#because it frames it almost like a good thing? like ''bruno stretches his hand out and says 'join me :)' while uplifting music plays''

[shoechoe]

Fugo's backstory in PHF is 10x better than the anime one what the hell

[sassykittynoir]

The Fashion Rebellion of Adrien Agreste || Part I

Pairing: Adrinette (Marinette Dupain-Cheng x Adrien Agreste)  Warnings: Mention of alcohol consumption. Words Count: 1,8k words. 

A/N: I would like to say a huge thanks to my dear friend @smileytrinity for her infinite patience and help and support, as well as @helgabatwrittings who motivated me to write this. @miraculouslyinloveagain, @sparklesfriend4700-blog I hope you’ll enjoy this Adrinette. Well, I hope everyone does. <3

His plan was devious. If Plagg's giggles were any indication, Adrien would say he had crossed the line between mischief and Machiavellian by a long shot... alright, maybe it was  an overstatement.

"What you’re doing is more dabbling into little shit territory than being an evil menace.” Plagg drawled over his shoulders, only to shrug in disinterest when Adrien remarked that Plagg's barometer was skewed when it came to chaos and mischief.

Evil misdoings or shenanigans, Adrien couldn't bring himself to care or feel an ounce of guilt. After all, a taste of his own medicine wouldn't kill his father.

The whole thing had started a few months ago. He didn't know how such an innocent idea had gotten so out of hand. But, could anyone blame him for wanting to get back at his father when his actions were marred by his malicious intent?

Adrien had once believed his father was an overprotective parent, but, as the years went by, gone was the blind trust he had placed in the adults of his life. The Lucid maturity replaced the juvenile naivety. The perfect family facade had long since shattered, a cold truth seeping inches by inches in its cracks.

The idea blossomed into a fully-fledged plot almost overnight. Mere hours after his father  —  well Nathalie  —  had informed Adrien that he couldn't attend Marinette's picnic because his schedule had been modified to accommodate a last minute photoshoot. He had been so irritated that —

“ — I really want to get back at him.” Adrien hissed, plopping down on Chloe's bed. He felt bad for the glare he directed at Mr.cuddly. The poor bear didn't deserve it. 

“I’m not going to pretend I understand why you want to attend this dwee — Marinette’s” —   Chloe relented at Adrien’s pointed look —  “Marinette’s picnic.” Chloe rolled her eyes in disdain, applying the finishing touch to her makeup: a glittery peach lip gloss. ”But this is utterly ridiculous. You're eighteen! You should have the freedom to go wherever you want to. You’ll have wrinkles if you keep frowning like that.”

Adrien couldn't help the small huff of amusement falling past his lips. He took a deep breath in order to calm down. The last thing he needed was to be akumatized before the charity gala he was attending even began. At least Chloe — whom he considered his sister — would be attending as well.

“I have the perfect solution!” Chloe wiped out her phone, typing furiously until she reached the homepage of Versace’s online shop. “Retail therapy helps wonder. Care to put a dent in daddy dearest’s fortune?” She turned to face Adrien a grin on her face, the skirt of her haute couture dress swirling in a flurry of sequined organza.  

“You know he doesn't care about my shopping sprees, Chlo. I wouldn't have a climbing wall in my bed room if he did.” Adrien sighed suddenly deflated and laid his cheek atop of Mr. Cuddly’s head. He did give the best cuddles.

Chloe’s only answer was an noncommittal hum and joined Adrien’s on the bed. In an uncharacteristic gesture of comfort, she rested her hand on Adrien’s thigh “Do you know what he cares about? Your pretty face.”

“Go on.” He encouraged, cocking one eyebrow up in interest, mood perking up.

“What could make a designer angrier than seeing the face of his brand, his ambassador, publicly endorsing another brand?”

 Adrien could have kissed Chloe in sheer gratitude. “Chloe, you're a genius!”

“Yeah, I know. I'm just misunderstood.” she scoffed, one hand twirling a curl of hair framing her face.

—

“We don't have all night! Post it or don't, but make your decision. All this hesitation is ruining my appetite.” Plagg whined. How he could manage to sound so childish yet so disdainful at the same time was beyond Adrien’s understanding. Yet, the kwami had no trouble accomplishing such feat while sitting on Adrien’s shoulders, a slice of Camembert between his paws.

