#my miraculous brainrot came back

[dabiwantsfood]

Jojo Miraculous AU because I don't know what to do with my life

[ivypos-writes]

i have often dreamed of those fires

— aemond targaryen

summary: He’s a firestorm. Her skin burns in his hands.

Or, marriage is her first duty. The second comes in the insurmountable task of seducing her own husband.

warnings: 18+, aemond x wife, arranged marriage, soft and insecure aemond, and a horny wife, he’s touch-starved, sexual tension, first times, fingering, p in v, multiple orgasms, smut with a sprinkle of plot, and the plot is just seduction before the smut

word count: 7.5k

notes: giving in to the brainrot while waiting for s2. english is not my first language. all reviews are very appreciated! thank you for reading<3

(also available on ao3.)

MASTERLIST

She spends the first night of her marriage in solitude.

The bedchamber bears no resemblance to the one she owned all her life. The lights are subdued, and a darkness her eyes have yet to get used to rules over every corner. It’s spacious; kept immaculately polished, as befitting a member of the royal family. That’s who she is now, regardless if she feels the part or not.

Prince Aemond—her husband, her husband—left the walls of the room in a hurry, as though scorched by fire. It is a silly thought. He is a dragon prince, and surely doesn’t fear flames.

He seems to fear her, though.

They entered the bedchamber as instructed by tradition, not quite hand in hand, but not too far apart, either. Her ladies rushed after to assist her in undressing; to unpin her hair, letting the waves cascade down her back; to cover her skin with a slip of a dress, more translucent than anything she’d ever worn. She was then left in just the nightgown, with her cheeks tinted pink. Once the ladies deemed her prepared, she was abandoned by all but her husband.

Later came silence.

It must have been the tears that dissuaded him. Once they began to flow, all of Prince Aemond’s attempts to breach the distance between them ceased. She was too shaken to speak; before she could gather her thoughts, he had already left.

Marriage is her duty to the realm. To her family who strived to ensure the best possible match. Marriage is to become her battlefield, and her life, and if the gods are kind—oh, please, let them be kind—it would eventually become a source of joy.

Only she sits alone amidst alien walls and furniture, and there is no trace of contentment she might have once envisioned.

How is she to find happiness, she thinks bitterly, when her husband refused to touch her once?

“Husband,” she greets him, and her voice miraculously doesn’t waver.

He is standing in the entrance to the bedchamber, stiff and pale, with dark shadows marring the underside of his eyes. Pink scar peaks from beneath the leather eyepatch he seems to never part with. His robes are as black as they were every time they have seen one another. He wears darkness like an armour.

Prince Aemond isn’t carved in shapes of impudent rowdiness that she now knows his brother wields to compel attention. There is a quietude in him; a softness coming through the sharp lines of his features. He keeps his face artfully blank; most of the time, it doesn’t betray a single emotion. She does not attempt to look into his eye. She fears that all she’ll find there is repulsion.

“My lady,” he says. Not wife. “I shall escort you to the feasting hall. The Queen wishes for us to break our fast in her company.”

His words lack warmth, though perhaps she should not have expected that from him. Prince Aemond doesn’t seem to possess much fire at all, what with the stone-cold composure he seems to cling to. She wonders if it is only a masterfully crafted mask; if there are any flames deep beneath its layers, flickering and crackling.

She smothers her silent musings. Hurt still lingers inside her.

The Queen may be the only kind face within these walls. Princess Helaena seems to always be lost in her own mind; Prince Aegon is never sober, and on the rare occasions that he is, it seems best to avoid him altogether. She cannot search for a companion in her ladies, or servants, and certainly not in any man.

She is alone.

And her husband doesn’t even want to touch her.

Scarlet shame rises to her chest, and she hopes that it’s not painted all over her cheeks. The Queen will know. She will look at her once, and immediately she’ll realise that she remains untouched.

Perhaps she knows already, and it is the reason for her summons. Perhaps she means to scold her, and berate her, and shame her for all nobles in the Red Keep to see.

Have the servants scanned the linen sheets? She doesn’t recall anyone looking for proof of the newfound union, but surely, they must have.

She swallows her trepidation down and forces her face to remain blank. She cannot decline. It is her duty to obey the Queen’s orders, and this one, she is capable of fulfilling.

When the newlyweds walk down the corridor, it feels like they are miles apart.

Solitude is all she knows.

Her days are filled with nothing of true meaning. She is mostly left to her own devices, be it embroidery or soaking up the sun. She traverses the foreign walls; explores the royal gardens; consumes book after book, hungry for entertainment. Sometimes, she joins Princess Helaena and her children, and they sit beside each other in complete silence.

