more by revealing his past, how he came to be the man he was now. Anya couldn’t picture him as a child. Dmitry was just. A fully formed man from the beginning. A fully formed, certified asshole, in her mind.

Once they escaped Saint Petersburg and Russia herself she realized somewhere along the way that hatred had shifted into something milder, something fond. She found herself whispering with him in the dark, when neither of them could fall asleep, musing what they would do in Paris when they finally made it, all while Vlad snored softly on the other side of the fire she had built. He was good at telling stories. Since she had no stories of her own to tell, not with this empty gap in her memory, she clung onto his every word with white knuckles.

Somehow Dmitry had sort of become her best friend. Somehow he was sort of the person she trusted the most in this world.

And then they hit Paris, and something else shifted. It was almost like he was avoiding her altogether. Friendly touches reverted back to walking in wide arcs around her. Lingering smiles changed to eyes flitting away the second she looked at him. It made her feel foolish. Somewhere along the way she had thought… well, honestly, there was something… simmering between them. What that something was she hadn’t even had time to explore. But there had been a weight to his lingering gazes, a meaning behind his hand brushing her own. And now he acted like she burned him at the barest glance. A new form of loathing took shape within her.

She couldn’t decipher it. She already had so much on her plate, especially now that they were in Paris and their deadline was fast approaching— as soon as Vlad could get them an audience with the dowager empress they would all part ways. She didn’t mean to let her confused heart get mixed up in all this.

When Vlad insisted on going clubbing, Anya had welcomed the distraction, even if her feet ached from exploring the city all day. They had traded their tired Russian winter wardrobe for a spring Parisian chic, with light and flowy dresses and freshly pressed suits and stylish chignons. Anya didn’t look his way but she felt Dmitry’s eyes burning through her skin the whole way here, his hand like fire on her lower back as they stepped from the cab, the heat of his body beside her when they ordered their drinks.

Vlad found a dance partner impressively fast, Anya admitted to herself, and left the two of them to swim in their thick, simmering silence on their own. Fair enough. She would be sick of the pair of them, too, if she were in Vlad’s shoes.

“Want another drink?” Dmitry asked over the noise of the swing band without looking at her.

Damn, he really was handsome. Even if he wasn’t meeting her eye and his expression was entirely unreadable, he had such a remarkable profile, with the bump in his nose and his princely chin and his stern mouth. His new suit was tailored just right, broadening his shoulders and stretching over his chest. His hair was combed but one stubborn lock fell over his left eyebrow in defiance. Anya wet her lips. “I’m still working on this one, but thank—”

He wordlessly left her side, weaving his way through the crowd towards the bar.

All right.

It wasn’t difficult to piss her off, sure, but something about Dmitry would always bring her blood to a boil, and now was no exception. So when another gentleman approached her to ask for the next set, she felt no remorse when she set her half empty glass on the nearest table and accepted his hand, even if he looked a little wolfish and angular and not at all her type.

The gentleman was a good dancer. He waltzed her through one set, and then the next, and the next, without breaking a sweat or stepping on her toes. He even made her laugh once. She wasn’t sure if it was on purpose, but she still laughed all the same.

At one turn, though, her eyes found his: Dmitry was staring daggers at them across the crowded dance hall, sucking on a cigarette with a tight jaw. He downed his drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before shouldering his way through the other wallflowers. Anya politely excused herself from her partner and did her best to escape the dance floor without stumbling.

Anya followed him all the way outside. She hadn’t realized how hot and stuffy it had been in the club, the air thick and stifling with other dancers, until she came out here, where the cool spring evening chill was welcomed. The club was tucked away in a deserted alley, with nothing but cigarette butts and streetlamps for company. This must have been some side entrance because no one, not even a bouncer or a server on their break, was around. Dmitry was about a dozen steps ahead of her. “Where are you going?” she called. He didn’t stop.

“Back to the hotel,” he said, barely over his shoulder. She was trying to catch up with him, but his long strides were difficult to compete with.

“But I’m not ready to leave.”

“You don’t have to.”

Her fists clenched at her sides. “So you were just going to leave me?”

“I thought you found better company.”

The words cut through her, searing. She finally caught up with him, walking side by side. He still only stared straight ahead without halting. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Nothing, it’s whatever.” Dmitry took another puff of his cigarette and blew out plumes of smoke with his words. “It’s a dance club, so go back and dance, I don’t care.”

Anger flared up. She shoved at his shoulder. “It’s not like you were going to ask me to dance.”

“I said I don’t care!” he lifted his hands as if surrendering. His expression was still guarded. “You can do whatever you want. I’m not your mom.”

“What if I want you to care?”

For a brief moment that mask flickered, his eyes darting to hers in curiosity. But then that moment was over in a flash and he scrubbed his face clean of any emotion with his palm, leaving nothing but a cool neutrality behind. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Anya stayed planted while he was still walking away. An idea suddenly struck her, plain as day. A new angle to look at, a new method to unraveling the mystery that was Dmitry Sudayev. “He kept calling me cherie, by the way,” she tested, keeping her voice disinterested.

Dmitry froze in his tracks. And that was when she knew she had him. She was onto something.

Her heart raced. “He even invited me to come home with him tonight. Told me he’s got a penthouse suite right on the Champs-Elysees and everything.”

When Dmitry turned to face her his eyes were black. Smoking obsidian. “Well?” he said after a very measured breath. “Are you?”

She shrugged, as if nonchalant. “I can’t think of a reason not to.”

His nostrils flared, like he could fucking smell the man’s cologne on her still.

Anya lifted her chin. “Why?” she asked. “Does that make you jealous, Dmitry?”

That was it. She had him pinned. His ears went bright pink in the low lamplight and he had the audacity to laugh. Angry and humorless, but a laugh all the same. “Jealous? Really? You think too highly of yourself sometimes.”

“I think you’re fooling yourself if you believe that.”

He angrily snuffed his cigarette between his shoe and the cobblestone. “You can do whatever you want with whoever you want, just leave me out of it.”

“Do you want me to?”

His eyes snapped back to hers, weary, angry. “You don’t need my permission.”

“Do you want me to,” she repeated, more insistent. They were close now, not quite nose to nose, but too near each other for her to miss the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, like it pained him, and the way his eyes were a match about to burn down to fingertips.

His nostrils flared again, muscles in his jaw flexing. He slowly shook his head.

“No.”

No. Now they were getting somewhere. She pushed at his chest. Not enough to make him stumble away, but enough to get him to pay attention. The attention she had been wanting for a really long time, she realized. “No, what?”

His exhale hit her face. “I don’t want you going home with that guy.”

His tone was low, dangerous, a warning. Thin and brittle and about to snap. “Then give me a reason not to.”

Anya barely had time to suck in another breath before his mouth was on hers, crashing into her so forcefully she had to stumble backwards to catch her footing. But Dmitry didn’t let her fall, his hands pulling at her waist and the back of her neck, leveraging her against him.

Damn, Dmitry could kiss. It was messy and desperate and frantic but it was perfect, his teeth pulling at her bottom lip, bunching the skirt of her dress into a fist. The cold air made goosebumps erupt all over her exposed thigh. Her mouth parted and her tongue swiped at the seam of his lips, which he graciously allowed access, and when her tongue slid under his he let out a moan so sinful she had to cling onto his arms to keep her knees from wobbling. She landed hard against the damp wall, and even though he was being forceful and rough he still cradled her head so she wouldn’t hurt herself on the brick. He could play tough all he wanted, but deep down he was a softie.

“This what you wanted?” he asked, his voice still low and gruff. “Needed some attention?”

Now that he was all in her space, crowding her and mouthing at her skin, she welcomed this feeling pooling in her lower stomach, something she hadn’t paid much attention to in a while. Sure, she was no stranger to desire. But something was different about him. A strange, darker need, sprouting from how fiery they could make one another. Her hand came up to fold into his hair. “Maybe.”

Dmitry moaned a little when her fingers wove through his locks. Another discovery of the night. “You still gonna go home with him?”

No, absolutely not. Anya could barely remember what that guy even looked like. But she only smiled a little and said, in her best princess voice she could muster, “I’m thinking about it.” Her words had the desired effect— Dmitry let out a gruff noise and shoved his knee between her legs, giving her access to relieve some of the pressure that had ballooned up there.

“You don’t need him,” he breathed. “You don’t need anybody. Just ask me to take care of you and I will. Whatever you want.”

Her head tilted back, letting him cradle her skull, while her hips, nearly involuntary, thrusted back and forth, rubbing herself on his muscular thigh. “I think you’re smart enough to figure out what I want.”

His mouth cascaded down her neck, teeth scraping over the column of her throat. If they had done this earlier in their acquaintance they would’ve had to fumble with scarves and coats and wool to do all of this so she was grateful they had waited until now. Now all she had on was her thin, silky dress, and her new underwear, all of which the latest Parisian fashions, which tended to focus on revealing more skin than what was acceptable back home. More neck, more cleavage, more leg, which he was clearly enjoying, with his hand up her skirt and bruising her thigh and his mouth sucking on the base of her throat. Dmitry bit down at the junction between her neck and shoulder, something possessive and hungry, earning a surprised gasp. There was no doubt a bruise would bloom here in minutes.

“You’re so sensitive…” he swiped his tongue over the mark, as if to sooth it or maybe admire his work, she wasn’t sure, “how long’s it been since you’ve let a man touch you like this?”

Her heart was beating so fast against his, her chest heaving, face hot and flushed. His thigh between her legs wasn’t enough. “Too long.”

His hand cupping the nape of her neck slid forward until it was around her throat, not squeezing or anything, but angling her jaw so he could kiss underneath, and also holding her in place. “I could touch you more,” he murmured, his hand gripping her thigh loosening to slide between her legs, fingers rubbing at her over her panties. Somehow he had sensed her need. “If you ask politely.”

She squeezed the hair she was holding. “You’re in no position to negotiate.”

“Aren’t I?” His thumb pressed into the base of her throat at the hollow of her collarbone, just a little. She knew he would never hurt her. Not even this way. But the thought of him threatening her like this was arousing and, absurdly, a little funny.

Anya lifted her chin at him, meeting his eye, making sure he was watching her. “I don’t think this other gentleman would make me ask.”

His nostrils flared, eyes hooded and dark and flashing with something ominous, as predicted. He grabbed her wrists in one hand and locked them above her head, all in a silly show of dominance for this little performance, and his other hand started fiddling with her underwear. He was probably looking for things to untie or unbutton but all she had on was a pair of lacy french panties. His eyebrows rose in surprise. “So accessible.” He kept playing with the waistband of her panties, just to torture her. “These new?”

They were indeed new. She smiled a bit. “Bought them with the dress.”

Dmitry sighed. “Love this city,” he mumbled. “I could barely look at you since we got here, you’re too fucking irresistible.”

She frowned, struggling to escape his grip on her wrists. “But you’ve been ignoring me since we got here.”

“Because I can’t— I don’t think I can control myself around you right now.”

He was so fucking confusing. This was why he had been ignoring her? She was too attractive to him? That was it? “All it took was a bath and some new clothes for you to notice me, huh?”

“I’ve always noticed you,” he whispered. “Always. Driving me crazy since you walked into that goddamn palace all those months ago.” His lips twitched, like he thought of a joke. “But you do smell better now, I’ll admit that.”

This made her laugh, because it was true. “So do you—”

She gasped when his hand finally slipped down the front of her underwear all the way, cupping her, rubbing at her. “Jesus Christ,” he marveled, “no wonder you’re so— this all for me? Or for him?”

Anya bit her lip, pressing herself harder against his hand. “What answer will make you shut up and touch me more?”

In spite of everything, the bastard grinned, white teeth and everything, like he figured out her game and was absolutely delighted to play. “Need me to take care of this for you?”

His fingertips were making slow, sensual ovals, making her lose her composure a little. “Make me feel good.”

Two of his fingers plunged all the way inside her, making her gasp, while his palm rubbed at her. His hand was so large and perfect, fingers thick and round. His other hand holding her wrists loosened its grip and slid down one of her arms and she let out a keening noise when his thumb brushed her nipple over the fabric of her dress.

“So needy,” he dipped his head, pressing more hot kisses to her neck, “poor thing. All hot and bothered with no one to help.” His lips sucked around her pulse point behind the corner of her jaw. “You have needs, I get it. But why even bother finding someone else to satisfy you when I’m right here?”

He had taken on a softer tone, bordering on cooing at her, and for some reason this irritated her more than anything. “You piss me off so much,” she mumbled, trying to catch her breath.

He laughed a little, like he knew what she meant, like she pissed him off too. “Does arguing with me get you all worked up?”

Her hands tangled in his hair. “Does picturing me with another man get you all worked up?”

“No, it— it makes me fucking angry,” he grunted, his voice cracking. “Don’t like thinking about that.” His hand was moving a little more frantically now. Like this was how he proved himself. “You think that guy— anyone else— could make you feel this good?”

“How do you know he can’t?” she asked, just to piss him off. He all but growled in her ear.

“Just by looking at him— he’s a fucking selfish piece of shit.” His fingers were knuckle deep, knocking against what felt like every nerve in her body, with his palm rubbing at her. It was a little difficult to focus on what he was saying. “Wouldn’t know the first thing about how to touch a woman. He’d probably just fuck you until he was done, wouldn’t care if you were satisfied or not...” The rest of his sentence trailed off, but he didn’t need to finish. Clearly he knew how to pleasure her. His fingers inside her was evidence enough.

She thought of something else. “You know,” she started. “If I’m— if I’m really her— you know I’ll have a whole lineup of suitors, right?”

He nipped at the soft skin of her neck in warning. “No.”

“No?” she asked incredulously. “I absolutely will. That’s how this works.”

He lifted his head to look at her, his expression a calm satisfaction. “You know you won’t need them, don’t you?” He shook his head. “None of them could ever get you this riled up, not the way I do.”

That was true— she didn’t think anyone else existed with the perfect skillset to frustrate her so the way Dmitry Sudayev could— but there was no way in hell she was admitting that now. Even if her hips were wobbling against his hand, clenching around his fingers. “And you’d legally have to do everything I say.”

He gritted his teeth. “I don’t like being told what to do.”

A bold statement, considering he was right where she wanted him. Considering he had done everything she had asked him to so far.

His fingers were so long, buried deep inside her, pressing every sensitive nerve she had, and the heel of his palm was cupping her so perfectly, moving rhythmically. “Fuck, Dima,” she moaned, the name slipping from her lips. Her head tilted back against the brick and her eyes had to flutter shut. “Don’t stop.”

“Look at me,” he grabbed at her jaw, angling her face towards his. So she opened her eyes and glared at him. “I’m not loyal to princesses and kings, Anya. But I am loyal to you.”

His surprising sincerity, in the midst of how lewd and filthy he had been treating her, was a little confusing. He towered over her, surrounding her on all sides, cocooning her from the real world, eyes dark and alluring and honest. In a way, he was more protective of her than anything else. Her arms came around his shoulders and her fingers slipped into his hair again.

He bit at her shell of her ear. “You gonna come for me or what?”

She was so close. But she spat, “Make me.”

He growled in frustration. “You’re such a brat sometimes,” he hissed, “spoiled rotten. Mean as hell to me.”

She yanked hard on his hair. “If I’m a brat, you’re a bitch.”

He laughed, like he couldn’t agree more. “This mouth,” his thumb brushed over her parted lips, “don’t know how it hasn’t gotten you into more trouble.” When he pressed the finger over her tongue, like he was experimenting to see how much he could get away with, she bit him with her teeth, just hard enough to get him to react. He groaned. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Don’t I?”

A third finger slipped inside of her and it felt so good her vision went white for a second. Holy shit, she was so close. His hand covered her mouth entirely. “So fucking noisy,” he hushed. “Bet it pisses you off how good I’m making you feel right now.”

He wasn’t wrong. But she didn’t care— all of the bickering and the tension from the last few months was piling up and she was about to earn her payoff for all of it.

But then he suddenly slipped his fingers out of her, entirely stopping. The loss of momentum was that of tripping while running downhill.

“Fuck you!” she hissed. All he did was laugh, sucking each of his fingers clean. “I wasn’t done.”

“We’ll finish this up at the hotel,” he cooed.

She shoved at his chest. “No, we’re finishing this here.”

He still wasn’t taking this seriously. “No.”

“It’s now,” she tugged at his pants, popping the button open, “or never, Sudayev.”

When she started palming at him, his hips thrust himself into her hand, a new noise slipping from the back of his throat. “Dirty girl.” He let her fumble with undoing his pants, neither bothering with his jacket or vest or suspenders.

Dmitry lifted her by her hips and she scrambled to cling onto his shoulders, her back scraping on the cold brick, legs wrapping around him. His grip on her was bruising tight, but he had a forearm behind her head, protecting her from the hard wall. Suddenly she was at eye level with him and her breath caught in her throat. He really was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

He was breathing hard. “You wanna know why I’ve been ignoring you?”

He was inside her in one, sharp thrust, taking up every possible inch of space within and around her.

“It’s because I’m so fucking terrified of what’s gonna happen to me when I lose you,” he confessed. “Whether it’s to some suitor who wants Anastasia, or some gentleman at a dance club, or— or anyone who actually deserves you. And I knew if I let myself… I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to let you go.” He shifted her in his grip. “Didn’t want to frighten you off with how bad I wanted you.”

He was already moving. Clumsy and needy and messy, sure, but. She couldn’t breathe for a second. She could feel him everywhere, in her gut, in her toes, even all the way up to her throat. What could she even say to that, anyway? He was basically confessing this was more than just a fleeting moment of passion for him, confirming her suspicions. It was a lot to take in. Both emotionally and physically.

“How much?” She managed. “How much did you want me?”

His next thrust was particularly deep and hard, insistent. “So fucking much.”

He was so close to her, fingers sinking into her flesh, his front pressing into her own, like he was trying to actually climb under her skin in every way imaginable. “Like you said…” her nails dug into his suit jacket, waiting for him to meet her eye, “I don’t need anyone else.”

That flicker of insecurity vanished, replaced with his smug grin. “Damn right.”

They were moving a little more steadily now, not as clumsy. There was a ferocity to it, though, an animalistic haste and speed she didn’t expect from him. A sort of desperation that only starving men had. His fingers were bruising her thigh, holding her whole body aloft with ease, moving so fast she could hardly keep up. He mouthed at the side of her neck again and she couldn’t keep the embarrassing noises from escaping her throat.

“God fucking damn it, Anya.” His breaths came out in heavy huffs, a moan here and there. “You like it dirty, don’t you? Taking me so good out here in this fucking alleyway. Not some fragile grand duchess, huh?”

He was mumbling, babbling nonsense. And he had laughed at her for being noisy. “You’re one to talk.”

He nosed his way back up to her mouth, not quite kissing her but mostly just showing he was paying attention. His hips were pistoning fast, but also powerful, precise, like he knew exactly where she needed him out of sheer will. Not a single movement was wasted. Thrusting upwards, stretching her open.

“Didn’t take you for the jealous type,” she breathed. “If I had known I would’ve— tried this weeks ago.”

He scoffed. “Come on, as if the thought of me with someone else doesn’t drive you up the wall.”

She thought about it. Someone else getting to have Dmitry this way, being the object of his attentions. And she felt something sour in her gut. “The girls on Theatre Street?”

He met her eyes, lips twitching with a bit of mischief. “Maybe.”

Okay, she really hated that.

“See!” He was too breathless to laugh, but he was close to it. “Does that make you jealous, Anya?”

She tugged his hair and he hissed. Damn, they were so similar, down to every wire, it seemed. She thought of something else. “You know you don’t need them, right?” Her ankles locked around him, clinging on, keeping him close. Like no one else would get him this way, if she had a say about it. “You won’t want anyone else that’s not me.”

He smiled then. Like he knew her game. “I knew it— the moment we met,” he breathed. “You’re it for me.”

His hips snapped into hers at an ungodly pace now, as wild and desperate as she felt. Her heart was pounding. Dmitry wasn’t speaking anymore, just huffing and moaning and panting. Everything they’d been through— all of the angry bickering, the stolen glances, the lingering touches, the desperate dependency on one another for survival, was crescending to this. To his hands holding her aloft, his brown eyes hooded with something dark and hungry, the skin of his scalp under her fingernails, the stretch of him moving frantically inside her.

“Look at me,” she managed. She needed to see him come undone. His eyes were shining a little, a vein protruding from his neck, face flushed from his hairline down his chest, lips parted and red. She pressed a loose kiss to them. “Say it.”

“Fuck—” he groaned. Like she surprised him. “You’re mine.”

She was his. She knew it for a long time, how much she wanted to belong to someone, in one way or another. “And you’re mine.”

Dmitry nodded once. Apparently even when incapable of speech he would still take care of her. I’m not loyal to princesses and kings, he had confessed. But I am loyal to you.