“Thanks for the moral support.” Adrien muttered. So what if he had been sprawled on his bed for the past hour, phone in hands debating whether he should be posting the video or not. To be petty, or not to be? That was the question. An existential question, one might add, as his finger hovered the share button on his screen. Teeth worrying his bottom lip. Should he really listen to the little devil on his shoulders? Should he even consider his opinion when his brain was still muddled? He had too many cocktails, tonight. 

“You’re thinking too loudly.” Plagg complained, words stretching around a yawn. “There!” he hissed, flying over Adrien’s shoulders to press share. “I posted it for you. It’ll teach your old man a lesson.”  

“Plagg!!” Adrien whispered, venom lacing his tone. “I can’t believe you did that! Two minutes in the drawer of shame!” He spat, opening the top drawer of his nightstand. 

An indignant scoff bubbled out the kwami’s throat. He titled his chin up in defiance as he plopped down on the plush pillows installed in the drawer of shame. “Just so you know, I’m going there on my own volition. A drawer full of silk pillows is hardly what I call a punishment.” he declared, petulant. 

“For someone who is supposed to be offended, you're certainly not eager to delete the video.” Plagg delivered the coup de grace in a disconcerting nonchalance, before eating his slice of cheese. As frustrated as Adrien was with Plagg, he had to admit, the idea had not crossed his mind once.

“I'm deleting it now.” Adrien declared just because he could, yet he made no effort to move.

"Huh huh. Sure you will!" Plagg retorted back. It took Adrien all the force he could muster not to dignify the tiny cat with an answer. He would be the better person. 

—

It had taken 8 hours of beauty sleep, for Adrien to wrap his head around the fact that he posted such a video of himself. He almost regretted his decision not to delete it upon waking up. Almost, but his head was pounding and he was never drinking alcohol ever again. After all, he did post, on Instagram, a 1:06 minutes long video of himself — two dry martinis away from drunkenness — singing along, no, belting along the lyrics ”Versace On the Floor” by Bruno Mars featuring Chloe’s judging looks, just to get back at his father. And yet, Adrien couldn't fight the feeling of satisfaction surging through his body when he noticed that #Versace was trending on all social media. 

The video going viral in a matter of hours? Expected. Fans sliding into his DMs?Anticipated. Nino freaking out over texts? Typical. 

What he hadn't counted on, however, was his video being broadcast on TV.  Adrien watched with stupor as a journalist reported — with supporting images  — how crowds of fan girls were waiting in queues outside of Versace’s boutiques to buy a dress. ��Versace sales skyrocket after model video goes viral” read the words in bold yellow letters. He chocked on his eggs Benedict, eyes watering as he forced the food down his throat. 

“Oh, I’m was screwed. Father is going to kill me.” Adrien whispered to himself, voice barely audible over Plagg’s laughter.

—

”Dude you decided to kill the internet overnight? Were you drunk? Are you sure your old man isn’t going to kill you? You were on the news! The news, bro! -- every girl been gush-- ”

Adrien was trying to pay attention to Nino, he really was, but his attention was otherwise diverted by Marinette and Alya’s conversation. 

"He looked like an angel, so handsome. The disheveled look with the undone bow tie, and open dress shirt.” Marinette sighed. Adrien could hear the smile in her voice.

”Yeah, I know...” Alya interrupted, somewhat amused. ”-- He looked so good in his suit. His pant hugged his ass so perfectly. You've been gushing about him for two days, Marinette, two days.”  Adrien knew it was rude to eavesdrop, but who was Marinette talking about? Not that he cared, really. It was none of his business who Marinette was crushing on. She was just a friend. But why did he felt a sudden pang in his chest at the thought that a boy had caught his friend’s attention. ”I get it! Sunshine was stunning in that video.”

Wait. Hold on. What?! 

If sunshine was Adrien and Adrien was sunshine, did it mean Marinette had been talking about him? The Marinette Dupain-Cheng? Beautiful, creative, kind, intelligent Marinette? Marinette who was standing in front of him and currently paying for her caramel macchiato with a dash of cinnamon? That couldn’t be possible. 

Adrien.exe had stopped running. The epiphany short-circuited his brain. His eyes widened ever so slightly as the information finally sank in. His heart squeezed, then skipped a beat. And — 

 His train of thoughts came to a skidding halt.