It is not a bad life. She is luckier than most, she knows, though this fact does little to dissipate her desire for more. She wishes to be alive. She wishes for her smiles to be genuine. To be more than the pretty wife of a prince made of marble.

In truth, she isn’t even that.

Her marriage is not a marriage at all—not in the eyes of the gods—and all the freedom she now has is fleeting. She may lounge about in the courtyard, and eat the best cakes in the entire realm, and read every book to exist, but it’ll take less than a moment for the privileges to be lost.

“My prince.”

She hasn’t called him husband again. They shared all of a dozen words since their wedding night. Prince Aemond is clearly intent on avoiding her company, choosing to spend his time in the training yard or the libraries, and it doesn’t appear that he has even an ounce of desire to change this routine.

He is halfway to the door. Her eyebrow arches.

“Are you leaving?” she asks.

She falls asleep alone and awakes in the same manner, but she never thought that the Prince abandoned the bedchamber completely. Before, she imagined that he slept little.

He didn’t. He simply slept elsewhere.

“I wouldn’t wish to make you uncomfortable with my presence.” He strides over to the door without once meeting her gaze, and his hands clutch a collection of books. “The bed is yours.”

Her voice is harsher than she intends when she spits out, “The bed is meant to be shared.”

The Prince stops in his tracks; she traces the line of his spine when he straightens.

It must be the first time that he looks at her. Not even the vows they exchanged prompted him to meet her gaze. The last rays of sun that crawl through the window turn the purple of his eye a warmer shade.

“Do you—” she begins, and the tip of her tongue wets her lips when they suddenly go dry. Her throat closes up. She pushes herself to continue, “Do you find me repulsive, my prince?”

He must. She has heard many stories of marriage—both good and bad—and none spoke of husbands that refused to touch their wives.

Surely, there must be something wrong with her. Perhaps it is her hair that he dislikes, or her nose, or her lips. Perhaps he imagined her to look completely different, and there is no feature she possesses that pleases him.

Prince Aemond says nothing.

She picks her next words carefully.

“I know that I’m not a wife of your own choosing.” Her hands fidget, and she grabs onto her skirt to keep them occupied. “Neither are you the husband I wanted.”

Warmth. Gentleness. When she was a girl, she pictured a man who would hold her in his arms without shame. She imagined true affection and devotion. It’s been long since ascertained that Prince Aemond is not that husband. That her dreams have always been just dreams.

He doesn’t meet her eyes, and she finds herself vexed by his continued insistence to remain detached. She searches his face for scraps of emotion and finds none. He wields indifference like a sword.

She cannot so easily yield.

Her voice drops; nails sink into the skin of her palms. “You must understand, my prince, that it is me they’ll treat with contempt, should they ever find out.”

And they will. Of course, they will. Her womb will remain empty, and soon they’ll point their fingers at it and pronounce it barren. Humiliation will be hers to swallow; disgrace will fall upon her head like a thorned veil. They will feel pity for the Prince, to be certain, but not for her. Never for her.

The Prince’s hands tighten around the books, but it is the only reaction she receives.

He must not care for her at all. Why should he? She is but a stranger.

But they are now bound to each other. Strangers or not, their lives are intertwined.

She pushes closer to him, and finally, finally he raises his head.

“An untouched wife is no wife at all. It’s a breach of my oaths.”

There is a trace of contemplation on his face. It comes with a crease between his eyebrows, and the slightest twitching of his lips. Prince Aemond lets out a quiet hum, and she must strain her ears to catch its sound before it’s gone.

When their eyes meet, her heart lights up in flames.

“I will not touch you when there’s nothing but fear in your eyes.”

He is gone before she can retaliate.

There is a shift in his demeanour, though it comes hesitantly; with reluctance.

Prince Aemond enters the bedchamber while she’s seated by the vanity. She now recognises the sound of his footsteps—light and unrushed, often reminding her of a predator on a hunt. Her fingers become motionless, weaved into the intricate plaits atop her head. She warily waits for whatever comes next.

They have fallen into a habit of keeping one another at arm’s length. There is a barbed line that divides them, and neither is willing to cross it first.

Fear. This is what he thinks rules inside her heart. He never let her refute—now, she thinks it would have been pointless to even try. There might have been fear that shrouded her expression, but it was never induced by him. She feared the pain, and feared the unknown, but never, never feared the Prince.

He must think himself appalling. Capable of evoking dread. The realisation hits her like a tidal wave. She recalls whispers murmured in shadowed corners, all vicious and biting; wonders how many of them he has heard before. The scar on his face has been there for years. The Prince must have endured constant torment.