He had already built a staircase for her to reach the end of this, so it wasn’t difficult to finally let go, to let this wave crest and wash over her. When she came all over him he let out the most obscene whimper she had ever heard and within seconds he froze, shaking. All without breaking eye contact.

Her hands came to the side of his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks. “You okay?” she asked.

He nodded and audibly swallowed, still breathing hard. Her makeup was smudged all over his face, his hair was going in all different directions, his shirt was wrinkled, his face flushed pink.

She had to bite her lip and tilt her head back. For some absurd reason she felt an urge to laugh.

“What?”

“I finally figured out how to get you to stop talking.”

He smiled tiredly and huffed another breath. Slowly his eyes came back into focus. “Fuck— did I hurt you?” He anxiously brushed a loose hair from her face, searching her eyes with clarity and concern. “I’m— I’m sorry—”

“Don’t,” Anya shook her head. “Never apologize to me. You’re fine.” Her fingers pushed his bangs out of his eyes. “You’re perfect.”

They just breathed together for a second, foreheads touching. When he carefully pulled out he exhaled slow and angled her hips with a strange sort of reverence. As he gently set her back down on her feet, he brushed a soft kiss over her mouth, helping her fix her skirt and panties, cleaning her up with the cloth tucked in his breast pocket. The gentleness and care was so different from the way he was moving in her just seconds ago. He had bit a bruise on her neck and left indentations of his hand on the flesh of her thigh but now he was kissing her forehead and wiping her clean with a tenderness she didn’t know he was capable of. And then he pulled his suit jacket off and carefully draped it over her shoulders, almost boyishly shy about it. Confusing and contradicting.

Dmitry Sudayev would continuously be full of surprises, it seemed.

“You still gonna go home with that gentleman?” he asked, half joking and half serious. As if, even after all that, she was still on the fence, as if it wasn’t always going to be him from the beginning.

She tilted her head up at him. “What gentleman?”

He grinned in obvious relief and bent down, mouth hovering over hers. “Good answer,” he whispered just before he kissed her. His hands were gentle around her waist, tugging her closer, his warmth as inviting as ever. “Would you like to go back inside for a dance?”

She fixed his collar. “How likely is it, do you think, Vlad will find somewhere else to stay tonight?”

“I don’t know. He did say he was looking for Lily, and if that’s anything how I think it’ll be…” he grimaced, like a little boy encountering his parents exchanging a kiss. “Why do you ask?”

He wasn’t getting it. Her hand slid down his chest as slowly and sensually as she could, finding his hand, intertwining their fingers. “Because in that case, we could have the suite to ourselves…”

His face lit up with understanding. “Oh!” His entire demeanor shifted, no longer weary with exhaustion, standing straighter and bouncing at the balls of his feet. When she started tugging him down the alley towards the street, he was practically skipping. “Got it. So no to the dancing.”

She let out a giggle. “No dancing.” She held his arm. She was still a little wobbly on her feet, but he was steady next to her, so she knew he wouldn’t let her fall. “But yes to you.”

His face reddened, endearing and embarrassed to be so obviously complimented, but his eyes danced with something a little akin to the hunger he’d shown before. A promise of more. A promise that he was worth her time.

Dmitry would always be complicated and contradictory. But now Anya felt, with his hand in hers, she finally understood him a little bit.

#dimya #anastasia broadway #fanfiction #my writing #smutty saturday #i promise i'll shut up about this now #back to your regularly scheduled pathetic subby dima from now on

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mc-lukanette · 4 years ago

Text

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6]

—————

A few days had passed since Marinette had burned the Adrien photos, and Luka was relieved to note that they hadn't come back since. Marinette seemed equally at ease, their daily calls becoming more and more relaxed with each time she told him about her still-empty wall. He did wish he could do a little more concerning the red string around her neck, but his mind was drawing a blank and she was happier than before regardless.

The main problem however, was the relation to the miraculouses. Everyone knew that Ladybug wasn't interested in Chat Noir, a fact that made the knowledge of the red string even worse. He wasn't sure if the red strings were tied to the miraculouses or not - or how if they were indeed connected - but he speculated that it was about more than just talking to Marinette about Adrien; Chat was a factor as well. He couldn’t imagine the societal pressure of Ladybug and Chat Noir being a couple, and no one had to do much research to realize that Chat Noir was okay with it while Ladybug was very much not.

He'd have to take on the red string from both sides of the masks, and it took one particular day for him to get his chance.

"You want me to go on patrol with you?"

Ladybug nodded, balancing herself on his windowsill as she replied, "If you'd like to. Chat Noir is busy tonight, so the position's opened and you're one of the people used to having a miraculous."

Luka caught himself before he could start smiling too much, knowing that it was Marinette under that mask and she wanted him to go on patrol because they were friends.

"I'd be honored to."

She beamed at him, and after the snake miraculous was on his wrist, he was transformed and the two set off for the rooftops together.

—————

Viperion glanced left and right as he went along with Ladybug. He'd been called enough by then to have gotten used to superheroing, though it was his first time actually on patrol. Given the situation they were in, he was thankful that Adrien was busy that particular night with what Viperion could only guess was Gabriel's orders.

The red string was still dangling around Ladybug's neck, though Viperion'd grown attuned enough with his fate sensing that he could stop focusing on it and simply see her if he chose to. It didn't stop him from thinking about it, but it helped.

Ladybug seemed to know the route to take, so he mostly followed after her, but it was partway through where she'd decided that they should take a break. Paris was always quiet right after akuma attacks, meaning that they could afford to take it easy since there'd been one just that afternoon.

They leaped buildings until they reached the Eiffel Tower, scaling the monument until they reached the top platform. He didn't miss that she'd avoided using her yoyo for the job, possibly to put them on an even playing field.

Letting out a breath, Ladybug leaned against the railing and she gazed over the city. Gesturing to the view, she explained, "We'll have a good vantage point from here in case anything happens."

Viperion chuckled. "You really do think of everything."

She blushed faintly, but took the compliment casually. "I'm just doing my job." She turned her hip to more easily grab her yoyo, then opened it and reached inside. "Anyway, are you hungry?"

He tilted his head in curiosity, then grinned as she pulled out a bag of macarons from the Dupain-Cheng bakery. It wasn't anything suspicious given that it was known as the best bakery around.

"Thanks," he replied gratefully, taking one of the macarons she offered him.

She grabbed one as well and they took a simultaneous bite of their respective treats. He was a little surprised to hear that she brought along snacks, but supposed it made sense if breaks during patrol were a common thing after akuma.

They settled down on the ground, Ladybug placing the open bag in-between them so they could pick them out at equal leisure. Tossing him an apologetic but teasing smile, she added, "Sorry, but cushions wouldn't fit in the yoyo."

He raised his brows at her, then glanced down at the hard ground below them. He snorted at her joke, noting, "It's nice to see you outside of akuma battles, where you can relax and play around more."

She smiled shyly at him, in a way that was so Marinette that he couldn't believe he hadn't figured her out sooner. "Thanks. Chat says I have no sense of humor."

He frowned, replying without hesitation, "Chat's wrong."

She waved him off, though he could tell that she appreciated the comment. Hearing that Chat had told her something like that was news to him, despite all the research he'd done into their relationship. Granted, he imagined that anything could be said off-camera and he couldn't have known.

"Does he say things like that a lot?" he asked, hoping he wasn't prodding too much. There was just something about how casually she'd said it that unnerved him.

"Huh?" She blinked, thrown off by the question, then rubbed the back of her neck. "Well... most of the time, he flirts instead. It's..." She hesitated, like she wasn't sure that she could talk about it. Glancing at him, then back to the open sky, she relented and added, "—it's a lot sometimes, but he does his job well enough, so it’s not like it’s a serious problem. I don’t know, it’s not like I’ve never wondered about the what ifs of having someone else, but whenever I think about it, I just—"

She squinted at nothing, Viperion's gaze flickering down to the string, which had became visible now that he was focusing on it.

It had tightened, pressing into the black of her bodysuit in a way only he could see, and he found himself squinting just like she was.

"—I can't imagine being Ladybug without him," she said.

He pressed his lips together, trying to suppress any reaction to the comment. He'd suspected it for a while, but actually seeing it was something else entirely.

The red string demanded dependency on Ladybug's part. He wasn't sure how much it pulled Chat on the other end, but judging from what he'd gathered from Marinette's luck and fate's blatant favoring of Adrien, he could guess.

Ladybug peeked up from her macaron when he remained silent, confusion passing over her features. "What? You look like you have something to say."

"Ah—" He looked down, brows furrowing as he hoped even more that he wasn't pushing boundaries. "—just... I know that he's been with you since the beginning, but I don’t think you need Chat Noir to be an amazing Ladybug."

She straightened, dropping her treat in surprise and then fumbling to catch it. Perhaps she hadn’t caught onto what her words implied, or had said them without thinking due to the string and was now facing it head-on.

He continued, "You've dealt with akuma plenty of times without him, and you work well with all your heroes. I'm sure you could make the best out of any partner you had." He smiled reassuringly at her. "Maybe Chat Noir only seems as good as he does because he's at your command."

Ladybug's cheeks tinted red, nearly matching her mask, as she ducked her head at the high praise. She raised the macaron back to her lips, chewing on it as if that helped hide her face.

It was only after she'd slowly nibbled the treat all the way down and swallowed that she replied, "T-thank you."

He shrugged, having only been honest.

"Chat Noir..." She cleared her throat. "Well, Paris would disagree with you."

"Paris is wrong too," he replied in the exact same tone as when he was discussing Chat. After careful consideration, he asked cautiously, "Do you mean how—"

"Yeah, the—" She frowned and waved both hands vaguely in a gesture that no one but him would've understood. "Yeah."

So she was all too aware of their status of a "couple" in the eyes of Parisians. It made sense with everything he already knew, but he hadn't wanted to be right.

The phrase she'd used when talking about Adrien resurfaced in his mind: made for each other.

He clenched his fist. She was being pressured on both sides of the mask, towards both sides of Adrien's mask.

"I don't like it," she admitted, "but Chat drinks it up and I guess the public is into the idea of this superhero couple. They see us like celebrities."

"It's not right," Viperion hissed, and Sass would've been proud of it. "You save Paris every week and you deserve to be respected."

"There's nothing I can do about it," she told him, almost in defeat. "Besides, Chat... he needs a pick-me-up every now and my pep talks don't always work on him. He pouted when I brought in a male hero for the first time."

"That's not your fault!" he argued. "Chat needs to be confident on his own. He can't keep relying on you or make you feel like you can't do anything without him doubting himself. You're under enough stress as it is, and—!"

He caught himself, his mouth shutting tight before he could reveal exactly how much he knew. Ladybug blinked at him, seeming puzzled by the outburst but not suspicious at least.

He took a breath, reminding himself to stay calm. Reaching back, he grabbed hold of his lyre and brought it in front of him, strumming a few notes and letting them settle the discordant song that was playing in his stomach.

"My point is... Chat shouldn't be someone adding onto the pressure. That's not a partnership."

Her shoulders relaxed, her eyes darting around as she processed his words. She looked conflicted.

"...I'm sorry," he added, settling his lyre in his lap. "Not for what I said, but—I didn't mean to bring the mood down."

"No, no." She shook her head, pulling her knees to her chest. "It's good that you did. I've actually—" Her voice grew quiet. "—been thinking about it lately."

"About what?"

She made the same vague gesture from before. "All of that. There's been a lot going on and it's given me a lot to think about."

He knew immediately what she meant.

"It's... frustrating," she groaned. "I don't like Chat that way. I mean, maybe sometimes he said or did something that I found charming, but that's just—not enough for me, you know? To only feel something like that for a second or two." She averted her gaze, growing distant. "Everyone seems to think we belong together, and... I hate that they might be right."

"What do you mean?"

She sighed. "Well, I'm a hero; a permanent one. I need to be there all the time. Every akuma, every purification, every Miraculous Ladybug. Only I can do it." She hugged her legs closer, burying her face in her knees. "I want a relationship. I want someone to date and be close to, but I can't have it. I'm always running away; always going somewhere with some excuse so I can go deal with the akuma, and I can't tell anyone! Can you imagine how that'd make my date feel?"

He opened his mouth, but a thought occurred to him at the last second that gave him pause.

"You... so you think..."

Once again, he hoped to be wrong. He wanted so badly to be wrong.

But Ladybug looked up, her expression pained as she confirmed, "There's only one person I could be with where it wouldn't have to happen."

His blood ran cold, he felt sick, and the memory of the red string flashed in his mind, wrapped around Adrien's ring.

Fate didn't just tie her to him; it wanted to make her believe that he was her only choice.

Viperion's grip on his lyre tightened, his teeth grinding together behind closed lips as he tried to maintain an aura of calm. He wasn't just angry anymore, he was livid, and he silently wished that the face on the other side of the butterfly miraculous was the universe so he could give it a piece of his mind.

How could you do that? How could you take a girl who's always worked so hard and tried her best, and treat her like she's nothing? No, not nothing, because then at least she'd be left alone. How could you treat her like a plaything, as if she's some prize for a guy to win no matter what? How could you manipulate her to think that everything's her fault, just so she never thinks to fight back against the ones putting pressure on her?

What's love if it's gotten through such force?

"V-viperion?"

A hand falling upon his jolted him back to reality, his head snapping up to see Ladybug there, her pupils shrunken in and her brows knitted in worry. Whatever his face had looked like, it'd scared her.

His first instinct was to feel guilty. He was supposed to be comforting her, not making things worse by letting all of his emotions show on his face.

His second instinct...

He tossed his lyre off to the side, Ladybug's gaze briefly following it until his hands fell upon her shoulders. Her eyes widened, and she let out a squeak as he pulled her onto his lap and into a hug.

The only thing he was grateful for in terms of her superhero status was that he could hug her as tightly as possible without hurting her.

"A-ah..." She seemed tempted to say something, but fell silent soon after and hugged him back, burying her face into the side of his neck. He felt her strength in the way she squeezed him, like she was starved for his affection despite them being in a similar position not too long ago.

He understood. Before, they were tackling her problems when she was Marinette, but Ladybug had never had someone to personally confide in concerning Chat.

She'd needed this.

"You already do so much," he whispered. "You should be allowed to be with whoever you want, and you shouldn't have to settle when it comes to love."

She sighed against him, like she knew deep down that he was right. "You don't know how bad it could get. Some hypothetical boyfriend wouldn't deserve that kind of treatment."

"I get why you'd feel that way," he said, "but I'd hope that this hypothetical boyfriend would know that you're worth it."

Her fingers twitched against his spine. "...You don't even know me."

"I know that you're creative. I know you're smart. I know you work harder than anyone else to keep Paris safe. I know you have a right to feel however you want, and if you think you need to earn being with someone who's not Chat, then you've more than done that." He slid his hand up to squeeze her shoulder. "I also know that you'll find a way to make it work, if you put in even half the care into it as you put into Paris."

"Vi—" She paused, her voice softening. "Luka..."

They stayed like that for a while, the bag of macarons going untouched an arm's reach away. Viperion just held her, sensing that she was feeling out what he'd said and that they didn't need words for it. That was fine with him; her love life was none of his business. He only wanted to help her have the choice to live it.

A breeze blew by, their bodysuits protecting them from the wind chill factor as their hair was lightly shifted by the gentle air. Ladybug stirred, letting out a noise like she felt personally slighted by the wind, then pushed herself up, her hands on his shoulders as she pulled away from him.

"We...we should get back to patrol," she admitted.

He offered her a small smile, noting that she seemed to be in better spirits at least. "Alright." He let her out of his lap, leaning over to the side to pick up his lyre.

He heard her retreating footsteps, along with a light, "You can keep the macarons."

He glanced up at her, surprised. "Are you sure?" he asked, knowing that he was mostly responsible for them not eating all of them. "Is that what you usually do on your breaks: let Chat have them?"

"Oh." She stood awkwardly in place, looking off at the sky before dropping her gaze to the ground. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she grinned sheepishly and replied, "Actually..."

He tilted his head, curious.

She peeked over at him, eyes half-lidded as she told him, "I've never done this with Chat."

He raised his brows, as if that would make her clarify, but she simply turned away from him and started doing a few stretches, clearly prepping to head back out.

Pursing his lips in thought, Viperion turned his back to her, giving attention to the little plastic bag resting neatly on the ground. Even though it was open, the little ribbon that had held it shut was still around it, suddenly feeling more special now that Ladybug had said something so... cryptic.

He looked out at the view they had, then Ladybug, then back at the bag, feeling extremely slow on the uptake as his brain pieced things together based on what information he had.

Then, suddenly his brain supplied: Wait... was this a date?

He buried the thought just as quickly, shaking his head and scolding himself for jumping to that so fast.

"Are you ready to go back to leaping rooftops?" Ladybug asked behind him, her tone light even if she was still in her own head.

"Yeah," Viperion replied, picking up the little bag like it was something precious. Hoping to lighten things further, he then added, "I'm new to this, so I might lag behind."

She chuckled. "You might. Apparently I'm a really amazing hero according to someone I know."

He grinned to himself. Even if she was just teasing, it felt good to hear her compliment herself in a way.

He had just tightened the ribbon to seal the bag back up, listening to the sound of Ladybug's foosteps, when he felt a sudden niggling sensation at the back of his head, or—behind him? He turned, puzzled, then leaped up as he caught sight of a teal wisp in Ladybug's path.

He rushed over as she yelped and tripped over what would seem like nothing according to her. Catching her just in time, he also realized belatedly that it may've been an overreaction, given that she was in superhero form; he could only blame it on reflex.

Ladybug stood up with a start, covering the lower half of her face in shame. "Ugh, that was so embarrassing, I'm sor—"

"It's not your fault," he hurried to say, not explaining further as he grew lost in thought, staring silently at the place where the wisp had formed itself.

He hadn't just seen the wisps this time; he had sensed them. That was new, and he wouldn't have questioned a new addition to his fate sensing had it not been the fact that he hadn't particularly done anything as Viperion; it usually took an instance or two of him using his power for something to manifest, but here...

He glanced up when he realized that Ladybug was looking at him curiously. Debating with himself for a moment, he ultimately trusted his gut and met her gaze, asking,

"Do you mind if I talk to Sass again after this?"

#au: Dread String of Fate #Dread String of Fate: writing #Flower Arrangement Shipping #Pro LukaMari #Lukanette #type: salt #((Just in case.))

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pingutats · 4 years ago

Text

my dearest darling

in which you and harry spend a sunday morning having coffee & cake, and spontaneously decide to go engagement ring shopping together.

warnings: a little suggestive at the end. mostly just pure fluff!

word count: 3.4k

. . . . .

The little alleyway off the main street filled with café tables is a perfect place for you and Harry to sit unseen. In fact, in this little alcove, it’s easy to watch the world pass by the two of you. It’s a nice reprieve from the usual of the world watching Harry.

He’s wearing sunglasses anyway, just in case—despite the overcast weather.

You frown at him, resting your elbows on the table and lacing your fingers together to rest your chin on. “I really think that makes you more conspicuous.”

He scrunches up his nose. “Nah. Or at least, if people notice, they’re going to notice an odd bloke in sunnies, not me.”

“They’ll notice it’s you.”

He glances at the busy footpath. “‘S working so far, love.”

A young waitress rounds the corner from the cafe’s front entrance and sets your coffees down on the table. You move your elbows off the table politely to give her space.

“Thanks,” Harry says, reaching for his black coffee.

You smile at the waitress as you wrap your hands around the latte you ordered, warming up your freezing fingers. You notice the way she hesitates before she leaves, how she looks at Harry like she wants to say something before before quickly spinning on her heels and walking away. When she’s out of earshot, you look at Harry. “She knows.”

He shrugs. “That’s different.”

The waitress reappears a minute later with the little cakes you ordered. This time, she’s braver. “I’m so sorry—are you Harry Styles?” she asks, saying his name in a voice that’s akin to a reverent whisper.

His eyes dart to you for a split second and he raises his eyebrow enough that only you’ll notice, conceding to you, then smiles at her. “Yeah, I am. Sorry, what’s your name?”

You watch him navigate the encounter easily, like you’ve watched so many times. The girl asks for a photo and he politely declines, explaining that he doesn’t want to draw attention, but offers to sign a napkin for her instead. He a short message (nice to meet you, all my love) to her and draws a couple hearts after he signs his name, then passes it to her with a sweetly genuine thanks her for her support.

“Oh my gosh, no, thank you,” she says earnestly. “It was so, so nice to meet you.” She glances at you, then, and her cheeks go even pinker. “Thanks,” she says again, and then she’s gone.

You let a giggle free at the awkward way his fans treat you, like they don’t know if it’s appropriate to talk to you as well, and how they struggle to find something to say to you anyway. Once it might have bothered you. It’s just amusing to you now. You raise your brows at Harry. “All your love?” you tease, quoting the message he wrote on the napkin. “Where’s my share?”

He pouts from behind his sunglasses. “Don’t be like that.”