"Dude, it's rude to stare at Marinette's butt like that.” Nino whispered in his ears and despite the fried synapses in his brain, Adrien still had the presence of mind to let out a noncommittal hum as an answer. Then, Nino’s words registered. A second too late if the knowing smile tugging at the corners of Nino’s lips was any indication. Blood rushed to his cheeks, tinting them a soft pink.

"You're totally blushing too! Are those thoughts appropriate?"

"I- I - I wasn't checking her out! ” Adrien stammered. Head shaking in disapproval. ”Marinette’s just... a friend. Yeah, a friend!” He forced the words out of his mouth in a breathless pant. ”Is she really though?” A treacherous part of mind wondered. Adrien didn't have to be a psychic to know — from the smug look on his best friend’s face  — that Nino was about to ask the same question.

”Oh shut up, Nino.” He mumbled, words devoid of any real vehemence. He was definitely not checking out Marinette’s butt. Not that Marinette’s butt wasn’t worthy of being checked out. She had a nice butt, and the way her skin tight jeans were hugging her in all the right places, leaving almost little to the imagination...Her legs, her toned, long, legs that seemed to go on for miles... Marinette was just perfect... From a perfectly platonic friend’s point of view, of course. It was just a friendly observation. Those were cute jeans, as a model he was bound to notice them. 

”You're still doing it.” Nino teased a second time, in his ears. The look Adrien threw his way was cold enough to freeze over the arctic ocean. Global warning solved with just one look.

A few minutes later, when the four of them were walking to their usual table in the coffee shop, drinks in hands. When Alya asked him “what’s got you so flustered, Sunshine? After the hip trusts in that video, it be must be quite something if it impresses you, huh? Adrien knew he was never getting out of this alive.  He was royally screwed.

[mercurymetals]

can’t you hear me knockin’

Anon, sweetie, I’m so sorry. First tumblr eats your ask, then when it actually goes through, you get this out of me. I altered the prompt a little, and also didn’t manage to fit in sugar themes, and anyway somehow I think this may not be quite what you hoped for. Honestly idk what came over me when I wrote this, but here we go.

Warnings: Inappropriate use of Sticky Fingers. Horniness. Descriptive guts-related gore and dismemberment.

It’s hard to breathe with your heart in a rapid thud and your mouth forced completely shut. The zipper feels oddly on your face, akin to a painless version of tight stitches keeping your lips sealed together and not budging no matter how much you try to lower your jaw. Your fast breathing leaves your nostrils flaring in desperate attempts to get air into your lungs.

Bruno's lean frame is warm against your back, as are his much more even breaths on your neck, but none of that is reassuring to you. You try to twist away, but he keeps you sat on his lap with ease, and only hugs you closer in response to your panicked attempts at escape.

"Shh, tesoro. I'm sorry, but we have to do this."

You don't understand. You didn't do anything wrong! Bruno hadn't called this a punishment, but it's impossible to think of it as anything else with your words and breaths stolen from you and both your legs missing, really missing from your body.

You'd gotten over the horror of seeing your detached legs splayed on the floor in front of you, the strange sensation of being aware of them but not feeling them in the place where they should be. But you had lost your composure all over again when Bruno tried to place another zipper on you, and here he is now saying you have to do this, and you don't understand, you don't understand, you just want him to let you go.

Bruno wraps one long arm around the top of your chest, keeping you still and pressed flush against him. His other hand moves lower, and you whine as you watch it rub gently against your stomach. "It's alright," he murmurs into your ear, the normally comforting sound of his voice disturbingly calm next your frenzied state. "You'll understand soon enough."

He taps two fingers against one end of your stomach, and traces a horizontal line across to the other side. When he lifts his fingers, you feel your skin grow taut and watch as the new zipper glints into place, golden and heavy as if it were sewn into your stomach.

Bruno grabs a hold of the zipper and you writhe again, though with nearly half your body missing you don't have the strength or the grip to make it anything more than a futile effort. "Tesoro, you're so close. I know you can take it."

You whine pleadingly, shake your head, but all Bruno does is place a loving kiss to your temple, and then he pulls the zipper open.