You kick his shin gently underneath the table. “I’m kidding around. She was sweet. I like watching you do that, you’re so good at it.”

His foot swings around to trap your ankle between his. “Trying to play footsie at eleven o’clock on a Sunday morning? You little minx.”

You roll your eyes and wrench your foot free, rattling the table as you do so. He laughs—a sharp barking ha! that makes you smile through your embarrassment at causing a small commotion.

“Who’s conspicuous, sorry?” he asks.

You shake your head at him and stab your fork into your apple and cinnamon muffin. He keeps giggling as he slides his own plate with the carrot cake to his side of the table and picks up a fork himself.

“Mm, that’s good,” he says after he swallows his first bite. “Better than the one I make.”

“Well, baking isn’t known to be one of your talents.”

He claps a hand to his chest. “I’m wounded.” He leans over the table and skewers a piece of your muffin on his fork, dodging your attempts to swat his hand away with great agility. He pops it in his mouth triumphantly, cocking his head like he’s challenging you.

In return, you steal a piece of his cake.

“That was a much larger piece than what I took,” he accuses.

You shrug.

His phone, face down on the table, dings. He glances up at you.

“Check it,” you tell him. You know he only has alerts on for his closest friends—otherwise his phone would be ringing all day long. “I don’t mind.”

He bites his lip apologetically and flips the phone over, reading it. “Oh, it’s Tom. Hang on a sec.” He starts typing back.

You crane your neck around to read the message—something about Tom being free at the end of July, and Harry is giving a thumbs-up to that.

“Where are you off to?” you ask.

“France, maybe,” he replies. You’re aware that discovering this kind of information so suddenly would be jarring for most couples, enough to even incite a fight—but you and Harry aren’t exactly a normal couple, and international trips are just part and parcel of your relationship. Hell, he goes on world tours for months at a time. You’re lucky, you suppose, that you function just as well long-distance as you do when you’re living together.

“Lads’ trip?”

He sends the message and clicks his phone off, leaning back in his chair. “Nah. Taking you to Paris and getting down on m’knee in front of the Eiffel Tower,” he says, nodding sagely.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, Tom’s there to get the photos.” He shovels a forkful of the cake into his mouth and then points his fork in the general direction of a street busker playing a violin across the road. He swallows. “And I’m getting that guy to play a little tune, for the atmosphere,” he adds.

You raise your brows. “Oh, you’ve got budget for this, then.”

He smiles. “Nothing but the best for my dearest darling.”

You snort.

He carefully cuts a piece of cake with the edge of his fork. “Nah, we’re thinking of doing a trip down to his friend’s studio in—somewhere in France, I can’t remember really. Friends and family welcome too, if you want to come. Apparently it’s a real nice place.” He eats his mouthful and then lifts his sunnies to look at you with clear eyes. “We are getting married, though. I mean that.”

Your cheeks threaten to burst from how badly you want to smile, but you force yourself to assume a serious face, just to humour him. “Of course we are.”

Despite the butterflies it inspires, this conversation isn’t new. You’ve been with Harry a couple of years now and you both know you’re on the same page when it comes to your shared future. There are no hard plans, but the direction is set. You’re getting there someday.

He puffs his cheeks out. “I feel like you aren’t taking this as seriously as I am.”

You sigh melodramatically. “Well, sweetheart, I haven’t seen a ring yet.”

“A ring? You should have asked,” he drawls, then suddenly sits up straight and points a finger at you. “Don’t take that as a challenge. I want to be the one to ask.”

You shrug. “Can’t make any promises.”

His arm shoots forward to grab at your hand and you almost laugh out loud at the puppy-eyes he’s making at you. “No, please, baby, I swear you can do everything else, but let me do the proposing bit.”

In your heart, you’re happy he’s so insistent, because this is exactly how you want it to be too. In your mind, though, you really enjoy tormenting him.

“I’ll think about it,” you concede, and he groans.

“I’m buying a ring soon as I can, just to lock it in,” he tells you as he destroys what’s left of his carrot cake.

Once you’ve finished and Harry’s gone up to pay for the coffee and cake (he also took a moment to lean over the counter to snap a group selfie with the waitress who served you earlier and a couple others too) you walk back up the street in the general direction of your car that’s parked a few blocks down. The weather is pleasant today and the sun is even peeking out from behind the clouds now, justifying his sunglasses.

Your mind starts to drift (his arm wrapped loosely around your waist anchors you to the real world) as you think about how nice it is to be with Harry, how you’ve learned to appreciate each physical moment you have with him because they are so precious. After the tours, the promotional trips, the film sets, and all the little things in between, you understand how to be with Harry. You know not everyone can handle a life like this, and you’re sure that if it wasn’t Harry whose return you awaited, you wouldn’t be able to either. But he always returns.

Harry comes to a sudden halt in front of a shop window, gazing in. You’re nearly yanked off your feet as you keep trying to walk with your arm around him—he’s so steady that he doesn’t budge. You stand next to him and look into what you realise is a jewellery store.

“What do you think?” he asks.

“Huh?”

He looks down, his arm squeezing around your shoulder. “Said I’d get you a ring, didn’t I?”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach. “What, today?”

“‘M not asking. Just preparing.”

You raise your eyebrows up at him. “That is… that is really a technicality.”

“Humour me,” he says. “C’mon.” He shepherds you into the store, steering you by your shoulders.

It’s small and pretty in here, the air from the fans cool against your sun-warmed skin. There are hardly any other customers at the moment, so you have some kind of valuable privacy. There are a couple of glass counters that run along either side of the store with meticulously placed themed displays inside them. You gravitate immediately to the closest thing, a cluster of rough amethysts hanging from necklaces.

“Aren’t these so cute?” you comment to Harry.

His arms wrap around you from behind and you reach up to grasp onto his crossed forearms resting against your chest. “Oh, yeah, they are.”

You stay there looking at the necklaces for a little too long—it’s not like you’re really that fascinated by the jewels, but more that you’re just enjoying Harry’s head leaning over your shoulder and his chest pressed to your back as you stand there. When your gaze meanders along the counter and you see something new, though, you shake free of his grip and follow your whims.

This store isn’t labelled out front with a massive brand. You’re pretty sure it’s an independent jeweller, judging by the neat description cards that accompany each small collection, explaining the theme in a lively and personal manner. This is what makes you really fall in love with the place and feel sure that this is where you’ll find the perfect ring. You know Harry could afford any ring from any famous brand, the heaviest jewels imaginable, easily worthy of a feature article in Vogue magazine. He could probably organise to have a diamond dug up fresh specifically to go on your finger.

It’s the fact that Harry could give you anything in the world that makes you not want it at all. Special, to the two of you, isn’t something that you’ll find in wealth or the crowds that adore him.

It’s found in a day like this.

“Oh, my god, H, look at this one,” you gasp, grabbing his wrist and pulling him over.

He bends over the counter, his gaze following the line of your pointing finger. “Oh, that is pretty,” he says.

It’s a simple gold band with a small, neatly carved diamond fixed to it. It isn’t flashy at all, which is what drew you to it. You knew he’d like it too. Despite the decadence of his performances, he can be a different man behind closed doors and you love that part of him. The secret part, the one that only you know so well.

“I’m in love with it,” you tell him.

Harry nods. “Yeah, I think that’s the one.”

You never doubted that he would agree, but his assent sends a bolt of excitement up your spine. It’s all so real, suddenly, and you can’t wait to see him on his knee for you, to see that ring on your finger. You know your ring size off by heart (how could you not, being in a relationship with the jewellery connoisseur that Harry is), so there’ll be no need for you to try it on today. You’re left with only the raw anticipation of the day he’ll slide it onto your finger.

His hands come down to rest on your hips as you both stare at the ring. You imagine you can hear his heart, knowing that it’ll be beating erratically because his excitement must match yours—you know how he feels about the idea of marriage.

He spins you around to face him, leaving his hands on your hips. He looks at you very seriously. His sunglasses are resting on top of his head now, pushing back his curls and revealing his green eyes and furrowed brow to you.

“You know, if we’re seen buying an engagement ring…” he begins, trailing off. He shrugs. “Just want to think about that.”

You screw up your nose. “According to some magazines we got married last week, and also six months ago. Just being in here is probably going to spark something.” You glance behind you, as if you’ll see journalists scribbling away on their theories, then flatten your palms against his chest, smoothing out his shirt. “I’m happy to ignore it. I want to just do our thing, H.”

He nods, pursing his lips, and gradually the crease in his forehead disappears. “Okay. Good.” Twin smiles spread over your faces and you have the feeling of being two giddy kids, high-schoolers about to have their first kiss. Something new, unknown, exciting, that the two of you are going into together. His eyes are practically sparkling at you. If this was a cartoon, you think his pupils would be shaped like hearts right now. Something is starting to bud and you can feel it growing up inside you and between you, preparing to bloom.

“Alright,” you say, breaking the insulating silence to draw you both back to the real world.

He blinks a couple of times as if he’s just waking up. “Alright,” he echoes. “Let’s get it.”

He waves over a man drifting through the store in a neat suit and points at the ring. “Excuse me, can we please have a look at this one?”

The two of you watch the man unlock the cabinet and slide the plate of rings out, placing it on the counter. He picks up the one Harry pointed out. “It’s a lovely one, sir.”

“It is,” Harry says. His hand finds yours and squeezes your fingers. “What size is it?”

The man checks the price and tells you, and your mouth drops open. Surely there is something supernaturally perfect going on, because it’s exactly your size. You and Harry look at each other incredulously.

The man seems to notice your unspoken conversation, because he helpfully adds, “We can resize it if you need.”

Harry chuckles. “No, it’s perfect. I think…” he trails off, looking at you. “What do you think?”

You nod at him, grinning. You rub your thumb over the back of his palm as he tells the man, “Thank you. We’d like this one, please.”

You stand slightly behind him as he pays for it, flexing your hands and wringing them in front of you. You know it’s all in your head, but your left ring finger is tingling as if it senses that it’s missing a piece. You really just want to wear the ring at this minute, but when the man selling it to you offers, Harry shakes his head quickly.

“I’ll hold onto it for now,” he says. He accepts the little box from the man and slips it into his pocket. “Thank you so much.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, sir. Enjoy it, and congratulations to the two of you.”

Harry snakes his arm around your waist as you walk back out to the street. His hips knock against you as he squeezes you into his side, and you can feel the little box in his pocket. You can’t help the grin that takes over your whole face. You worry you look like an idiot, smiling so widely at nothing, but when you glance up at Harry, he looks exactly the same.

Your car is parked down a quieter road and you get to relax a little once you’re away from the crowds of the main shopping strip. You can walk a little more slowly and Harry loosens up a bit. His hyper-vigilance starts to strip away. You can see the tension in his shoulders dissolving and here’s your Harry, emerging from his defensive layers. Most people wouldn’t notice this change, but you do. You feel how he adjusts the grip of his hand on your hip, how he leans into you a little more as you walk. In your closeness, you can smell his cologne and you think of how you watched him spray it on this morning—and how you’re going to be watching him do that for the rest of your lives.

He glances over his shoulder and you copy him. The narrow street behind you is empty, but you don’t get a moment to really register this before you feel his arms tighten around your waist and you’re swept off your feet for a second as he crashes his lips into yours.

You close your eyes, letting the kiss envelop all your senses. The sweetness of the cake’s icing lingering on his lips; his arms locked around your waist, holding you up; the rapid beating of your heart. He pulls away slowly and your eyes flutter open. His face is just inches from yours and he’s looking at you with such intensity you feel naked. Not for the first time, you’re in awe of how impossibly green his eyes are; you could make a palette from every forest in the world, and it wouldn’t hold a candle to what you see in front of you right now.

“Y/N,” he says. He cracks a grin. “I’m so fucking happy.”

Your reply is simply to grab him by the back of his neck and pull him in for another kiss. Your hand tangles in his hair and you feel his tongue running along your bottom lip before he pulls away again quickly.

“Fuck,” he says, sounding lost for breath. “Need to stop before I make a fool of m’self in public.” He even physically takes a step back from you, his eyes comically wide.

You giggle. Your gaze travels down his body and you notice the indent of the box in his pocket. “Is that a ring in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

He shakes his head at you. “You’ve gone all giddy. ‘M getting you home right now and then we’re celebrating properly.” He turns around and starts walking towards the car, his long legs carrying him faster than you can keep up.

Your stomach flutters imagining what his idea of celebrating might be. Suddenly, the only thing on your mind is getting back to your house as soon as humanly possible. You run after Harry, skipping around in front of him and jogging backwards as you waggle your fingers in his face. “So, when are you going to pop the question?” you ask.

“Oh, honey,” he says, patting his pocket with the ring. He grins. “It’s going to be when you least expect it, I’ll promise you that.”

. . . . .

thank you for reading! hope you enjoyed—if you did, a reblog or a message is really encouraging and lovely for me to see!! the title is taken from the song by etta james.

this fic is the first part of a series called “here we are in heaven,” and i’m really really excited about it. you can read my earlier fic, at last!, if you want to see where this will end up, but there will be more parts to fill the in-between. plus blurbs and stuff! let’s chat about it!

my masterlist can be found here. have a beautiful day!

#harry styles fluff #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #fiance harry #fic #here we are in heaven

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fandoms-are-insane · 4 years ago

Text

“Take you to Paris”

Shigaraki Tomura x reader (angst-to-fluff-to-smut)

Word count: 2813

Some hurt comfort smut because I want to hug Shiggy rn

It all started with Ratatouille.

Tonight wasn’t any different from usual. Friday is date night, a tradition Shigaraki and I have managed to uphold ever since we started dating four months ago. It’s not always easy but we manage, despite his hectic lifestyle.

Going out, having to deal with people, has never been either of our strong suits. Because of that it usually ends up with him stealing us buying a random game and trying to speed run it, or renting a movie.

Hence how we got to Ratatouille.

His arm is draped over my shoulder and I’m cuddled into his side. His hand absentmindedly draws patterns onto my shoulder, artists gloves allowing him to move this freely.

The Eiffel Tower comes on screen and I can’t help but let out a tiny gasp, “I wish I could go to Paris one day.” I said it more to myself than anything, just marveling at the beautiful animation, but suddenly the hand on my shoulder freezes and I feel him stiffen up against me.

I look up at him questioningly, “Baby are you oka-“

My question dies in my throat when I see his face, well, more like the face. It’s a shield, formed by years of ignored hurt. It's a shield that he puts on around others, but usually never me, at least for a long time he hasn’t now. Though his eyes are still firmly trained on the tv, they’re unfocused, I can tell his mind is somewhere else, somewhere dark.

“Shiggy?” I question as I slip out of his grip to turn the movie of. As soon as my warmth leaves his side he shrinks in on himself, eyes now dropping to the floor, hand flying up to his neck.

I quickly make my way over to him, snatching his wrist and pulling it away from his neck, he flinches at my touch and pulls his wrist out of my grip like I’ve burned him. I try to reach out again, lift his face to look at me but he cowers away from my touch again. So instead, I kneel down in front of him, putting myself right in his line of vision to try and meet his gaze. It’s only now I see that they’re glossed over, filled with tears that want to spill but are being held back.

“I can’t take you to Paris-“ he mumbles it quietly, so quietly I assume I must’ve heard him wrong. I place my hand on his cheek and try once more, “What baby?”

“I can’t. Take you. To fucking Paris!” He slaps my hand away from his face and I flinch at his unusually harsh tone.

As soon as his own reaction registers to him his eyes widen in horror. He stands up and walks all the way to the other side of the room, trying to put as much distance between us as possible.

“Shiggy I don’t get what yo-“

“You want to go to Paris and I can’t take you,” he curtly states, like that is supposed to explain it all. Instead, he only manages to confuse me even more, “I wasn’t actually serious.”

“That’s not the point, don’t you get it?! Look at me Y/N!” He gestures wildly to himself, “I’m a villain, I can’t take you to the movies, we can’t go shopping, hell, you can’t even have pictures with me on your phone! So I’ll never be able to take you to fucking Paris!”

“Baby you know I don’t care about that, I know who you are and I love every part of you, no matter what.”

“Don’t say that so carelessly! I know you don’t mean it! I know that you’ll eventually realize how big of a mistake you’re making and leave! And if you don’t then you’re a fucking idiot,” he’s pretty much shouting at this point, words laced with venom making my chest tighten, “I have done so many bad things, that’s why here, inside these four walls, will always be the only place I can be with you, don’t you get that?” His words hurt but I ignore the dull sting they leave.

“I might be an idiot,” I say softly, crossing the distance between us in a few swift strides. “But,” I continue as I grab his hands and hold his gaze in mine, “I’m not leaving you. Ever. And I’m not ignoring the things you’ve done either. I know what they are but I love you despite that. You, Tomura Shigaraki, are the love of my life and the thought of having to spend a day on this earth without you makes me sick. No matter what, I will love you with every fiber of my being until the day I die.”

My words finally get through to him and he crumbles, tears flowing freely as he quite literally falls into my arms. Soft mumbles of ‘why?’, muffled by my shirt, fill my ears as I stroke through his hair, each of them breaking my heart.

After a couple of minutes pass, I pull his face up from my shoulder so I can rest my forehead against his, “I love you,” I whisper once more, just for him, and lean forwards capturing his lips in a soft kiss. A sob wrecks through his body, he continues to cry softly as my tongue licks at his lips, tasting salty from his tears, but he nonetheless still parts them to grant me access.

After a while his hands find purchase on my hips as he tries to pull me impossibly closer, as if he let go I might disappear.

“I love you,” I murmur against his lips again before I move on to kiss his cheek, “I love your laugh,” I kiss his ear, “I love your shouts when you lose a game,” I kiss his jawline “I love our indoor date nights.”

I travel lower until my lips are pressed against his neck where tiny scars litter his skin, “I love your scars too,” he lets out a whimper as I softly place my lips on the skin there, “they don’t define you, but they’re a part of who you are so I love them just the same.”

I lean back and bring one of his hands up to my lips, “I love the way your hand feels in mine,” I take my time to kiss all of his fingertips before pressing a kiss to his palm, “I love how it feels when you let your fingers dance along my skin,” another whimper, “and I will not stop loving these hands because they can do bad stuff.”

“I will not stop loving you,” his tears have stopped flowing but his lips are still trembling so I put a tiny peck on them, “ever.”

“I love you too,” it's silent for a few moments before he hesitantly continues, “please let me make love to you.”

His words catch me by surprise and I feel my face heat up.

It’s not like we haven’t had sex before, we have, but ‘Making love’ would never be a good way to describe it. It’s always rough and fast with Shigaraki, gentleness not of concern.

“Okay.”

His lips are on mine again in an instant, slow and passionate in their movements. The pace is bittersweet and leaves me lightheaded.

He walks me backwards until the back of my knees hit the bed and I softly let myself fall down, Shigaraki following my movements not wanting the kiss to be broken for even a second.

My hands tangle in his hair as his find their way under my shirt and explore my soft skin, the difference between the smooth silk of the gloves and his calloused hands leaving goosebumps in their wake. My shirt and bra are soon to be discarded and his hands eagerly continue their exploration.

He softly cups my breasts and toys with my nipples, all the while not breaking our kiss, and I can feel heat start to pool between my legs.

I pull at his shirt and he helps me take it off, “See, now it’s fair,” I giggle against his lips, I feel them curl up into a smile before he finally breaks the kiss, smiling down at me for a second before greedily attaching his mouth to one of my nipples while his hand continues to toy with the other.

His hips are already slightly rutting against my thigh, he’s rock hard, more slick pools in my panties and I can’t take it anymore, I need him even closer and I need that now.

“Tomu, stop,” I call out to him, he immediately lets go of me, eyes frantic in fear of having done something wrong, “lie down for me baby.”

He gives me an unsure look but nevertheless follows my request.

I situate myself between his legs and slowly slide his pants down, I leave small kisses and nips along his leg as I do so, when those are removed, I follow the same process as I make my way up again. A large spot of precum is already staining his boxers, “let me take care of you m’kay?” I say as I pull the waistband of his boxers down, he hisses as the cold air from the room hits his sensitive member, head red and already coated in precum.

I place a kiss to his tip, followed by a small lick that makes him groan. The bitter taste of his precum making me let out a low hum as well.

Shigaraki holds my hair back for me as I take his head into my mouth, swirling my tongue around it and savoring the flavor some more before I slowly start bobbing my head up and down his length. I find a steady rhythm, taking him as deep as I can while pumping what doesn’t fit.

Shigaraki is already a whimpering mess above me, the slow pace such a huge contrast to how it usually is that it makes his heart flutter. He softly pulls my hair, guiding me up and down his shaft at a slightly faster pace. I gag a few times but also fall into the rhythm after a while. His moans making my core ache for some relief.

I snake my hand down my body and into my, now soaked, panties. I rub slow circles along my clit causing me to moan around his shaft. Which in turn makes him let out a guttural groan.

He pulls me off and I whine at the interruption, “No matter how amazing this is, it’s not what I want right now. I need to be inside you baby, gonna fill you up nice and good. Can I do that love?” His vermilion eyes bore into mine with an indescribable earnest, his pupils blown wide with desire, I whimper; “please.”

Shigaraki swiftly flips us over, pinning me below him. His lips find mine again in a sweet embrace but he pulls away before we can get sucked up into another heated kiss. He’s still close enough that I can taste his breath, “I’m going to make you feel so good baby,” with a huff he pulls up my skirt and rips my panties off.

I let out a yelp in surprise which quickly turns into a drawn-out moan when he plunges his index finger into my tight heat. “Such pretty sounds,” he mumbles against the skin of my neck before leaving a dark bruise there as his thumb start to circle my clit, ripping even more sounds from my throat. Soon after, a second and third finger are added, the long slender digits turn my brain to putty.

The coil in my stomach pulls impossible tighter as I near my orgasm, Shigaraki can feel it too by the way I’m clenching down on him, “Go ahead love, let go. Fuck- you have no idea how beautiful you look right now.”

His husky voice finally sends me over the edge, the knot in my stomach snaps, I let out a high-pitched cry as Shiggy guides me through my orgasm. I don’t get long to catch my breath though, not even a moment later he’s already pressing another kiss to my lips.

“Ready baby?” he asks while lining himself up with my entrance, I nod and he slowly pushes himself inside. Once fully inside he gives me a moment to adjust, no matter how much he stretches me or how often we have sex, it always causes a dull ache in the beginning.

“You can move Tomu, please move,” Shigaraki doesn’t need to be told twice.

He pulls out almost completely before slamming all the way back inside, and again, and again, and again, until he eventually falls into a steady pace. The pace is slow, but that doesn’t matter, not when his tip is nudging my cervix with every thrust and he’s staring at me like that. His eyes stare into mine with so much love and adoration that I completely lose myself in them.

The sound of skin slapping skin fills the room as a thin layer of sweat starts to form on both of our bodies. “Tomura!” I shout as he hits that spot inside of me that has me seeing stars. He smirks, angling his hips in order to keep hitting it, succeeding even further in turning me into a moaning mess.

It doesn't take too long for the knot in my stomach to tighten again, I pull his head down for a deep kiss and he swallows up my moans as it snaps for the second time tonight. My orgasm brings him closer to his own, he fastens his pace and pushes my legs up until my knees are to my chest, allowing him to hit even deeper.

“Fuck Y/N, ngh, I’m close, I-I’m close,” he says with a strained voice, grip in my thighs turning bruising as he continues to piston into me. ”Don’t pull out,” my own voice surprises me and it startles him as well, he looks at me with wide eyes, hips faltering for a second before continuing his brutal pace, “a-are you sure? You’re not on-”

“I know,” I cup his face and smile up at him, “I’m sure. I love you so much Tomura.”

“Shit,” is head drops to the crook of my neck, his thrusts growing sloppy until he stills inside of me, hot white ropes of cum coating my insides and shooting directly into my womb.

We stay like that for a moment, both catching our breath before Shigaraki finally sits up. I whine, wanting to keep him close, but my body is too worn out to make any useful protest. My eyes follow his figure across the room and into the bathroom, where he soon merges from again with a damp cloth. He cleans me up before discarding the cloth onto the floor and slipping under the covers with me, the rest can be worried about later.

He pulls me close against his chest and nuzzles his nose into my hair, I let out a happy sigh and melt into the embrace. We rest like that in a comfortable silence and I can feel my eyes start to droop as his steady breathing lulls me to sleep, until: “We’re leaving.”

“Hmm, Shig, what?” I try to move back to look up at him but his arms keep me pinned firmly in place.

“I said we’re leaving,” he takes a sharp inhale before he continues, “I still don’t know what kind of mistake the universe made that made you end up with someone like me-” I try to interrupt him but he pulls me closer to him and sighs, “Let me finish please.”

I nod and he continues, “As I was saying, I have no clue how it happened, but it’s the best thing that ever happened to me. You, Y/N, are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I fell madly in love with you and miraculously you felt the same. I didn't want to let myself believe it at first, I couldn't, not when at any moment you could become aware of the mistake you were making and leave, taking my heart with you in the process. But now I know that you plan on staying, I’m never giving you that chance again. I want to stay with you forever, I-I wanna have a family with you, love,” his hand gently strokes over my stomach, “but I can’t do that. Not yet at least, not while we’re still here.”

I try once more to look up at him and this time he lets me, his eyes are teary but he has the happiest smile on his face that I’ve ever seen, he pushes his forehead against mine.

“Let me take you to Paris.”

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sebuchi-core · 3 years ago

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Route 406

There are tons of interests and hobbies to discover throughout our lifetime and a lot of us often find it hard to pursue each and every one of them. But for Kim Mingyu of SEVENTEEN, going for the things he loves just comes naturally. Getting a taste of success for the first time at the age of 19, Mingyu is known to fans as the group’s all-rounder, successfully taking part in singing, dancing, rapping, and songwriting. In addition to the common duties of K-pop idols, Mingyu has also developed several hobbies and skills for the past 6 years—something that people admire about him.

“If we had at least done something, we would have accomplished something. Was it really the best decision not to do it and rest instead? I have these thoughts,” Mingyu explained on his interview for the documentary Hit The Road. “That’s why I try to go out of my way to learn something or experience something new,” he added. One of the first manifestations of Mingyu’s hunger for new things was Bongbongie, a character he sketched and sewed into a doll in 2017, which later became one of the trademarks of the K-pop group. The character that Mingyu brought to life was eventually incorporated in SEVENTEEN’s official merchandise, such as dolls and keychains. Mingyu shared that he draws on purpose whenever he is in a good mood or when he wants to immerse himself in a hobby. Evidently, his interest in drawing has benefited not just him, but the entire group and company as well. Mingyu’s compelling talent in arts was also recognized in 2018, when he was given the chance to showcase his painting to the world in their exhibition called “17’s Cut”. Along with his fellow member Xu Minghao, Mingyu presented stunning paintings entitled “Growing Pains”, “Eiffel Tower”, and “Me”.

It is indeed inspiring to see someone successfully develop their hobbies in spite of their busy schedules and the fast-paced nature of the entertainment industry. Many of us aspire to have enough time in our hands and have the perfect work-life balance. But it wasn’t always easy for Mingyu, as it also took him a lot of dedication to his passion. Pursuing his interests meant choosing productivity over relaxation, even during days when he needed physical and mental stability. Luckily, being productive was his very own way of recharging energy, so it didn’t feel like he was sacrificing rest.

“Instead of sleeping right away on the day before [of the concert] to manage my energy, I talked with the staff after completing the day’s schedule or occupied myself with a hobby. And such things gave me a lot of energy.”

Mingyu’s commitment to growth eventually led him to two more hobbies: cinematography and photography. His company, Pledis Entertainment, gave him enough platforms to develop and showcase his skills. On SEVENTEEN’s 5th anniversary last May 2020, they released a music video of the song “Snap Shoot” which was purely Mingyu’s work. Starting from the directing, producing, lighting, designing, up until the editing, Mingyu proved that he truly is an all-rounder. He shared that he first learned how to film during their tour in Japan and described it as a fun experience. “And by the time the Japanese tour was over, I was thinking that I wanted to try something of my own. So it began as a joke that I’d try it out when we’re in the U.S. and started it,” he further explained. The following year, Mingyu was assigned to the production of the group’s Going SEVENTEEN magazine, in which he was in charge of the photography, editing, and designing. It was then released as an official merchandise and was quickly sold out.

Like Mingyu, our youth has a desire for growth and greatness, but many of us lack the commitment to actually pursue our interests. Due to our society centered on rush and practicality, some may not even have the time to recognize the things that perk up their ears and make their hearts beat faster. Mingyu’s story highlights the importance of loving something so much and committing to it that it becomes a part of our system. It drives us naturally and takes zero effort in getting done, and it becomes a form of rest instead of a task. In the long run, commitment will be followed by mastery and success. And if it doesn’t, well, it’s still an experience to grow from and a time to get to know ourselves better.

“I sometimes found myself thinking, if I’m enjoying my work, isn’t that the same thing as playing?”

#seventeen #kim mingyu #svt #mingyu #wrote this as a sample article for my application last year #thought i'd share it on mingyu day :>

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papergirllife · 5 years ago

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Down The Rabbit Hole

Xiao De Jun (M)

🎃Happy Halloween,everyone.🎃

*gif credits to owner

*masterlist is pinned at blog.

warnings : unprotected sex, high sex, choking.

Alice in distress,

may the Cheshire cat be blessed.

Community service your mom said, it’ll be great for publicity, which is all she cares about. Your mom is the part of the community of your neighborhood, and let’s just say she loves fulfilling her duties so much that it’s become an obsession of hers to be seen on the local papers for the activities she attend, something like a minor celebrity. Sadly, the moms here all love her, your mom wanted to work a reputation up, since your father left her for someone younger, your mother needed something else to fill the emptiness and lack of accomplishment she’s felt because of him. Hence why you’re trekking in the forest of your town, trying to pick up as much rubbish as you could that were thrown by irresponsible hikers.

“This is all you fault Y/N, if it weren’t for you, we won’t be stuck in this shitty hike in such a cold weather.”

Becca was part of the so called ‘friend group’ of this neighborhood of yours that your mom forced you to make friends with just because she was friends with her mom. You don’t bother answering her nor the deathly glares from her clique to you, you didn’t have any real friends in this town, other than one or two boys you played games with.

It was until the middle of the hike when your mom called for a break, the community members all started to sit down and have a picnic.

“Remember to clean up after yourselves,” your mom said.

You chewed on a sandwich you packed begrudgingly, wishing you had hot food instead, cursing at yourself for not packing food into a thermos. When you finished, you decided to venture further away on your own, unable to stand the not so silent whispers behind your back. You decided to sit underneath a sturdy looking oak tree that looked older than any other tree here. Once you leant back, your back started falling, for some reason, the stem of the tree opened up and swallowed you in, the hole you fell in closing as you fell deeper into the hole. You didn’t scream, you were too scared, you knew you would be dead once you hit ground, so you closed your eyes and waited.

Instead of hitting ground, you fell into something that felt softer than cotton, with a blue glow like the clouds on the sky. Were you dead? You looked around, you were still in the forest, but the forest looked different here. Were these the unexplored parts of the hill?

“How graceful, Alice has nothing on you, sweetheart.”

You screamed, trying to get out of the ‘cloud’, but all you could do was trash in it because of how it’s too soft and big.

“Easy, don’t panic. I’m right here.”

Suddenly, a man around your age appeared next to you, his smile bright and somewhat familiar looking. That’s when the memory came back to you.

“You’re just like the Cheshire cat in Wonderland. Where am I? And who are you?”

“You’re in the other side of the forest, or the whole world, depends on how you see your position geographically. I’m Xiao De Jun, but you can call me Xiao Jun, and I’m a fairy. Oh and another detail? I eat humans.”

“Wait what? What do you mean the other side? What do you mean fairies eat humans?”

“Well, let’s just say fairies aren’t all Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella, those stories are told just to induce naive humans like you to fall in our traps. But you’re a pretty one, and you didn’t scream like a darned banshee just now, I might just keep you.”

“Keep me? Get us out of this thing, who said I was an object?!”

“I’ll get us out once we reach my palace, now hold on tight sweetheart, and please don’t scream like a mad woman, or I’ll eat you up in a gulp like the others.”

Xiao Jun booped your nose with his index finger before he leant back with an cynical smile on his face. The cloud floated up high, letting you see the scenery below you clearly. There were cities just like the human world, but instead of metal and blocks, these were held up by wood and magic, because there was no way a building as tall as the Eiffel Tower require no bolts and nuts, and you doubt its transparent like bubble had any glass panes.

"It’s beautiful.”

“It’s nothing compared to the beautiful lady beside me.”

You could feel your cheeks heating up at his flirty remarks. You quickly thought up of something to divert the topic, not being used to receiving compliments out of the blue.

“You said you have a palace? Are you a prince?”

“I’m a king, my father just passed away.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Xiao Jun.”

“For a human you’re quite sentimental, cleaning the forest, not threatening to kill me even though you have a knife in your pocket, and not screaming at me like a mad woman. You’re quite different from what I expected.”

“What do you...

“That’s our stop, less chatter and get a move on, or no mint chocolate ice cream for you.”

Calling Xiao Jun weird would be an understatement, his personality was like a cross of between Marry Poppins and Willy Wonka, and his palace was nothing far from that either, fortress painted with pastel tones, and that fountain was definitely chocolate, the windows looked like panes of thin candy, while the draw bridge was shaped like a milk cracker. The swimming pool at the back looked like it was filled with different flavours of fanta.

“Are you the witch from Hansel and Gretel?”

“Do I look like an old hag?”

Instead of entering from the main entrance, the cloud took you to the back of the castle where there was a balcony which overlooked the pool and the garden. Once you landed, the cloud disappeared beneath you, but Xiao Jun’s quick reflexes caught you before you fell on your butt.

“Welcome to my chambers. I forgot to ask for your name sweetheart.”

“Y/N,” you said as breathlessly, still in shock from your near fall.

Xiao Jun’s room was huge, the walls were mint green while the furniture were all made of dark oak with gold accents, just like his favourite ice cream flavour. You looked up to see a beautiful chandelier that defied the laws of gravity. The candles as well as the whole structure of the chandelier was shaped like an overturned tiered cake, each tier turning at its own pace with different colours flickering on the candles. The bed was just like the cloud you travelled on, just bigger and in a shade of pastel pink that made it look like cotton candy.

“You must really like your sweets.”

“The only human food that actually tastes good. Make yourself comfortable, it’s not like you’re leaving.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m keeping you.”

“You can’t do that! I don’t belong to you!”

“It’s written in the stars that you’ll be my queen, and I don’t have to force you. You’re going to stay.”

“Why would you know that?”

“Because I’ve been watching you and your fate in our stars, you lead an unhappy life in the mortal world, living like a balloon which lost its string, wandering aimlessly, slowly deflating just like your personality. When was the last time you truly enjoyed yourself without your mother giving you disapproving looks? What happened to your dream of being a writer? What happened when you said you wanted to go out for your birthday? What happened when you told her about your anxiety? Oh right, she called you a freak.”

Xiao Jun wasn’t shouting the words in your face, in fact it was gentle like an angel’s singing, yet what he said drizzled into your heart like sweet poison. You let out a chocked sob, you felt naked under his scrutinisation. Xiao Jun observed your life under a microscope, knowing you better than yourself.

“How do you know all of this?”

“I’ll show you.”

Xiao Jun wiped your tears with his expensive button up, the tears making the blue silk turn inky black. He then took your hand in his, guiding you out of his room into a room down the same hallway. Compared to the other odd looking fancy doors, this was bare of any jewels or gold. Xiao Jun turned the knob and led you in the dimly lit room, the room only had a large mirror with red candles on its sides.

“Show me, Lee Hyenji.”

That was your mother’s name.

The mirror flickered a few times before showing you the image of your mother.

“Where is that dumb girl? Always day dreaming and never getting things done. Wandering on her own, I’m just waiting for the day she leaves me like that useless father of hers.”

“Show me Becca Park.”

“I’m soo glad she’s lost, we don’t need to deal with her just to make our mothers happy anymore. She didn’t like hanging out with us anyways.”

Xiao Jun’s eyes flickered to yours to see your reaction, instead of holding sadness like he thought it would’ve been, your eyes were empty, the images on the mirror reflecting in your eyes like shadows in a murky lake.

“Why aren’t you angry?”

“Because they’re right.”

“No, they’re not. Mirror, show me Saved Memories.”

The mirror played images of you working on your short stories, snippets of you singing along your favourite song, as well as videos of you learning a dance.

“You shine like the brightest star in the galaxy sweetheart. Don’t let ducks call a swan ugly. They’re not even in your league, darling.”

“Am I?”

“You don’t need my confirmation, you can see it as well, maybe a flicker here and there, but those little flickers will grow into a flame if you leave that life of yours. Don’t think too much about it, come, have a shower, I’ll show you to your room.”

Xiao Jun took you down the hall into your room, which was in front of his.

“I made it just like the bedroom in your world, so there shouldn’t be a problem with figuring out the shower. That laptop is yours, as well as those books, they’re the ones you already have and ones that you always wanted to read. The internet’s password is your birthday, yes we have internet access here. I painted the walls with the shade of blue you love, the bed is lilac, since you love that colour as well. There’s clothes from your own wardrobe as well as our clothes, it might be a bit fancy, but you might like it.”

Xiao Jun turned into such a sucker for you, the ‘I eat humans’ was such a front, you couldn’t help but smile at his dorkiness.

True to what Xiao Jun said, the shower was just like a regular shower, and the clothes in the wardrobe were nicely prepared to fit your size, making you wonder how he knew even these little details.

You went out and knocked on his door, Xiao Jun was out by the third knock, his hair now in yellow curls.

“What’s with the hair?”

“This is my natural hair colour, didn’t want to scare you too much just now. Though we really do eat humans, just the hearts, the hearts taste exquisite, according to the old fairies, and only if they threaten to develop that piece of forest. We used to eat humans all the time, until my father put a ban on it, didn’t want to look suspicious.”

There was a look of horror on your face.

“Trust me, only the old fairies eat humans, we prefer animals most times.”

You let out the breath of air you were holding in.

“This is my own private dining room, and tonight we would be having steak and ox tail soup, no humans.”

You manage to let out a laugh at his odd humour, starting to feel more at ease in his presence.

The two of you ate and drank wine, talking about his life as a royalty in his fairy kingdom.

“My mom told me I would have wings, I was so scared I checked my back every night before I slept, until I realised no one had wings and that it was just something made up in the tales.”

After dinner, the two of you danced ungracefully, the wine making your head light and footsteps a mess, giggling at each other’s mistake. After the two of you got tired, Xiao Jun carried you into his room.

He placed you on top of a couch, taking a seat beside you to admire the beautiful stars in the clear night sky.

“Would you like to try fairy dust?’

“It makes you fly? Like Peter Pan?”

“That is only one usage of fairy dust, we eat it as well. Wait let me show you.”

Xiao Jun took your hand and led you to his walk in wardrobe, it was just as big as the room he gave you, but what caught your attention was a mini pool, but instead of liquid, it was filled with swirling sparkling dust.

“Oh my god.”

Since you were drunk, you did the dumbest yet most logical thing ever, jumping into the pool. The dust made you bounce on an invisible force.

“Why am I not flying?”

“You have to give directions in your head, but I wouldn’t recommend doing that, I wouldn’t want to call medic when you hit your head.”

“Right...Jump in, join me!”

Xiao Jun shook his head in disbelief, but jumped in with a smile on his face regardless. Xiao Jun walked to your direction, stopping right in front of you.

“Breath it in.”

You did as he said, the fairy dust making you feel happy and free, as well as a warm feeling in your stomach that you can’t put your finger on once you look at Xiao Jun,, your eyes scanning his beautiful physique. Xiao Jun breathed in the dust after you, his eyes diluting into a darker shade of brown, his senses picking up little things about you that he didn’t before, like the plump of your lips, the curve of your hips under that tight skirt.

“Y/N, I want you.”

Xiao Jun kissed you with fervour, his tongue dipping into your welcoming mouth. Instead of pushing him away like he thought, you kissed him with just as much passion, your hands starting to linger under his shirt. Xiao Jun started to unbutton your top, throwing it out of the pool.

“No bra?”

“This isn’t the mortal world, there aren’t any sex predators here.”

“What about me?”

“This is for you, my king.”

Xiao Jun didn’t know whether this was you talking, or the fairy dust in your system. Xiao Jun marked up the length of your neck, purple flowers blooming in his wake as you started taking off his shirt and pants.

“Why the rush, love?”

“I need you, please.”

The amount of slick flowing onto your legs was too much to be normal, you didn’t know what side effects the dust has, but you just needed relief, and only Xiao Jun could give that to you. Xiao Jun took off your skirt and panties, smiling at that pretty piece of ruined silk in his hands.

“Wonderful.”

Xiao Jun let his hands travel southwards as his lips engulf your breast in his mouth, nibbling and sucking away like a new born, as well as leaving a mark near your nipple, the slight possessiveness sending shivers down your back. Your hands curl in Xiao Jun’s soft locks as he pushes a finger into you, when he could feel how wet you were, he decided to push two more in, curling his fingers at your sweet spot, making you cry out his name breathlessly.

“Xiao Jun, more please. I need you inside me.”

You grinded onto his bare cock, his pre cum smearing over your slit, egging him to slide inside you.