You stop moving, the odd feeling forcing you to grow still in his lap. It's not painful, but it's far from pleasant, an indescribable sensation of having a part of you open that should never be opened on a living being. It's as if someone took a knife and gutted you open under a heavy anaesthetic, and you could feel nothing but the stretch of your skin at the edges; distantly, as if it were happening to someone else.

"Good, well done," Bruno makes sure to praise your newfound calm, despite the fact it's born out of terror, and not obedience. "Now, stay still just like that..."

You shake your head again, a wordless attempt at getting him to stop, but it does nothing. You watch in muted dread as Bruno moves his hand over the zipper, a slow movement that makes you almost think he might not do it, might pull short and close you up and kiss you and tell you it was all some horrible, horrible joke.

But that doesn't happen, and instead you watch as Bruno's fingers dive past the zipper and into you, really inside of you.

And it hurts. It's an abnormal, indistinct kind of pain that spreads all over your stomach, far above and far below where the actual zipper is, as if your body was confused about the source of the pain and was just making you feel it everywhere. It's less than what you might expect something like this to feel like without the use of a Stand, but it's awful and revolting and God, please, you just want him to stop.

Bruno hums in your ear, a curious sound as he moves his fingers around and you wince and squirm at the feeling of having your guts touched and moved. Then he starts to pull his fingers out, and you sigh at the immediate relief.

But instead of taking them all the way out, Bruno plunges his fingers right back inside of you, and you squeal at the sharp stab of pain, followed by that dull spread of it in every part of your abdomen. He repeats the motion, setting a leisurely rhythm, the pull and drag of his hand against your guts leaving behind a strangely intimate kind of pain as he literally fingers your insides.

You're trying to lean away from it, but Bruno's chest behind you is a wall of resistance. You feel his heartbeat against your back and you zero in on it, wanting so much to distract yourself from the pain and the rising nausea in your throat. His heart is beating faster now than you remember, almost matching the stuttering rhythm of yours, and his breaths feel shorter and shallower on your neck.

"You're doing so well," Bruno says in your ear, teeth sinking into your earlobe at the same time as his fingers sink into you again, and you moan helplessly. "You're so close. You're nearly there, tesoro."

There's a wetness on your face, and you realise tears are running down your cheeks. Somehow the pain in your stomach can't compare to the one in your chest, that ache deep inside of you that begs to wonder why your faultless boyfriend, your wonderful Capo, would choose to do this to you.

You lean your head back on his shoulder, refusing to look below any more. You feel Bruno's blue gaze bore into you, and to your surprise you suddenly find the zipper on your face gone, vanished as if it were never there, leaving behind your slightly numbed lips.

You barely manage to pull them open before you feel Bruno's fingers dig even deeper, past his knuckles as he pushes the palm of his hand into you. You gasp and shudder violently, and then you force the words out, because you must know. "Why... Why are you... doing this?"

Bruno kisses your cheek, the gesture so unbefitting everything else that is happening. "I told you, tesoro. You're nearly there." Now you feel his fingers wrap around something, another wave of pain and nausea overwhelming you. "But you're not there yet." Your head lolls down despite yourself, and you're met with the sight of Bruno's whole hand inside of you, all the way up to his wrist. Bruno's voice falls to a whisper as he leans in to nuzzle your face. "And in order to forge you into my perfect lover, I first need to break you."

He squeezes, and this time the pain is so sharp, so real, you don't know what to do with yourself. It hurts too much to move, so you twitch in Bruno's arms, only becoming aware of that scream tearing out of you once it leaves your throat burning. You barely register the kisses he litters on your neck, the apparent cant of his hips against you - all you can feel is that crushing pain in your gut, the very definition of agony rippling through your entire body.

You don't know how you manage to stay conscious, but you feel a great sob rise from your chest the moment Bruno's hand finally slides out of you. The zipper disappears again, leaving not a trace of pain behind and just a tingle of numbness, but you can't stop any more. You gasp in half-breaths, only to release them in a fit of miserable crying, thick tears spilling freshly over your cheeks.

Bruno holds you close, rubbing his hands over your arms in a motion you'd once find comforting. Now you just feel disgust, and your stomach lurches, your own harsh breathing the only thing stopping it from spilling its contents.

You feel Bruno place a kiss on the top of your head. "So close," he whispers, sounding sated and completely unperturbed at the state you're in. "So close, my tesoro. Just a little bit more, and you'll be perfect."