Xiao Jun, pushed inside you in one go, your wet walls welcoming him. The action made both of you moaning in sync, lust filled relief washing over the both of you, making both of you crave for more. He started moving once you adjusted to his length, you could feel every vein and curve of his length as he bottoms out inside of you. Xiao Jun pushed himself closer to you, feeling you nipples against his own as he thrusted inside of you, the friction making your head spin from pleasure. Xiao Jun couldn’t believe it, after so many years of waiting, he finally had you in his arms, withering under his pleasurable touch. Xiao Jun slides a hand from your hips down to your clit, rubbing quick circles over it. Whimpers of his name fall from your lips like a beautiful piece of music, you were nearing your high as you felt the build up of an orgasm as your toes start to curl, your legs wrapped tighter around Xiao Jun’s waist as your head falls onto his shoulder, the overwhelming pleasure binding your body with his as he continues his thrusts, pace quickening once he felt you nearing the edge. Xiao Jun lifts you higher to thrust into you at a better angle, his tip hitting your sweet spot with every thrust, making you scream his name as your nails dug down his back, the pain mixing with the pleasure fuels Xiao Jun’s desire to absolutely ruin you under his touch.

“Cum for me, Y/N. I know you’re close.”

When you didn’t answer his request, Xiao Jun snapped his hips against yours at an even quicker pace, the speed of his thrusts inhuman, making your head swirl in pleasure as little bits of saliva drip from your lips down your throat as you throw you head back, the sight of the marks Xiao Jun left behind from earlier pushing his need for release. Once Xiao Jun wrapped a hand around your beautiful neck, you lost it. You couldn’t even scream as the pleasure was overwhelming all your senses, blinding white light behind your closed lids, your mind chanting his name like a mantra. Xiao Jun let out a beautiful moan once he felt your walls closing around his length in a vice grip, sending him over the edge as he paints your walls a milky white, his pearly white teeth biting down your shoulder to muffle his noises.

Once your orgasm subsides, you collapsed into Xiao Jun’s arms, energy drained completely by the handsome fairy. Xiao Jun carried you into his bed with the assistance of fairy dust, glad that he didn’t need to wobble into bed supporting your weight as well as his. He adjusted the pillows and blanket to accommodate your comfort, slipping in beside you once he was done, taking you into his warm embrace. Only one thought in his head.

‘You’re going to be with me for eternity, and nothing is going to take you away from me, my love, just like what the stars told me.’

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li-karina · 4 years ago

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The Girl in the Bakery (Part 1)

It was another one of those days where Adrien Agreste just wanted to be someone else. Even with the glamorous lifestyle that came with his last name, there wasn’t anything that could outweigh Adrien’s craving of freedom. His entire life had been presented to him on a silver platter, except for the fateful day he received a black and red box. With Chat Noir, his superhero alter-ego, nothing stood in the way of being able to go wherever he wanted.

Maybe with the exception of Ladybug—not that he minded the hold that his partner-in-crime had on him. It was hard not to follow Ladybug anywhere she went, as her confident energy and natural leadership made her addicting to be around.

She truly was the perfect woman in Adrien’s eyes. Beautiful, courageous, selfless, determined, yet stubborn, strict, and utterly irresistible. Ladybug was also a good kisser, not that Adrien would remember. The heroine in red had completely captured the heart of Paris, as well as her second in command.

Rarely had Adrien been let out of the prison he called his home; however, with the powers of his miraculous, it was easy for him to escape out his window and into the world. He didn’t enjoy having to transform anytime he wanted fresh air, but it was the only way he wasn’t followed by his bodyguard or his father’s assistant, Nathalie. All he had to do was leave the record player on, echoing out the sound of Chopin or Beethoven, and he would get away with a few hours of free time.

Usually, once Chat Noir’s feet hit the concrete of a deserted alleyway, he would turn back into Adrien and carry on his merry way--maybe take a walk through the park, get some ice cream, and avoid paparazzi as much as he could. But on this particular day, his leather suited counterpart seemed more appealing. Perhaps he was hoping to catch Ladybug on a daytime patrol or wanted to scale the Eiffel Tower, but something about staying Chat Noir just felt right.

He launched himself from roof to roof, occasionally waving at those who spotted him. His black ensemble made it harder for him to be seen due to the sky growing dark, but his green eyes and small yelps of joy made it very obvious to citizens which hero was out. Perched on the Louvre, Chat Noir hummed softly to himself. “Little kitty on the roof, all alone without his lady…”

“Chaton?” a voice spoke, ringing into the air with a sweet tone. Chat’s eyes darted up, settling on the blue eyed beauty standing behind him. A genuine grin stretched across his face, before replacing it with a smirk. Standing up quickly, Chat’s hand engulfed Ladybug’s and he pressed his lips to her knuckles in a playful kiss.

“Good evening Bugaboo,” Chat said, bowing slightly in a joking manner. “Nice of you to join me on this beautiful night.”

Ladybug rolled her eyes before taking a seat and gesturing for Chat to sit back down next to her. “It’s nice to see you too, kitty. But I can’t stay for long.”

Chat Noir’s smile fell before plopping himself next to his lady and clearing his throat. “Are you busy tonight?” he asked, realizing the disappointment in his voice. “Not that I can’t handle patrol by myself! And if there’s something you need to do, you can totally go do that.”

A light-hearted giggled escaped Ladybug’s mouth. “As much as I appreciate your concern, you know I can’t tell you to pro-”

“-tect our identities. I know. But you know that I care about you even without the mask. Whoever’s behind there, I still lo-” he cut himself off. “All I’m trying to say is that it’s not the end of the world if I know one detail about you. The real you.”

Ladybug stared at Chat for a few silent seconds, her lips pressed together in contemplation. She sighed, choosing her words carefully. Even though she knew it was a bad idea, something about his tone made her give in. “You know the bakery over on 12 Rue Gotlib?”

Chat nodded. His mom used to love their stuff. It was a rare treat he received, usually after more draining photoshoots, coming home to a box of chocolate croissants from Tom & Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie. After his mother’s passing, he hadn’t even thought of the small business. A sudden craving for sweets came over him.

“Well, sometimes I help out over there. I’m not an employee or anything, but the owners let me take care of the smaller tasks. Like delivering cakes or working the register,” she said, her voice turning less professional and more care-free. A soft expression blossomed on her face, making Chat’s heart melt.

Finally. He knew something about the woman he was so helplessly in love with. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. It was enough. Chat smiled. “Thank you for telling me. You can go if you need. I can handle it if Mr.Pigeon gets akumatized again.”

Ladybug laughed. He loved her laugh. “See you later kitty! Bug out!” And then she was gone.

Chat found himself staring after her with a lovesick smile. “Bye m’lady.”

Clearing his throat, Chat turned around and once again started jumping from roof to roof. Landing on top of his own manor, he was about to swing back into his room, but a sudden hunger stopped him. He knew Nathalie would call him to supper soon, but if he was going to end up eating alone, he was at least going to eat something he wanted.

Not that he disliked the meals provided to him by his chef, but the diets and cleanses got a little overwhelming at times. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss the taste of a certain flaky, delicious pastry.

Before he could even process what he was doing, Chat felt himself making his way to 12 Rue Gotlib. Staring at the lit up windows and catching a whiff of the sweet aroma, he suddenly dropped down and was standing in front of the cute building. Peeking inside through the glass door, Chat caught a glimpse of a girl sitting at the counter, idly doodling in a notebook.

Something about her--her eyes, her dreamy intensity she had aimed at whatever she was drawing, or the way she looked like she needed someone to talk to-- drew him in. Chat’s breath got caught in his throat as she glanced up, causing him to dart into the dark shadows beside the building. He thought for a moment.

“Plagg, claws in.”

The small kwami that was just in his ring shot out. “Adrien? What are you doing?”

“I just wanted to go in for something to eat. I promise I’ll be quick,” Adrien entreated, looking at his supernatural friend with pleading eyes.

Plagg sighed. “Fine. But once we get home, I want cheese,” he said before going to hide in Adrien’s overshirt.

Adrien took a deep breath and smiled--and in he went.

The girl in the bakery looked up from her notebook, immediately closing the book in front of her and smiling politely. “Hi! How can I help you?” Her voice was as sweet as the atmosphere around them. The way her eyes sparkled made it impossible to look away. She was gorgeous.

Adrien smiled back at her, taking extra careful steps. She looked so delicate that the blond couldn’t help but put extra effort into being as gentle with every movement. “Hello,” he finally said. His tone was soft, and made his voice sound more silky.

Adrien’s eyes wandered around the small bakery, everything looking delectable. His mouth watered with every new item he noticed.Then he saw the chocolate croissants. His finger pressed against the glass directly in front of them. “Two please.”

The girl nodded. She grabbed a box and a bag and began packing Adrien’s order. Meanwhile, Adrien racked his brain trying to think of something to say. But before he could even come up with a coherent thought, the girl was already handing him the bag. “It’s on me. You look like you’ve had a rough day. I hope it gets better.”

Adrien stared wordlessly at her. “Oh, thank you. I just haven’t been here in years, so it’s a little strange being back.”

The girl hummed in response before speaking. “Why’d you stop coming?”

“My mom died.”

Adrien mentally slapped himself in the face. The slightly taken back expression on the girl made him feel even worse.

But then she returned to the kind smile she had before. “I’m sorry for your loss. Feel free to come in anytime, okay? I’ll have a warm croissant ready for you every time.”

He stared at her. “I...never got your name.”

“Marinette. Yours?” She looked back at him expectedly.

“Adrien. Adrien Agreste,” he replied a smile finally painting itself back on his face.

“Adrien? Like from that one ad?” she asked, giggling.

Adrien laughed along with her. “Yeah, exactly like the one from the ad.”

Then a woman walked in from the other room, looking like an older version of Marinette. Probably her mother, Adrien thought.

“Well, it was nice to meet you Adrien. Hopefully I’ll see you again, goodnight.” Marinette waved, before disappearing behind the wall guarding what seemed to be the kitchen. Adrien waved back, not that she could see him do so. Without another word, Adrien left.

He walked back to his home while the sun set behind him. Plagg floated alongside his companion with a knowing smile. He knew who Adrien just met, and it killed Plag that he couldn’t tell anyone.

It was maybe 7 P.M. and Adrien knew someone would probably check on him soon. The bag of boxed croissants hung around his wrist, tempting him to eat one right there. But he waited.

“Plagg, claws out.”

The small black cat had a look of dread before he was sucked back into the silver ring. Once Adrien was back as Chat noir, he jumped to his room just in time to hear a knock on his bedroom door. “Adrien? Time for dinner.”

“I’ll be right out!” he yelled before transforming back and heaving out a held breath. The croissants were set on his desk and he readjusted himself. Plagg flew out, his intentioned set on the mini-fridge filled with camembert.

Well he’s all set, Adrien thought as he opened his door and started downstairs. His thoughts were filled with celebrations. Today was a good day.

(Quick Author’s Note: Hi! Okay, this took me hours to write but I think I;m okay with it. Sorry for no Marichat in this part, but I wanted to set up a relationship between Marinette and Adrien first so he has a reason to visit her in the first place. Hope you enjoyed!)

#miraculoustalesofladybugandcatnoir #miraculous fanfic #miraculous ladybug #miraculous fandom #ladynoir #adrienette #marichat

54 notes · View notes

yutahoes · 5 years ago

Text

Otou-Chan

Yuta Nakamoto x Reader (Y/N) Smut

(Chapter Eight)

Summary: 𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐡𝐰𝐚 𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝.𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐘𝐮𝐭𝐚’𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬.

Warning: Fluff (?), Mentions of Sex, Additional Characters, Drinking, Teasing

Word Count: 4.2k

Masterlist

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️

8. Small World

It was Wednesday when a red car stopped in front of the publishing in the midst of a busy day. Johnny welcomed a young guy who looked like he was surveying the whole area. Although this was the first time seeing him, Jungwoo was stunned at how handsome the guy is. Indeed, he is a Jung, with that stunning visuals and dimples to die for. "This is Jung Jaehyun, he will be our new boss." Johnny introduced the guy beside him and the three stared at him in surprise. He scanned the illustrators then stopped at the only girl, smiling widely at her.

"Hi everyone," he said when the girl obviously shifted from his stare. "I really enjoy your illustrations and I hope we can work well together," Jaehyun mumbled while staring at the only girl in the team that made Jungwoo lightly nudge her. (Y/N) was surprised, why is this guy looking at her like this?

After the introductions, Johnny entertained Jaehyun in his office whereas the three were back to their workspaces. Jungwoo was smiling the entire time, teasing (Y/N) at how the new boss might have liked her. Ten even claimed that this could serve as an inspiration for her work if the romance between the two flourishes but she just rolled her eyes, that would be impossible.

For the whole two days, Jaehyun was lounging around the illustration company that made the four wary of him. It was like he's watching their every move, especially (Y/N). "He really has the hots for you. Have you seen how he looks at you?" Jungwoo teased one lunchtime that made Ten nod. This was the only time that the three were out of the office and away from their busy workload. "This is your chance, (Y/N). A CEO is after you, that's like Cinderella." He continued that made her laugh. Cinderella? Why does it feel so familiar?

Ten shook his head. "Besides this can take your mind away from Paris," he claimed that made her surprised. She glanced at Jungwoo who looked surprised as well. Never trust Jungwoo with a secret. "Seriously (Y/N), you need to go out and get dicked down by a guy. Not stay inside the office until 7 pm and draw that imaginary Parisian guy of yours." he scolded that made her pout.

"He's not imaginary..." she mumbled which made Ten raise his eyebrow in challenge. "He has a name," she said that made Jungwoo gasp, she missed that information when she shared the story. "Nakamoto Yuta."

The younger guy was quickly typing on his phone. Another gasp was heard as he scrolled through his phone. "God, he's hot," he exclaimed that made Ten look at his phone, surprised that he is indeed real. "And he is Jung Jaehyun's friend." The statement made (Y/N) surprised, they're friends? Does her boss know about her and Yuta's rendezvous in Paris? Jungwoo showed her the picture of the two from his SNS account then scrolled to a picture of the Eiffel Tower with the caption 'I wish to see you again.'

Ten looked at the girl who was obviously surprised at this. Didn't she stalk him since she knew his name? Or is it just a Parisian romance to her? Then why is she sketching his face still? "He might be looking for you." The older guy claimed that made Jungwoo nod. "And apparently, Jaehyun knows." (Y/N) nodded, that would be plausible. But does Jaehyun know that it was her?

When they went back to the office, the new boss wasn't there and Johnny told them that he invited the team to drinks later. Both Jungwoo and Ten looked at each other then at the girl who looked curious. This might be the chance for (Y/N) to get dicked down. Instead of doing her work, the girl was stalking someone on SNS. Why didn't she do it before? But this just heightened her want for Yuta. She can't shake off the feeling of wanting to see him again and share a night together, like in Paris. Damn it, how can this guy do this to her?

(Y/N) remained quiet the whole time that they're in a bar and drinking with the new boss that made Jungwoo look after her. "What are you thinking about?" he asked, eyeing the swarm of boys dancing in the middle. The girl just chuckled at the obvious action of her friend then shook her head as an answer. "You should enjoy yourself," she claimed then stared pointedly at the group of boys, urging Jungwoo to go to them. "I won't tell Lucas." And the younger boy grinned as he made his way to the dance floor.

(Y/N) just shook her head as she chugged down the glass of beer, wincing at how bitter it tastes. "Whoa there, cowgirl." someone said that made her turn to the owner of the voice, Jung Jaehyun. He sat beside her, reaching for the bottle of beer and pouring it on her glass. "I didn't know you were the drinking type." he teased as she drank another glass-filled beer. He refilled her cup which she drank again, preventing to have a conversation with him. "Calm down. Hyung will kill me if I get you drunk." She stared at him curiously making him laugh awkwardly. "Johnny hyung."

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow at him, he definitely knew something. "Jaehyun..." she called feeling the buzzing in her head as she got so drunk. Here goes nothing. She leaned closer, giving him a smack on the lips that made the guy surprised, pushing her immediately. "Fuck, Yuta hyung is going to kill me," he exclaimed that made her smirk. He definitely knew something. And she passed out just like that.

"Hyung, what should I do?" Jaehyun asked that made Taeyong sigh on the phone. If she was a regular girl, Jaehyun wouldn't miss the opportunity to fuck her brains out in his apartment. But she isn't, she's Yuta Paris girl. The girl who made the Japanese guy lovestruck. And somehow, he's scared that Yuta will get angry if he found out that they kissed. "Where are you heading now?" Taeyong asked that made Jaehyun answer the name of a motel. "Babo, Yuta will definitely kill you." the older shouted that made Jaehyun grip the steering wheel tightly. "Bring her to Yuta's place, that's the best you can do. I'll head there as well," he suggested that made Jaehyun swerve on the right.

Yuta was surprised when Taeyong called him late at night just to ask him to see him outside. He was more than surprised when Jaehyun can be seen carrying a girl on his back. "I'm not doing this again, Jung Jaehyun." he claimed while crossing his arms, referring to when Jaehyun got a woman drunk and left her on his house because her present girlfriend was in his apartment. "Are you sure?" Taeyong asked. "Because Jaehyun can bring this girl to a motel and you wouldn't like it." he continued that made him curious. What is he talking about?

Days and nights of just staring at her picture on his phone made him memorize the details of her face, the girl from Paris. "Where...?" he asked but Jaehyun just sighed, asking him to get the girl since she's heavy. Yuta carried her bridal style and that's when he confirmed that she really is that girl. "Yah Jung Jaehyun, what did you do to her?"

"Calm your tits, bro," Taeyong claimed then stared at the younger guy who gave him a look of gratitude. "Be thankful that he didn't bring your girl to a motel." And Yuta just glared at Jaehyun before staring at the girl again. She really does look beautiful when asleep, those lashes and milky skin. Her red lips suck him in that he wanted to taste it again, to wrap it around his cock. And damn, he's getting turned on again. "Jaehyun helped you find your Paris girl again. It's your own problem now on how to keep her." Taeyong claimed that made Jaehyun nod. "Use protection." the younger claimed before running to his car.

Yuta breathed heavily as he brought her inside. Damn it, why do they have to meet again like this? But he must be really lucky to meet her once again. Taeyong was right, he needed to do something to keep her his. (Y/N) stirred on her sleep, pulling her shirt up that he can see the underside of her bra. Red lace. She really knew how to turn him on, doesn't she? "It's so hot," she mumbled, still eyes shut close. "Fuck me, Jaehyun." And Yuta felt his blood boiling at what she said. "I want to forget Yuta so you have to fuck me better than him." This made him so amused that he only shook his head while staring at her sleeping figure. God, what is this girl doing to him?

(Y/N) woke up in an unfamiliar place feeling her head throb in pain, this must be a hotel or a room of someone. She remembered what happened last night and immediately glanced at her body, surprised to see a man's clothing on her. This is weird. She remembered drinking so much because of avoiding Jaehyun. Did he bring her somewhere? Did they have sex? But why is she wearing his clothes? Feeling really heavy, she went to the bathroom to look at herself and was horrified at her reflection. God, she looks really awful, and that only mirrors what her feeling right now. Judging from the bathroom, she can assume that it is a bachelor's pad. So Jaehyun might have taken her to his house. It doesn't look bad; he really is rich.

Before heading out, she gave herself a little pep talk. It would be easy if Jaehyun isn't in the house or is sleeping, like in Paris, running away would be easier. But what should she say when she sees him? Sorry for crashing his bed? Sorry for getting drunk? Thank you for bringing her somewhere warm and not let her wander the streets? Ask him if something happened between them? The opening of the door from the outside surprised her and distracted her from her thoughts. Listening in, she discovered that someone was getting inside the house. Damn, he's here. Should she ask for her clothes first? Yes, she thought, then maybe she can make a run of it.

She opened the door to the bedroom and was greeted with a spacious living room. "You're up." she heard someone say from the kitchen and she scrunched her nose in curiosity, that voice. Following the sound, she found a guy in the kitchen with his back facing her as he put bread on the toaster. This isn't Jaehyun. She clearly remembered him having jet black hair but this guy has brown hair with light blonde highlights. When he turned to face her, she was too surprised. Why is he here? "Nakamoto Yuta." she gasped which made him smirk. "I'm glad you still remember me," he said while crossing his arms in front of his chest, leaning by the counter. "Drink that." he gestured for the pill and glass on the table. Instead of arguing, she obeyed him as the look on his face scared her. He seemed angry, really angry.

Yuta turned around to check on the toasts, clenching his fist at his own frustration. Damn, why is she so pretty like this? The buzzer of the toaster made him snap from thoughts of kissing her. He put the toasted bread on a plate and slid it across the counter to her. "How did...Why am I...?" Maybe she really is messed up right now and the idea of fucking her to repent from her actions last night went down the drain. He can't take advantage of her like this. "Eat first," he ordered as he took some coffee and put it in a mug, giving her while pushing the sugar and cream closer. "What happened last night?" she asked while staring at the coffee mug, playing with the rim using her thumb. He was transported to the memory he had when they had coffee back in Paris, it was the same reaction and habit.

"Don't you remember anything?" he asked while staring intently at her that made her gulp, that is so intense. Why is she getting turned on by just that? "I remember drinking with my co-workers and our new boss," she stated, trying to rake her brain for possible timing where Yuta came. "And then, what happened next?" he asked once again, not breaking eye contact with her. The way he spat those words made her tremble with fear, she felt like a little child who had been scolded by her dad. "I think I got too drunk..." And she gasped when he raised an eyebrow at her. She remembered everything now, Jungwoo dancing with the group of boys he's eyeing then Jaehyun came, they probably kissed but it's too hazy now. "Did Jaehyun bring me here?"

Yuta is mad, he knows she can feel that. Why wouldn't he? She was drinking alone with some guy and it was Jung Fucking Jaehyun, the ultimate ladies' man. She let another man bring her someplace and if Jaehyun wasn't in his right state of mind, they might have done it in a hotel. But what can he do? He can't just punish her and let her feel that only him can pleasure her, she's not his. Yuta was watching her eat the toasted bread, making him lick his lips. God, she's a total hottie. So instead of answering, he leaned in closer. "If you were mine, I'll make sure you'll be so sore that you won't be sitting for weeks." Then he bit the side of the bread while maintaining eye contact with her.

This sexual tension is killing her. She desperately wanted him to take her and do what he warned her about, maybe being a bad girl would benefit the two of them. To make it worst, he removed his shirt while passing by her, claiming that he'll take a shower first and that she should finish the food on the table. Damn Yuta Nakamoto. He is a really dangerous man. While he's in the shower, (Y/N) started raking her brain for some answers but evidently ended up with nothing. Why is she so drunk? Then it clicked, she wanted to forget about him. Forget about Yuta Nakamoto and what happened in Paris. Move on with her life without being too desperate for a good fuck.

She can make a run for it while he's in the shower. But first, she should find her clothes. (Y/N) made way to the rooms in the house to see where the laundry is and ended up in his bedroom instead, where are her clothes? "Are you looking for something?" she heard someone say and turned to see Yuta freshly showered with only a towel wrapping on his waist. Quickly, she turned around which made the chuckle. "Nothing that you haven't seen before," he claimed that made her slowly turn at him, a smug look appearing on his face. Damn, he is really hot. "It's already in the bathroom," he said gesturing to the door behind him.

(Y/N) quickly headed to the said door but he blocked her way, her eyes locked on his broad chest. The water droplets made him sexier in her eyes that she might end up with her legs wide for this man. No, she thought, that will feel really awkward. Her gaze fell down to the towel on his waist, a prominent bulge appearing that made her lick her lips and gulp. Yuta held her chin, raising her head that they're in eye's view with each other. "Staring is rude sweetheart. I'll wait for you outside and drive you home." He said with a smile, the total irony of the sexual tension building.

Showering went too fast with (Y/N). The only thing that made her stay inside was because of masturbating at the thoughts of Yuta just outside the door. She quickly got dressed and was surprised that her bra isn't on the set of clothes that he prepared. Does he want it as a souvenir? If that was the case, then something might have happened between the two of them. "Mr. Nakamoto..." she called which made him call from the kitchen, drinking something orange on a tall glass. "My bra is missing," she said in a soft voice that made Yuta almost spat out his drink. "Oh shit, I'm sorry. I'll check the laundry," he claimed as he ran to another small room, coming out with her red lace bra on hand which she immediately took. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to leave that," he said from the closed-door that even made the girl surprised that he was blocking her way. "I'm sorry," he said while stepping on the side to let her pass.

The guy brushed his hair up at the sight of the girl emerging from his room. "Fuck, I'm becoming a mess right now." He mumbled that made her chuckle, he looked so cute doing that. "Do you want to eat first before leaving?" he asked and she shook her head, actually not in a mood to eat. "Are you alright though? You were pretty knocked down last night," he asked and she nodded, surprised at the sudden concern in his voice. "Are you sure? I can ask someone to cook your breakfast, whatever you want."

(Y/N) just shook her head, "I just want to go home." Yuta sighed as he took the keys and opened the door for her, asking her if she is sure. Once in the elevator, they halted all the talk and just stared at the front awkwardly. Damn it, Yuta wanted to bring her closer and kiss her. But that will make everything so awkward. On the parking lot, (Y/N) was just eyeing the amazing cars on display. If this wasn't a parking lot, she would have thought that this was a car show. When Yuta opened a black car, she was in awe. He really is rich.

"So where are we heading?" Yuta asked as he adjusted the mirrors and started the engine of his car. "You can just drop me off in the nearby subway," she claimed that made him look pointedly at her. The subway? "Can't I drive you home?" he asked as he drove along the streets of Gangnam district. "I just feel uncomfortable." Yuta smiled at her dilemma as they stopped at a red light. "I actually at least want to know where you live since I don't know your name or even your phone number." (Y/N) was surprised at that. "So where are we heading, princess?"

That nickname, why does her heart flutter by that simple word? "Guryong," she said that made him look at her. There? But that place is swarming with thugs, she lives there? "And it's (Y/N)," she said that made him smile. It's like hitting two birds in one stone. "(Y/N)," he repeated that made her look at him, this guy is really weird. "Are you sure you don't want to eat anything, (Y/N)?" he asked that made her shake her head. "You hardly touched your toast, aren't you hungry (Y/N)?"

"Stop that," she whined that made him look at her, teasingly. "It feels weird hearing my name repeatedly," she claimed that made him laugh. "Wae? I like your name," he stated that made her gasp and look at him. (Y/N) watched him with wonder, why is Yuta like this? Back in Paris, she was convinced that it was pure lust, that he just wanted someone to warm his bed during the chilly night in the romantic city but now, she can't help that this might be something real. Maybe, he does like her. But why her? A commoner like her? "Can you stop looking at me like that? You're making me nervous." A tint of red can be seen on his face as he avoided eye contact with her and (Y/N) smiled at how shy he's being. A handsome, rich guy being shy in front of her is new.

"Wae? I like your face." And the blush grew redder that made her giggle. It's true anyway, the impression of Yuta as a God doesn't leave her mind. How can someone be so handsome and hot at the same time? Dating him would be a dream come true and she's sure that everyone will be jealous. The car halted to a stop on the sidewalk that made her curious, Yuta adjusted the aircon to his face, claiming that it was suddenly so hot. (Y/N) giggled at that, making Yuta smile as well. She has a really wonderful laugh. "You're cute, Yuta-shii." the girl exclaimed that made the guy surprised, no one has called him cute before. If this was a normal scenario, he would easily get pissed off. No one can call him cute. But the way she said it made his heart flutter that he didn't know what to react.

When his car entered the streets of Guryong, Yuta was wary of the surroundings. Does she really live in this kind of place? Houses were close to collapsing and the road is too bumpy to ride on. Is there really a place like this in Korea? The guy remained quiet as thug looking guys were gaping at his black shiny car, making him swallow hard. A girl, so fucking beautiful, living in these streets? "You can stop here," she said that made him comply, eyeing the small house. "I told you to just drop me off in the subway." But the guy shook his head, watching as she removed her seatbelt. Yuta was about to fumble on his own when she stopped him. "I'll get out on my own," she claimed then looked at him. "Thank you for driving me home and even letting me stay last night," she said then bowed at him. "I'll also thank Jaehyun... I mean, Mr. Jung for bringing me to your place..."

"Is there a possibility that we can see again?" he asked that made her surprised. He really does want to see her again. "You know things about me and now, my boss is a friend of yours so there's a high chance that we can get to meet again," she stated logically that made him nod. Well, she had a point. "But I don't want to act like a stalker," he claimed that made her laugh.

(Y/N) had to look at the surroundings then at the guy who was looking at her sincerely. "No, Yuta." And his face fell that instant, not believing the words he heard. "I don't want to take advantage of you like this. Paris is enough fairytale. Now, I just want to wake up." she claimed then opened the car door. "Goodbye Yuta," she said before closing it that made the guy in a daze. Is this the feeling of being dejected? How depressing.

The girl felt really bad when she went to work late. First, her head is aching really bad because of drinking too much. The second was because her dad needed the money to pay for rent. Where did he bring all the money that she had given him? Lastly, she felt bad because of the guilt feelings she had over Yuta.

Jungwoo was just looking at her, asking if she was alright last night and that she just went home without saying anything to them. She apologized profusely to both Ten and Johnny for worrying them and thanking the awkward Jaehyun who passed by that afternoon. "What really happened last night?" Jungwoo asked that made the girl look at her in surprise. "Jaehyun looks awkward as well," he concluded that made the two of them look at the guy who was talking with Johnny. "Did something happen between the two of you? Did you have sex?"

The girl frantically shook her head. "It's about Yuta." she said and the guy just looked at her in surprise. Yuta? "Jaehyun brought me to Yuta's place last night." He looked at her hopeful and she just shook her head. "I'm drunk, nothing happened." she confirmed that made him nod. "He asked me if we can see each other again and I said no. I feel bad, Woo."

"Then why did you say no?"

She sighed. "We're from different worlds, Woo. You should have seen the look on his face when he saw where we live," she claimed that made Jungwoo laugh, making the girl lightly slap his shoulder. "Everyone would give you a weird look if you show them your house. That doesn't mean that you're from different worlds. Besides, it feels like Yuta really liked you and you wouldn't feel that bad if you didn't like him." he claimed then stood up as a sign that he's leaving for the day.

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️

Chapter 7 / Chapter 9

#yutasmut #yuta smut #yutanakamoto #yutanakamotosmut #yuta nakamoto smut #nct smut

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roseinaugust · 4 years ago

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Like an Old Enemy

Chapter Five: Out of Luck, Love Bug

Summary: Miraculous Enemies AU. Gabriel Agreste has the Black Cat Miraculous in his possession, so when his wife, Emilie, "disappears," he sends his son, Adrien, undercover to pose as Ladybug's partner. Two years later, the once famous duo are sworn enemies. Marinette might have loved Chat Noir once, but now she would stop at nothing to defeat him. Adrien will do whatever it takes to bring his mother back. Best friends in their civilian lives, Adrien and Marinette find obstacles and complications when they can no longer deny their love for each other. But will they be able to understand and forgive the mistakes of their past? Or will they be doomed to end as bitter rivals a second time?

Rated: T

Pairings: Ladybug/Chat Noir Enemies, Adrien Agreste/Marinette Dupain-Cheng Mutual Pining

Word Count: 6,243

Read on: ao3

A/N: I am only posting part of this chapter on tumblr so please read the rest on ao3!

Defeating Syren was no easy feat.

Still weak from the aftereffects of the Black Potion and her near-drowning, Ladybug was slow in her attacks. Chat Noir fought with a vigor she had never seen before. His reaction sent her mind spinning. He had saved her—breathed life back into her—but, why? He was ambivalent to the loss of civilian life, never harming anyone himself, but not above risking their lives if it meant he could claim the Miraculous. So, why did he rescue her? Who was Marinette to him? And why did it pull on her heartstrings?

The sound of her name in his voice could have stopped her heart a second time. She wanted to ignore the pull in her chest on that rooftop. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she was thankful he was there to help her. It was easy to mask her confusion with anger; she had done it often enough after his betrayal, when her mind was full of hate but her heart longed for his love.The burning in her lungs matched the fire in his eyes when she begrudgingly challenged him.

After he left Marinette alone, her questions hanging in the space he once stood, she had to reorient her priorities. She didn’t know if it was safe to use her Aqua Power-Up after her foray with the Black Potion, but it was the only way to defeat Syren. Her exhaustion wore her thin and she needed to defeat the akuma before her energy gave out altogether. With the ability to breath underwater—something that would have been helpful earlier—Ladybug was able to defeat Syren and return Paris to its original, un-flooded, state.

She hid in an alcove of the pool to de-transform. The lingering effects from drowning disappeared with the water that once filled her lungs and the streets of Paris. The Magical Cure eased her ragged breaths but the ache in her head remained. Marinette peered over the wall at Kim and Ondine talking shyly by the bleachers. She smiled at the two before creeping through the back exit.

Marinette was thankful the akuma battle ended near her house. The day’s events exhausted her, both physically and mentally. It was hard to imagine that just a few hours ago she had dreaded going to see the Guardian. Her brain pulsated with every step she took. Although she was dry, the memory of the Black Potion made her shudder as if she were still soaked. This was by far, her most physically taxing akuma battle, but was it her most emotional? She didn’t know. The pain from the Black Potion, the sensation of drowning, the electrifying shock of her emotions on that roof with Chat Noir… She paused in her thoughts. It definitely gave a different akuma battle a run for its money.

She reached the bakery and climbed the flights of stairs to her attic bedroom. Her mind drifted back to Kim and Ondine. Although he looked a bit nervous, he seemed excited to learn about Ondine’s feelings for him. As Marinette opened the trapdoor, she yawned, happy that he finally moved on from his crush on Chloé. That had been a disaster. If only she could move on from her feelings for a certain cat…

She crawled into the warmth of her bed, the tension in her limbs released, now that she could rest. Weariness encased Marinette, the fuzzy softness of her blankets fogging her mind. Memories of flying cupids and arrows of hate swirled in her head as she drifted into a deep sleep.

Meet me at our spot.

Ladybug stared at Chat Noir’s message on her Bug Phone, a giddy thrill lighting up in her at the familiar five words. They weren’t scheduled for patrol and there haven’t been any akuma alerts today. He had thought about her. Did she exist in his mind the way he did in her’s? Did she float through his thoughts, commanding his attention, outside of the mask? They were partners—friends—but did the thought of her bring a blush to his face? Her own face reddened, almost to the same hue of her costume. He had thought about her, and he wanted to see her.

Ladybug dropped onto the roof of her favorite spot in Paris. The building itself was inconspicuous, the same beautiful French architecture as every other structure lining the street. The uniformity is what drew them in all those months ago. It wasn’t remarkable or important in any way; just an ordinary rooftop to meet for patrol, away from the prying eyes of citizens and the looming threat of Hawkmoth. It was a place for themselves, and themselves alone.

Chat Noir was already on the rooftop when Ladybug arrived. His back was to her, looking out at the city, the Eiffel Tower in the distance. He stood with perfect posture, rigid almost, with his hands clenched together behind his back. Formal. Like a soldier standing at ease.

“Hi, Kitty.” She said, alerting him to her presence. As he turned to face her, Chat Noir’s entire being changed. His shoulders relaxed and his head lolled to the side as that famous lazy grin spread across his face. It seemed as if any pretenses, any issues he faced day-to-day, were erased with her arrival. The ease of their friendship—of her presence—calmed and comforted him.

“Hi, Bug.” His smile widened with the use of the pet name he attributed to her. She liked to roll her eyes, pretend the nickname annoyed her, but her affection grew every time. She crossed the flat roof to where he stood.

“So, what’s up? What’s the urgent meeting for today?” Ladybug joked, expecting one of the typical excuses they used when they wanted to hang out. With the mention of his text, Chat Noir’s eyes fell. His lax body language disappeared as quickly as it came, replaced with an unsettled expression.

“Ladybug,” He started, his voice devoid of its humorous cadence. He placed his hands on her shoulders. “There’s something I need to tell you. Something I should have told you a long time ago.”

“What is it?” She had never seen him this rattled before. What could he have to tell her that would illicit this response? She looked up at him, eyes wide beneath the July sun. He hung his head. Whatever it was, it affected him like nothing she’s ever seen before. He was making her nervous, but she could see through his silence. He was searching for the courage to tell her. With a deep breath, Ladybug resolved that she could be brave enough for the two of them. She took a step closer, eliminating some of the space between them. She lifted a hand to his face, raising his head to look her in the eyes. Ladybug rested her gloved hand on his cheek, smiling kindly. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. You can tell me anything, Chaton.” Something broke behind his eyes and his mouth twitched into a frown.

“I—Look out!” Before she could tell what was happening, a large figure flew over head. Chat Noir hugged her tight and spun, shielding her body with his own as an arrow flew into his back.

“Chat Noir!” She called out as he tightened his arms around her. She struggled against him, trying to see if he was hurt and what that flying thing was.

“Ladybug, I…loathe you!” He spits the words out, a tone he never used with her before. She tried to push him away but his embrace was unbreakable steel. The flying creature landed on the rooftop. How did it even find them there? She didn’t have time to ponder the question. The akuma villain moved closer, cackling.

“Finally! Soon I’ll destroy all love. As soon as I get your Miraculous, Paris will be the City of Hate!” She recognized that voice. Ladybug looked over her shoulder to see the supervillain was her classmate, Kim. A bow and quiver strapped to his back in between the large black wings. The sun glinted on a heart-shaped pin attached to his strap. It was the pin he showed to her and Alya the day before; the one he planned to give Chloé for her birthday.

Dark Cupid approached and Ladybug needed an escape. Chat Noir yelped in pain, releasing his iron hold on her as she brought her force down onto his foot. With her newfound freedom, she whipped out her yo-yo and escaped before the akuma could steal her earrings. She ducked into an alley to regroup.

Chat Noir had been hit with one of Dark Cupid’s magical arrows, turning love into hate. But what type of love did he feel for her? Platonic or romantic? Her pulse quickened. Was that what he was going to tell her before they were interrupted by the akuma? She shook her head, clearing the thoughts that clouded her mind. She needed to focus on how to defeat the akuma instead of projecting her feeling onto Chat.

She crouched behind a pile of boxes as a figure flew overhead. Once Dark Cupid passed by she stood up, only to be knocked back into the wall by Chat Noir’s baton. So used to his presence, she hadn’t noticed him enter the alley. With a grunt, Ladybug pushed up, drawing her yo-yo shield.

“Chat, please! I’m your friend” She pleaded, hoping that her words could bring her partner back. “I don’t want to fight you.” I don’t know if I can fight you, she thought. She’s never fought without him by her side. They were a team, he was her friend—the one person she trusted with her life. The prospect of opposing him twisted her stomach into knots. His lips curled into a sneer, chilling her to the bone despite the summer heat.

“You’re not my friend. You honestly think I like you?” The malicious words cut into her heart. Ladybug was thankful for the shaded alleyway disguising the distress that passed over her face. The logical half of her brain reminded her that he was under Hawkmoth’s influence. The insults he threw in tandem with blows of his staff were not how he truly felt about her. But how did he feel about her? Her thoughts drifted once again to unspoken topic on the roof. Anxiety clawed at her to know what he had to tell her, but she would have to wait until she had her partner back.

The alley was too cramped to fight; she needed to be in the open and to find Dark Cupid. She hooked her yo-yo around the boxes she hid behind and tossed them at Chat Noir. They collided with his chest and he tumbled to the ground. Ladybug bolted into the street, Chat Noir nipping at her heels. Dark Cupid stood atop a large fountain, arrows flying in all directions. Chat Noir appeared in front of her. He laughed, but it held none of its usual humor and warmth. They had her surrounded. She fought to keep from trembling; an akuma by itself was difficult, but she never expected to fight against Chat Noir too.

“Cataclysm!” He called for his superpower and glared at her.

“Why are you so full of hate, Chat Noir?” She asked, distraught and not expecting a reply.

“Because hate conquers all.” The words struck her before he did. They were reminiscent of the fairytales included in her summer reading. The beginnings of an idea formulated in her mind when Chat Noir charged. Her reflexes weren’t as fast as Chat’s, but she leaned backwards, ducking under his outstretched claws as his momentum pulled him forward.

“Lucky Charm!” A candy apple fell from the sky. Ladybug’s gaze jumped quickly around her surroundings when her eyes landed on Dark Cupid, notching an arrow directly for her. Her impulses carried through, throwing the confectionary at her classmate. He abandoned the arrow in his hand to remove the candy apple stuck to his chest, the sticky sweet sugar coated his hands and arrows. Ladybug watched Dark Cupid land in front of the fountain to wash away the substance. Distracted, Chat Noir tackled her from behind, pinning her to the cobblestone streets, his Cataclysm bubbling in the hand he held aloft.

“You’re out of luck, Love Bug.” He straddled her, tracing his non-cataclysmed claws from her jaw to behind her ear. The touch sent a shiver down her spine. Her plan was a long shot—they always were—but she had to try and bring back the boy she knew.

The middle of an akuma battle trying to break a curse was not how Ladybug imagined her first kiss, but as Chat Noir raised his hand, she grabbed hold of his face and brought his lips down onto hers. She had pictured it a thousand ways—always with Chat. Sometimes it was after they defeated Hawkmoth; others, it was after they revealed their identities, when she could be Marinette, and he could be an entirely new person for her to fall in love with. Most of her daydreams though, were simple. Sitting together on their rooftop, unable to contain their feelings for each other anymore, bursting at the seems with tension until they kissed in the sunset of their own little universe. When the responsibilities of superheroes faded into background noise and they could exist as teenagers. Maybe that’s what Chat wanted to tell her today before Dark Cupid attacked. Maybe she could have had the first kiss she’d been dreaming of for the past year. Instead, Hawkmoth violated their rooftop—the one place in Paris she thought they were safe, alone together, where no one could find them. Her first kiss was not what she expected. Unromantic, frantic, and desperate, it was reduced to a tactical move to disarm Hawkmoth’s weapon of destruction.

It was the first of many things she had sacrificed as a superhero.

Her lips pressed against his, silently pleading for him to return to her. He was stiff, unresponsive, clinging to the hate Dark Cupid injected into his heart. But after a few seconds, he softened into the kiss, hate leeching from his soul as Ladybug purified him of the curse. He pushed up, dazed and unaware of his surroundings.

“Ladybug? What’s going on?” He asked, his voice devoid of the menace from minutes ago. He was back. She could have cried from relief.

“No time to explain! The pin!” She threw Chat Noir towards Dark Cupid. They collided, wrestling briefly before Chat was able to Cataclysm the pin. A purple butterfly flew from the rubble, promptly captured by Ladybug’s yo-yo. “Miraculous Ladybug!” She cried, throwing the candied apple into the sky, curing the Parisian citizens of their hate.

“Pound it,” Chat Noir held up his fist, expecting Ladybug to return his fist bump. She ignored their typical gesture and jumped into his arms, hugging him tightly to her.

“Don’t do that again!” She buried her head in his chest as he wrapped his arms around her. “I never want to fight you again, Chaton.” Her words were muffled, but loud enough for him to hear. He was solid beneath her, strong and lean, but she didn’t know that she was holding onto mist; slipping away from her grasp, impossible to contain. She pulled back slightly, looking up to prevent the tears from spilling over her lashes. “So what were you trying to tell me earlier?”

His brows furrowed as he averted his gaze, still struggling to find the words. A beep sounded from his ring, giving him an excuse to leave. He backed away from Ladybug. “I gotta go. I guess I’ll just have to tell you later.”

“Kitty, wait.” Ladybug grabbed his hand, halting him in his tracks. She knew it was one of Hawkmoth’s tricks, and yet the ferocity in his voice set her nerves on fire. She needed to be sure. “You didn’t mean the things you said right? We—we’re friends, right?” She held her breath. His face fell for an instant, before giving her a small somber smile.

“You are my best friend.” His voice held so much emotion, but she couldn’t detect what emotion it was. He brought her hand to his lips, kissing it lightly. “Until next time, My Lady.” And then, like so many times before, he was gone. Evaporated into the air, taking his secret and her heart with him.

Marinette woke with a start, wet trails of tears flowing down her face. Moonlight shone through the door leading to her terrace; the afternoon sun has long since set. She pulled her knees up to her chest and lowered her head trying to calm herself after the nightmare. Except, it hadn’t been a nightmare. Everything she dreamt had happened—the unspoken secret, the stress of the battle, the kiss—all of it was real, occurring just days before she discovered the truth. The vivid memories of Dark Cupid’s akuma battle lingered in her mind. It must have been the Black Potion, because it was as if she was reliving the events rather than remembering them. She didn’t know if she was crying from the distress she felt fighting Chat Noir for the first time, or because she’s fought him every day since.

Dark Cupid was the last akuma she battled before discovering Chat Noir was working for Hawkmoth—the last akuma before she had to reanalyze every event of the previous year with the knowledge that everything Char Noir said to her was a lie. Marinette’s heart ached for the girl who stood in front of the fountain watching Chat Noir leave. She wished she could yell at her past self—don’t fall for his tricks!—but that girl was frozen in her memories.

She never learned what he was trying to tell her that day. It was probably just more pretty lies to string her along. The cruel irony is that it would have worked. After the trying events of Dark Cupid, she realized she couldn’t hide her feelings from Chat Noir any longer. She was going to tell him that she loved him. She was going to reveal her identity.

Marinette laid back down, staring up at the night sky. How many times had they watched these same stars from the privacy of their rooftop, wishing on any fallen star that he would kiss her? Or that she could show him her life underneath the mask? She hugged the square pillow to her chest, longing childishly for the cat pillow she discarded the previous year.

Chat Noir had come close to discovering her identity. Then and now. The Black Potion had been a disastrous risk, one she probably shouldn’t have taken. Her hand drifted to her sternum where she could still imagine the pressure of water filling her lungs. She inhaled, a sweet satisfying breath—something she too often took for granted. Chat Noir spent a year manipulating her but now the roles have reversed; she had been the one to deceive him. Marinette Dupain-Cheng was officially out of the running for teen superhero.

Fatigue from the chaos of the day lingered, despite her nap. Even so, she allowed herself a moment of relief. She wouldn’t think about her conflicting feelings for Chat Noir, or the fact that he had saved her life—and by extension all of Paris. She wouldn’t think about how she’d always known being a superhero was dangerous, but now that she had experienced true danger, it somehow seemed as if the stakes were raised. And she wouldn’t think about how she was no closer to defeating Hawkmoth and Chat Noir than she was a year ago, but they seemed to be encroaching closer to her every day. She wouldn’t think about any of that. Instead, as she stared hopelessly awake at the silent sky above her, she thought about how satisfying it felt to throw a rock at Chat Noir.

A/N: Reminder that this is only part of the chapter so read the rest here

#Miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fic #ml fic #ml enemies au #ladynoir enemies #adrienette #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #angst #angst fic #my fic #like an old enemy

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bugsandchatons · 4 years ago

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when you weren’t mine to lose (3)

Summary: Change is a scary thing, especially when it feels like nothing has stayed the same.

It’s been a year since Marinette became the Guardian of the Miracle Box - a year of struggling beneath a burden she never asked for, a weight that has her leaning on her partner more and more as the hours fly by, of letting him come to her, too, when he needs a soft place to land. A year of falling for the boy who takes on the world by her side with a smile made of sunlight, and fighting the growing urge to tell him what he means to her.

After all, they’ll have time enough for that when Paris is safe.

But when the unthinkable happens, Marinette learns the tragedy of loving someone quietly, and the lines she’ll cross to save him.

A/N: you guys are amazzzzingg, thank you for liking and reblogging. This is where we start to earn the angst so remember that I promised a happy ending. Thank you to @emsylcatac for looking over this for me! <3

[[AO3]] {from the beginning}

****

[three: when you and I were forever wild]

Chat Noir wasn’t usually late.

The clock tower across the canal chimes the hour. Ladybug flips open the communication interface on her yoyo and frowns at it. No messages, no missed calls. She looked up, scanning the city’s skyline for any sign of her wayward partner.

Granted, he wasn’t terribly late, but even so, Ladybug had grown used to him being the one waiting for her. It seemed telling that, on tonight of all nights, he’d flip the script on her. It was just like the stupid cat to leave her all alone too long with her thoughts and too antsy to sit still with them.

Ladybug swings her feet out to dangle over the roof’s edge. She tosses out her yoyo, then winds it back in. She tries and fails to make the Eiffel Tower between her fingers and counts pigeons on the sidewalk below instead. She wonders just how many different ways everything about her life could go wrong, should she actually work up the courage to talk to him tonight.

At twenty minutes past, she begins to wonder if she should go looking for him.

As Ladybug gets to her feet to do just that, she finally hears him clambering onto the rooftop behind her. She spins to face him, batting nerves away to make room for relief instead. “There you are, kitty. I was about to start putting up posters.”

Chat rises from his landing crouch just enough to rest his hands on his knees, a bit out of breath - but when he looks up at her, everything in him brightens. “And what would you offer as a reward for my safe return?”

She takes a moment to consider, tapping a finger to her lips. “I think I’d charge them for returning you, actually.”

He puts a hand to his wounded heart before offering a smile. “Ouch. Well, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, my lady. I had some trouble getting away.”

Ladybug frowns. “If you need to be home, I could patrol on my own.”

Say yes. Say no. She’s not sure which answer she dreads more.

“No,” he protests. An unpleasant combination of glee and anxiety twist her stomach into knots. “I’m good now, let’s go.”

She draws in a breath as he steps closer. Chat looks lighter than he did the night before, with contentment radiating from his sure smile. He’s happier as a superhero than he is as a civilian, she knows, but whatever it was that bothered him the night before seems to have resolved. She’d worried it had been her words that had kept him awake.

Ladybug has wondered if there would come a day when she’d break his heart one time too many and she’d look over her shoulder to find him gone. Still, in three years he hasn’t left her but once, but he came right back, he’s okay, they’re okay, and change isn’t always a good thing -

You wanted to tell him, Marinette. The stern scolding in her head sounds remarkably like Tikki, and she wants to listen, but she remembers too well what it was like when he walked away.

Ladybug snags her yoyo from her hip, comforted by the weight of it in her hand. “Race you to Trocadéro?”

Chat rocks back on his heels and grins at her, all mischief. “If you keep asking me to chase you, LB, one of these days I’ll catch you.”

She pauses mid-step and glances back at him over her shoulder. “Maybe one of these days, I’ll let you.”

His eyes fly wide and she feels her face flare with a smug sort of heat before she throws her yoyo and makes a hasty escape. He scrambles after her as she sails across Paris with an exhilarated laugh.

Maybe change doesn’t have to come all at once.

When Chat Noir finally catches up to her, he lets his baton fall from his fingers to clatter on the rooftop and slumps down after it, resting his back against Ladybug’s. He drops his head to touch hers, eyes shut against the setting sun as he takes a moment to catch his breath.

She smiles and stays quiet, bearing his weight with ease. She likes it best like this - just the two of them above the city they’ve bled for, with nowhere to go and no ticking clock counting down. When they can just breathe together and enjoy it, for once.

“Something bugging you, my lady?” Chat asks. He turns his face just enough for her to catch the corner of his self-satisfied grin.

Ladybug huffs before taking one deep breath in. She feels him take one too, his back pressing into hers on the inhale before he lets it go, his an instinctive echo to hers. It’s more a comfort to her than he could ever know.

“Not bugging me, really. I’ve just been thinking about what we talked about yesterday.”

Chat’s spine snaps straight as he goes still. He stays quiet, quieter than she thinks he’s ever been in his life. With him facing away from her, with darkness falling slowly around them, it’s easier to admit, “I’m tired of being scared, Chat.”

“You’re the bravest person I know, Ladybug,” he says, soft and serious.

She lets out a quick breath, the faintest hint of a laugh leaving her with it. “Jumping off of buildings and fighting supervillains is different when you have magic to back you up. With everything else...I always let fear stop me.” She rolls her yoyo down the length of the roof and pulls it back, watching it spin. “I’m scared of everything changing and not being able to stop it. When it comes down to it, I...I never manage to say what I want to say. Not like you.”

At that, he shifts away from her before shuffling over on his hands and knees until he can face her. She looks down, her eyes on her feet until she feels his finger, endlessly gentle, tapping the underside of her chin - a request, not a demand. She gives in, lifting her face to find his gaze intent on hers.

“What do you mean, not like me?” Chat’s voice is low, hushed, even though there’s not another soul around to hear them.

Ladybug lets out a shaky breath. “Like when you say you’ll tell me your name even if I don’t tell you mine, or how you’re always just able to say what you feel or what you want, I…” she pauses, drowning in green, green, green. “I wish I could do that,” she whispers.

Chat’s eyes drop to watch her lips shape the words before flicking back up to hers, so quickly she might’ve missed it. He ducks his head in, infinitesimally closer to hers. “And what is it you want, my lady?”

He sounds so serious, without even a drop of flirtation in his expression. Ladybug’s breath hitches, and he notices - his brow furrows, then there’s that same look of curious-but-confused, his slitted pupils dilated in the dark. It would be so easy to bridge that scant space between them, to take the opening he’s given her. So simple, really, to let him block the world out and give in to the tug she’s been feeling, the steady tightening of the string that’s tied him to her from the day they met.

They need more than that, though. There’s too much left unsaid between them to take the easy way out.

Ladybug lifts a hand to his cheek and it’s Chat’s turn to gasp, a quick, quiet inhalation all but lost to the breeze. She reaches for him as she reaches for the courage that’s always kept her going when all else fails and finds it isn’t so terribly different from the feeling of falling. With it in hand, she throws herself into the open sky and offers him a truth she knows he’ll value far more than a kiss. “I want to know your name,” she whispers, watching his lips part in surprise, “and I want you to know mine.”

For a moment, she worries he’s stopped breathing completely. His fingers search for hers and when they connect and hold on tight, his are trembling. “Ladybug, are you-”

Below them, on the bustling streets of Paris, someone screams.

Ladybug and Chat Noir spring apart at the sound, startled out of their private corner of the world and into motion. Chat staggers to his feet, his hand automatically finding Ladybug’s elbow to help her rise. “Akuma,” he says, sounding dazed, as though he’s been underwater and just came up for air.

She feels a little lightheaded herself, but there’s no time for that now. Her yoyo spins out from her hand as she stalks to the edge of the roof and scans the streets below. There’s commotion, certainly - crowds scattering, car horns blaring - but she can’t pinpoint a source. “I don’t see them. You head that way, I’ll take the street.”

Behind her, Chat hesitates. “I...we’ll talk after, right?”

Ladybug glances his way, softening in the face of his devastating plea. “Yeah, kitty. We’ll talk after, I promise. Now, we have to go.”

She jumps without looking back. She doesn’t have to, to know he’ll be right behind her. She swings down, around to the other side of the building, and drops from a streetlight just in time to watch a bus skid to a stop. It doesn’t seem to touch anything but still blasts backward, flying through the air. With no time to pause and consider, Ladybug throws her yoyo to catch the bus and nearly takes flight with it, only for Chat to catch hold of her waist.

She brings it down to safety as Chat huffs against the effort of keeping both her and the bus grounded. He frees his baton after it successfully braces them. “What the-”

“Ladybug and Chat Noir!” A man’s disembodied voice draws near, and finally, Ladybug sees the akumatized villain - it’s an outline of a person, shimmering with a metallic glint as they move and stalk closer, almost like looking into ripples in a pond. “I was looking for someone in particular, but you two fools will do just fine as a warm-up.”

“How kind,” Chat drawls, spinning his baton until he can prop his hands and chin upon it. “And to whom do we have the pleasure of speaking?”

The Akuma's expression wavers into view for just a moment, something smug and sure in the translucent lines of his face, before he shifts again, nearly invisible. “He calls me Mirror Image. Rather uninventive if you ask me, but I digress. Hand over your Miraculous, or we’ll do this the hard way.”

“Always about the Miraculous, never about the cat who wears it,” Chat sighs. He slips so easily from serious and earnest to the carefree persona he brings to battle that the transition could give her whiplash. “One day, maybe someone will ask nicely.”

Ladybug takes the opportunity to slip up behind him and lets her yoyo fly, cutting through the air. Mirror Image waves an arm, raising a barrier that reflects both her shot and her surprised face back at her. Her weapon hits her in the chest and Ladybug falls back with a squeak, her pride wounded more than anything else.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to knock down a lady?” Chat demands, running for the Akuma with his baton out. This time, Mirror Image merely sidesteps him before jumping and clearing an awning with a taunt for her partner that doesn’t reach Ladybug’s ears.

“Oh, come on now, don’t run. I was in the middle of a fascinating chat I’d like to get back to,” Chat calls back. There’s something rather manic about the smile Chat wears as he gives chase - it’s a frenetic sort of hope, Ladybug realizes, a hope he’d buried away some time ago without her noticing. Brought back to the surface, it lends a lightness to his feet and a joy to his fighting.

If something about it stings, Ladybug squashes it underfoot before following them up the side of a building. She flips onto another rooftop. Mirror Image stands between them, his figure slightly more visible without the backdrop of calamity to hide him. This shouldn’t be so difficult, now.

Ladybug catches Chat’s eye. He nods an affirmation, and she tosses her yoyo up into the air, calling for her Lucky Charm.

Mirror Image shoots forward, throwing out an arm and a shining barrier with it. The pink light of her magic bounces back to meet her. When Ladybug’s charm meets her waiting palm, it’s just...a smaller mirror.

She frowns. It’s an ornate, gilded hand mirror, but the magic in it feels wrong, somehow. She casts her eyes around, but nothing connects with the mirror like it normally would. Nothing fits. The solution is a puzzle with a crucial piece missing. Her own pinched expression looks back at her when she stares into it, just a reflection and useless on its own.

Okay, then. She pushes her hair out of her face with an exasperated flick. Being unable to use her Lucky Charm is a set-back, sure - but maybe if she were to step away for a moment, recharge her Miraculous and try again, somewhere away from his mirrors, maybe…

Ladybug goes still. The Akuma’s ability isn’t so terrible up against her own, but used against someone else’s...used against Chat’s -

Her breath stutters in her chest. When she looks up, her partner is still putting forth a valiant effort of combat, but not landing any hits. She sees it, the moment his eyes narrow in frustration, the precise second he decides.

“Chat-”

He’s mid-lunge, his palm outstretched and clawed fingers reaching as he calls forth destruction. “Cataclysm!”

“Wait,” Ladybug gasps, trying to find the air to scream. “Wait-”

Mirror Image shifts to the side, and she catches the brutal slash of his smirk. He raises a hand in tandem with Chat’s, a sick puppeteer to his marionette, and brings up the mirror wall with it. In its reflection she sees Chat’s eyes widen, right as his smoking fingers make contact.

Ladybug shrieks something that resembles his name and stumbles toward him, her own hand reaching. It’s like something out of a dream. She’s both a part of it and watching from a distance, all at once, and just far enough away to be helpless to stop what happens next.

Chat’s head turns ever so slightly in her direction. She sees his lips moving to shape what could only be her name, the only one he knows.

She sees it, too, when the pain hits him.

His back goes rigid, his gasping mouth tilts back toward the sky. The bubbling, catastrophic magic engulfs his hand, his wrist, the crook of his outstretched arm, spreading across his body all the while.

Ladybug can do nothing but watch, horror seeping into her blood and unfurling through her veins like poison, as the unforgiving black wave takes him, over and under like a riptide. When it covers his heart she sees something in his eyes die, just as she feels it when her own heart stops in turn.

An instinctive echo. She doesn’t breathe, and neither does he.

She gasps and then she’s on her knees, hands groping for the Lucky Charm she can’t remember dropping. Numb fingers close around the golden handle. “Miraculous Ladybug,” the breathless request leaves her in either a whisper or a scream, and she throws the golden mirror.

It lands a few feet away in a clatter. Nothing happens.

Chat Noir stands still before her - too still, as someone with as much life and laughter as he does should never, ever be - blackened and burned from his gloved hands to the tips of wild hair that was once the color of spun gold. He doesn’t blink, his chest doesn’t rise.

Ladybug calls for her power once more, forcing the words out between her teeth. She crawls to her charm, throws it again, and stares at the crack that spiderwebs across the glass. “Fix it,” she demands, a request that’s never before been denied.

Fix him, oh god, please fix him.

At the edges of her swimming vision, Mirror Image falls to his knees with the bright, linear moth sigil visible in front of his eyes. Then, he’s engulfed in the dark purple cloud of Hawkmoth’s magic as it devours him, then leaves him. A butterfly floats away, calm and innocuous in the breeze.

For a full minute, Ladybug stares after it, uncomprehending. “No,” she whispers. Hawkmoth had only ever recalled his akumas once or twice before. It doesn’t make sense. “No, it’s not-” she chokes on the knot of bile that rises and burns her throat. It’s not over yet. Her Lucky Charm hasn’t worked, it hasn’t brought Chat back, she hasn’t fixed anything. It can’t be over.

In the distance, a clock tower chimes the hour, clashing in discordant harmony with the beeping in her ears. The sounds bleed together until there’s only static.

Chat Noir has become a statue of embers; once destruction personified, now consumed by it. His hand forever outstretched in a plea she can’t answer; his mouth an agonized slash, crying for help she can’t give. Ladybug has ice in her veins and under her skin, freezing her to the spot.

As Ladybug stares up into Chat’s unseeing eyes, she realizes the ultimate tragedy of loving someone quietly. She’d spent their last hours dreaming of time they didn’t have; she only ever had as many moments with him as he had heartbeats, and no way to know that precious seconds had slipped between her fingers like sand.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fics #ladynoir #ml fic #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #lovesquare #fic:when you weren't mine to lose #sorry not sorry #its okay guys i hate me too

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honeymoonjin · 6 years ago

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𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 namjoon x reader x hoseok || 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 4.4k || 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆 smut

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 your two boyfriends decide to play good cop-bad cop with you as the criminal.

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 oh god where do i begin… roleplay, oral (m receiving), oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), anal (f receiving), multiple orgasms, forced orgasms, squirting, dp, object insertion, use of sex toy, bondage, soft dom namjoon, hard dom hoseok, deepthroating, degradation, dirty talk, overstimulation, spanking, eiffel tower (spitroasting? i do not know the difference between these two terms), unprotected sex

---

“You’re in a lot of trouble, you know.”

“A lot of trouble,” Namjoon agrees, “right now, we’re your best chance here. If you confess now, we might be able to greatly lower your sentence.”

You bite your tongue, hard, and stare at your reflection in the wall-length mirror across from you.

Hoseok laughs bitterly. “No? We don’t want this to get ugly, princess, but if you don’t cooperate, it will.”

The younger man pulls up a chair from across from you, swiveling it around so that he straddles it backwards. You try not to quirk a grin at the image of one of your boyfriends trying to act cool. “Let us help you, Y/n,” he enthuses with an encouraging smile, “tell us why you did it.”

“Did what?” you spit out. “I don’t even know why I’m here.”

Hoseok stands up, pacing behind you, out of sight. You fight the urge to crane your neck around to face him. He bends; his voice low in your ear, hot breath on your neck. “We all know that’s not quite true. Don’t lie to me, Y/n. Unlike my colleague here, I’m not so-” you let out a strangled whimper when a hand snakes into your hair and tugs your head roughly to the side, exposing your neck, “forgiving.”

“Hoseok,” said colleague scolds, “don’t frighten the poor girl.” Namjoon sighs out slowly, like he’s disappointed in you. “But I’m afraid he brings up a valid point. We both know what you did that night. All we need is a confession, and we have all night to get it, the easy way or the hard way.”

You suck in a sharp breath through your nose when you feel teeth slowly dragging their way down the sensitive flesh of your neck, stopping at the rise of your collarbone. When Hoseok speaks, his lips are soft against your skin. “Something tells me she would prefer the hard way.”

You jerk your hands when he bites down harshly, but the tug at your wrists and clatter of metal on metal reminds you of the handcuffs that lock you to the interrogation table. For a scene room at your local BDSM club, the place was surprisingly convincing, down to the stark strip lights on the ceiling that would buzz every few seconds.

You whimper when the pressure of teeth turns into wet suction, a tongue laving and sucking at the skin to raise a hickey. “I didn’t do anything, I swear! You have to believe me!”

Hoseok hums and nuzzles into your neck, chucking under his breath. “Let’s see if you can keep your story straight when you’re cumming for us so hard that you can’t even think. I find a good orgasm does wonders for bringing out the truth.”

With one last press of his lips, the elder stands back up and walks back around the table, leaning on the table edge beside where Namjoon is sitting. Namjoon looks up at him and the two share a nod.

“Y/n.” Namjoon’s eyes are heavy on yours, but you can’t help but let your gaze wander down his figure. The two are clad in the same uniform, yet it strikes you differently for each of them. The white button-down and black pants highlight Hoseok’s lean build, the first few buttons undone to show golden skin. But for Namjoon, the way the fabric strains, yet his tie remains perfectly straight, screams power. And you feel deliciously powerless sitting across from the two of them.

“Y/n,” Namjoon repeats in a chastising tone, returning your attention to him, “I want to believe you. Really, I do. You’re a vulnerable young woman and I understand this experience must be stressful for you, but the jig is up. It’s time for you to be honest.”

He pushes his chair back noisily, slowly, like he has all the time in the world. When he stands and moves around the table to you, he adjusts his cuffs, though they were already perfect. You can see the way he juts his chin out lightly, trying to portray an in-control aura. While Namjoon puts in an effort to stay in that character of authority (normally his dominance in the bedroom was a lot more implicit), Hoseok has never seemed more in his element, eyes hot on you with molten lust, mouth pursed and lids low. You can see how his erection presses tightly against his pants, though he shows no indication of being bothered by it.

You can’t keep your eyes on him long, however, as a large hand gently grabs your chin and turns it to face Namjoon. He stares down at you, searching your figure. “It’s hot in here, isn’t it?” You frown at the change in conversation, but go completely still when his hand moves, both homing in to the top of your shirt, fingers fiddling with the button, popping it open. “I always tell the chief not to have the thermostat on so high, but he never listens. It’s hard to think straight when you must be so overheated.” Three buttons; four. You swallow hard when his knuckles brush against your breasts where they swell over the cups of your bra. “How about we cool you down a little bit? You might be able to remember more clearly then.”

When he reaches the last button, he gently parts the fabric, letting it fall off your shoulders until the sleeves catch on your elbows, unable to slip down further. There’s another metal chair in the corner, and Namjoon drags it over to sit down beside you, running his calloused palms over the bare skin of your upper arms and shoulders. “Is this better?” he asks in a murmur.

You nod tentatively.

Namjoon smiles. “Good. Now, let’s try this again. Where were you on the night of the 6th?”

You restrain yourself from rolling your eyes. “I was at home with my boyfriends.”

“Plural?” Hoseok scoffs at you from across the metal table. “Figures. A slut like you wouldn’t be satisfied with just one.”

You shrug, a sly grin playing on your lips. “I have three holes. Seems a waste to only fill one of them.”

His nostrils flare and his eyes narrow into slits. “But our files say you only have two boyfriends. I guess we’ll just have to find something else to fill you with, huh?” He adjust his hips, drawing your attention to the nightstick that dangles from his belt. You swallow hard, and he grins toothily. That fucker.

Namjoon sighs, placing a palm on the flesh of your thigh. Earlier in the costume room, you had thought the skirt and blouse was too ‘schoolgirl’. Now, as your soaked panties cling to your pussy lips, you’re grateful for the ease of access it allows. Your legs tip open more minutely, inviting him in.

“We could make this easy for you, Y/n. We could make it feel good. But my partner here is getting impatient, and I’m worried I can only hold him back for so long. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Hoseok’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, watching Namjoon’s hand glide higher and higher with a gaze dripping in raw need. “I do.”

Your legs fall open further and you sigh out. “For the last time,” you make out through a moan as Namjoon’s fingers finally press against you, perfectly still, “I don’t know anything, and I didn’t do anything. What can I do to prove my innocence?”

“Y/n, Y/n,” Namjoon croons, “I feel like…” Your mouth drops open when he begins to rub against your clit through your panties, round and round, frustratingly slow. “I feel like we’re just going in circles.”

“I agree,” Hoseok pitches in. “Clearly she’s not willing to listen to reason or rationale. A girl like her can’t use her head because all she can think about is being fucked stupid. Bend her over the table, Namjoon. Ass up.”

Obediently, the younger grabs you under the armpits and tugs you out of your chair, pulling you forward until your hips hit the edge of the table and you fold over it, hands pressed between your breasts and the cool metal. “Hey! What the fuck?”

“Well, princess,” Hoseok growls, standing up to walk around the table, “you obviously won’t listen to Namjoon when he asks nicely, and I don’t ask nicely. I take what I want and if you don’t give it to me, I make you regret it.”

You continue to struggle as he lifts up your skirt to reveal your panties, internally reveling in the feeling of Namjoon pinning your back and head to the table. He’d been going to the gym more recently, and it had never paid off more than right now.

“Shh,” he soothed. “This will hurt less if you just relax and take it. Be a good girl for us.”

A rough grip latches onto your panties, pulling them up between your cheeks harshly so that the fabric grinds against your clit. You whine and rise up on your tiptoes, but Hoseok just pulls harder, wiggling it to watch you shudder at the sensation.

Once he’s had his fill, he pulls them down past your ass to leave it bare for him. “Either you confess,” he bargains, “or you won’t be able to sit for a week. What’s it gonna be?”

“This is fucking sick!” you spit. “What’s wrong with you, you can’t do this!”

The hold against your back falters. “Colour?” Namjoon questions unsurely.

Your heart warms, but you fight not to lose the heat of the moment. “Green, baby, I’m green.”

“Okay.” He presses down again, harder this time, and you keen when your face is trapped between the table and his hand, fingers almost cupping your entire head. You love when he makes you feel small, and you lose yourself in that satisfaction too much, only returning when Hoseok grows impatient and rains a sharp slap against your left ass cheek, making you jump violently under Namjoon’s hold.

“Are you going to confess, princess?” Hoseok’s hand smooths over the stinging sensation on your skin, and you sigh out at the relief, but shake your head firmly. “Well, then. You know what that means.”

One hit at a time, he brings his hand down on your ass, pausing briefly after each one to soothe your reddening skin and ask if you have anything to say. You feel yourself growing steadily slicker, thighs slipping together as you writhe on the table. “Please, Hoseok!”

Another smack, this one hitting lower down at the tops of your thighs. You whine. Hoseok kneads the sore flesh with a tut. “If you don’t confess, I have no choice.”

“We won’t be angry,” Namjoon adds. “If you tell us the truth now, we can take your statement to the chief and try to lower your sentence for complying with us.”

“I’ll give you one last chance,” Hoseok warns, “tell me now. Because if you don’t, I’m not giving you anymore chances. I’m not stopping until your ass is redder than a traffic light, and then we’ll see if you feel like sharing.”

You huff, but don’t say anything. After a moment, Hoseok tuts you again, the room falling completely silent. You go weak with anticipation, feeling the chill of the metal seep into your bones, wiggling your ass in the air slightly.

You jerk when the first kiss of skin bites you, but as promised, he doesn’t stop there, relentlessly spanking you over and over, back and forth.

You cry out and struggle under Namjoon’s grip, kicking out hopelessly with your legs, but Hoseok just growls and holds them down, continuing to light up your ass as you flinch under every smack.

It goes on for what feels like forever. You try to shuffle yourself up further onto the table or lower your ass away from the pain, but nothing helps. Between the two of them, there’s nothing you can do but lie there and take it, whining their names. When Hoseok does stop with a satisfied exhale, dragging a fingernail over your red ass, you’re sobbing, tears making your cheeks slip wetly against the table.

Namjoon lets out a hum of concern. “That was hard for me to watch, Y/n.” You know he’s lying, but you sniff and nod anyway. “I wish you would’ve taken the easy way so we could have avoided all this suffering. Look at you. You’re a mess.”

You squeeze your eyes tightly shut as he takes his hands off you, sliding them down your haphazardly-clothed body, until they’re cupping your sore cheeks, spreading them. You hear the chair squeak and hear his shoes squeak against the floor as he crouches behind you.

“Let’s get rid of these,” he murmurs, tugging your ruined panties down your legs, helping you step out of them shakily. “God, what’s this?” You hiss as a finger slips between your folds, barely any pressure. “Here I was, worried about you suffering, but you liked it, didn’t you? You’re dripping.”

Hoseok scoffs sharply. “Of course she did. Sluts like her need someone to be strict with them. They need someone to take control. I don’t think our princess has any intentions of confessing at all, Namjoon. If I’m being honest, I think she just wants us to ruin her.”

Namjoon makes a noise of consideration. You can feel his breath waft over your core as he speaks. “Is that so, partner? Well, if Y/n isn’t going to talk, then we might as well use that mouth for something worthwhile.”

Hoseok laughs darkly. “For once, I agree with you completely. What do you think, princess? Need a cock down your throat?”

You crack open your eyes, blinking blearily at him and nodding. You’re still bent over the table, and instead of sitting you up, Hoseok leans forward and grabs a handful of your hair, tugging it to the side, pulling you over so that you’re laid out across the corner of the table, chin hanging over the edge. You wince at the sharp pull on your scalp but your mouth soon begins to water as your boyfriend stands in front of you, pressing his cloth-covered erection against your nose.

You look up at him with wide eyes, and his grin is pure wicked desire. Slowly, teasingly, you begin to rock your face against the front of his pants, unable to pull your hands out from under you, the cuffs digging into the delicate bones of your wrists. He swears lowly at the sight and feeling of you rubbing yourself against him.

Growing restless of your teasing in mere seconds (Namjoon was always the patient one), Hoseok pulls back and let’s go of your hair to undo his pants, pushing them and his underwear down below his ass. His cock springs up one it breaches the waistband, and you’re so close that it smacks your face on the way, smearing precum across your cheek.

He licks his lips and laughs at your affronted glare. “Open up, princess.” You do as he says, stretching your jaw and sticking your tongue out, and he places himself on your tongue, tapping it playfully a few times before grasping the back of your head again and pressing himself deep into the back of your throat.

You consider yourself a seasoned expert at deepthroating, but the awkward angle has you feeling off-guard, and you squeeze your eyes shut to focus on breathing through your nose.

All you can hear is his quiet pants and breathy curses as he uses your mouth, in no hurry to face fuck you quickly, more concerned about plunging himself to the hilt and feeling you gag around him each time. He’s enjoying using you and wants to savour it. Or, you consider, there’s something else coming and he knows not to demand too much.

This thought strikes you only a second before something foreign is pressing shallowly into your entrance, pushing at those muscles. You jerk and jump away as best you can, but that only results in you impaling yourself deeper on Hoseok’s cock, and you splutter around him, losing your breath.

He takes mercy on you and drags you off him by pulling back on your hair again. You think you might need a wig after this with how rough he’s being. You swear you’ve felt him rip actually strands out.

You puff and catch your breath back again, blinking up at him with spit around your mouth and chin and tears in your eyes, and through the character of a dominating police officer, you see the shine of pride in his eyes, and it warms you up inside. You’re doing well, baby, it seems to say.

Namjoon’s hands are running lightly up and down your thighs, simultaneously relaxing you and winding you up more. “We both saw the way you were eyeing up that nightstick, Y/n. I thought you wanted us to fill you up? Three holes, remember?”

Your eyes go wide as you listen to him, but continue to look up at your boyfriend, though your neck muscles ache. With one hand on your hair and the other under your chin, Hoseok forces you to keep locked into his gaze as the unforgiving object is slowly plunged into you, forcing your pussy walls, as slick as they are, to accommodate the intrusion.

Your mouth falls open and your toes curl. “F-fuck,” you babble, “oh god.”

“That’s right,” Hoseok affirms, “unlike you, we give what we’re asked for. And your body is begging for us to stuff you to the brim.”

You shiver, and he cracks a grin at the look in your eyes.

Namjoon thrusts up into you with the nightstick a few times lazily, before pulling out. You whine at the loss, but once he begins circling your back entrance, you stop breathing, clenching automatically in anticipation.

“Uh-uh,” Namjoon tuts, “you need to relax for me. Don’t worry, this is smaller than either of us. Now let me in.”

You do your best to relax your muscles, and groan gutturally at the feeling of the tip of it breaching the tight ring of muscles. Once it’s in, the rest of the stick is the same thickness, and you tremble as Namjoon easily sinks it deep inside you, until you feel the handle pressing against the reddened flesh of your ass. You clench around it experimentally, and groan again.

“Good?” Namjoon questions, and you nod quickly, rocking your hips slightly to feel it move inside you. “My turn now. Spread those legs wider.”

You try to do as he says, but your brain is too slow, and in the end he kicks at your ankles, baring yourself to him even more, your stomach lowering to press flat against the table. You bite your lip when you feel his cockhead lining up between your folds, and you crane your neck forward, opening your mouth and glancing up at Hoseok.

He pats your cheek, the one covered in his slowly-drying precum, and places his cock on your tongue, letting you suckle on the tip as Namjoon grips your hips.

You swipe your tongue over Hoseok’s slit, collecting the colourless drops that have gathered there, and hum around him, trying to open your walls up to Namjoon, even as your body tries to reject it.

While Hoseok is the longer, Namjoon is much thicker than anyone you’ve been with, and while it’s never been a problem (a huge plus, in fact), you find the stretch as he tries to fit himself in alongside the makeshift dildo buried in your ass is just too much. He senses your discomfort, the way your cheeks clench and your back tenses, and slips out the little way he was able to plunge inside.

“We need to swap,” Namjoon instructs his elder.

You whimper as Hoseok pulls his cock away from you, wiping away the wetness in the corners of your eyes. “Is our princess too small to take you both back there?”

“She is,” Namjoon affirms. “Besides, I want a taste of that pretty little mouth of hers. I’d rather have her choking on me than spitting out more lies.”

They exchange places quickly, and soon enough Namjoon is cupping the back of your head with both hands, fucking your throat the way he likes most. The noises that come out of your mouth are obscene, but they only double in volume and desperation when Hoseok latches onto the nightstick and begins fucking your ass with it, holding your hips up higher so that he can begin to sink inside you as he works the stick, stimulating nerves that almost never received any attention.

You feel drool sliding down your neck, unable to swallow properly around Namjoon, who fills your mouth and throat with every thrust, and your feet lift off the floor as Hoseok holds you up, bouncing you on his cock so every time he fucks up into you he’s stuffing you to the hilt.

Your toes curl and your andfingers clutch at the chains of your handcuffs as you gargle and splutter around the hardness in your throat, feeling the wave of an orgasm crest, almost too much to feel good. There’s so much sensation, so much pleasure, that when it’s all out together, it overwhelms you completely, and the second Hoseok’s finger grazes against your clit when he goes to get a better hold on your hips, you’re vaulted into a shuddering orgasm, eyes squeezed tightly shut with the intensity of it.

Namjoon quickly removes himself from your throat when you come, so you use your free mouth to cry out hopelessly, screaming as Hoseok continues to fuck you. It’s too much, and you try to curl up on yourself, thrashing under him to try and escape the blistering sensations, but he refuses to stop, digging his fingers into the flesh of your hips, growling out your name as he meets his own end, shuddering one last time and coming inside you. He slaps your ass weakly but you clench anyway, and that milks the last of his cum from him. With an exhausted sigh, he pulls out, and before his seed can even begin to drip out, Namjoon is behind you and plunging himself inside.

Relaxed from your orgasm and stretched out from Hoseok, your walls do accommodate him this time, but the way he fills you completely makes your legs go ramrod straight, muscles trembling. “Namjoon, fuck!”

“That’s it,” he soothes, “just some more me, Y/n. You’re gonna feel real good, I promise.”

You sob, going limp as he fucks you, every thrust ripping another inhuman sound from your raw throat.

Worryingly quickly, your high rises again, and you barely get enough time to scream out a warning before you’re plunged into another orgasm, wailing at the feeling of clenching around two different intrusions inside of you.

Namjoon swears, and his cum paints your insides, mixing with Hoseok’s. Faintly, through a sub-space haze, you hear Hoseok command, “get her up.”

“It’s too much,” Namjoon’s voice murmurs, but the nightstick is being pulled from you, and you let out a broken whimper when it slips out, leaving you empty, and strong hands are flipping you onto your back, resting you on the table with your ass on the edge.

“She’ll take it,” Hoseok replies, and you find out what he means when his fingers dip easily inside you, three at once, and his mouth lowers to tongue at your clit.

Your legs jerk, thighs clamping around his head and hips waving uselessly in the need to escape, but another pair of hands reluctantly holds you down by the shoulders, a face nuzzling into your hair and pressing kisses against your sweaty temple.

Your hands are pulled off to one side, still attached to the table, but you can’t help but rattle them, thrashing under Hoseok’s ministrations.

You’ve come too hard and too close together, and his focussed clit and g-spot stimulation is too much for your tortured nerves.

Tears slip steadily into your hairline by your temples, but Namjoon just kisses them away.

“My good girl,” he soothes, “just give us one more. You’re doing so well.”

“I ca-han’t,” you sob hopelessly, “Hobiii!”

“One more,” Namjoon reminds, “or confess now.”

Hoseok’s mouth is unforgiving; sucking and flicking and nibbling no matter how much you’re convulsing under him. You hear him chuckle between your legs as he speeds up his hands, and your mouth goes slack when you realise that the unmistakable flame of an orgasm building inside you is growing.

“I don’t even-” you break off into a moan as Namjoon tugs down the cups of your bra and tugs at the closest nipple with his teeth, sending volts straight to your core. “Fuck, I’m cumming!”

“Cum for me, princess,” Hoseok growls, and swaps to use his fingers to rub back and forth over your clit as fast as he can.

You feel something break inside you, a kind of release, and your vision goes spotty with your final orgasm. It’s not as traditionally powerful, but you feel wetness pelting your thighs, and manage to squint downwards, where clear liquid drips of Hoseok’s fingers.

Namjoon laps soothingly at your sensitive nipple, and you whimper, finally able to close your legs tightly once Hoseok removes his fingers from you.

They both caress you softly as tremors wrack your body in waves, and once you slowly come back down to earth, you feel your eyes slip shut, the voices of your boyfriends filling your ears.

“Is she out?”

“I think so. Fuck, Hobi, I thought you were gonna fucking kill her with that last one.”

A fond pat on your thigh. “She loved it. Or did you miss the point where she squirted all over me?”

Namjoon pauses for a moment. “It was a team effort,” he insists begrudgingly.

Hoseok laughs tiredly. “Sure thing, good cop. Why don’t you play your role some more and get our princess a drink of water?”

Namjoon huffs a little but leaves, and you crack your eyes open sleepily when Hoseok wiggles your ankle playfully. “Are you ready to confess now, or should I force another orgasm out of you?”

You know he’s joking, but you can’t help but shiver. “Fuck that,” you groan out with an aching throat. “I’ll confess. It was Mr Mustard in the study with a candlestick.”

Hoseok lets out a loud laugh. “You little brat.”

“Love you too. But next time, I’m bad cop.”

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