Whatever it is that they see—monstrosity, abomination, hideousness—her own eyes perceive nothing of the sort.

Prince Aemond is quite handsome. In truth, he is so striking that her heart jumps out of her chest each time she catches a glimpse of him.

It threatens to jump out now, when she sees him meeting her gaze without the usual aloofness.

He takes a hesitant step forward.

She freezes.

They are never alone. She sees him when they dine, and when he trains, and when he’s lost in another book. She sees him in daylight. In crowds.

Never like this.

There is a silent resolution that she notes in the tight line of his lips. Aemond comes closer, and closer, and doesn’t stop until his heat trickles down her spine.

She holds her breath when his fingers weave in between the strands of her hair.

Prince Aemond’s face betrays nothing. She watches his reflection so intensely that she forgets to blink, and all the while he keeps his expression blank. His fingers are warm. Gentle.

Just hours before, they were holding a sword and aiming it at his opponent.

It certainly feels as if he put a sword to her own throat. She can barely breathe.

His movements are slow and careful. One after another, he unravels the braids, mindful not to tug at her hair. His skilled fingers smooth out the tangles, and every once in a while, they come to her scalp to caress it in a soothing manner.

She traces the curve of his jawline, and the mangled flesh, and the dark eyepatch. He looks rough and feels soft. He is made of contradictions.

When he takes out the last little pin, she breathes out.

It is the first time that he has touched her.

For a fleeting moment, their eyes meet. She wishes to wipe at the mirror, if only to make its image clearer. Has he always been this delicate? Is the glint in his gaze a novelty?

When he clears his throat and averts his eye, his intention to leave becomes explicit. Tension dissipates. This time, she makes no objections.

“Sweet dreams, my prince,” she mutters, and the answer comes in the soft closing of the door.

Her head emerges from beneath the water surface, and she greedily takes air in.

She has wasted her day on blissful procrastination. For the entirety of it, she remained inside the bedchamber, shielded from all eyes and gossip, obstinately rejecting the company of anyone who dared offer it. These people know nothing about her, anyway. Their wish to spend time with her is masterfully feigned.

Sometimes, she misses her home. She misses it so terribly that her lip trembles. She misses being known. Despite the passing time, she has yet to acclimate herself to the new reality. The Red Keep feels as cold as it ever has.

Would she be dismissed, she wonders, if they knew that her marriage was a farce? Would she be ruined, or given a chance to start over?

Perhaps she ought to confess the truth.

Or maybe—just maybe—she should seek out her husband and push him into a wall, and claim his lips until all restraint dies.

Her depraved thoughts seem to summon him.

Aemond enters the bedchamber in his usual manner, and immediately turns back towards the door once he catches sight of her state.

Her breasts peak from the foamy water.

Her skin tints red.

“You don’t have to leave,” she calls out.

The words are quick. Too quick to come across as nonchalant. She bites her tongue, but doesn’t take them back. Perhaps she has reached another level of desperation, and this is the only opportunity she gets to let it run free.

He is more dragon than a man. He cannot keep running from her in fear. She sees the moment that Prince Aemond seems to come to the same conclusion; his hand flexes at his side, once and then again. His shoulders become tense.

She is quick to bite back her smile when he turns around. He wouldn’t have seen it, either way, what with the way he keeps his eye stubbornly downcast.

As if she wasn’t his wife. As if seeing her bare skin was a sin.

Reluctantly, with his head courteously bowed, he moves to take a seat by the table, reaching out for a random book.

Water ripples when she sinks deeper into the bath. If he has no desire to see her, she will not strive to bear herself before him.

The silence is heavy.

“Did you go out for a flight?” she asks, itching to dissipate the suspense.

The Prince hums, as is his habit, and offers a slight nod. “I did. It’d been days since I last rode Vhagar.”

This is a part of him shielded at all times. He keeps it deep in the crevices of his heart—in its darkest, deepest corners. She doesn’t blame him for it. Even without understanding the nature of the fire in his blood, she recognises it as something private. Intimate.

But it is the first time that he spoke the name in her presence, and she cannot hold the reins of her unabashed curiosity.

“When you’re apart,” she begins, “does her absence feel like a missing limb?”

The Prince’s eye turns to her, and though they are far from one another, she is able to catch a glimpse of intrigue.

Briefly, she ponders whether anyone has ever dared ask him unpracticed questions like this. If there was someone who wanted to know him—his innermost beliefs and convictions, and his soul. If anyone attempted to push through the walls he has built around himself.

She supposes that the slightest widening of his eye is an answer in its own right.

Prince Aemond doesn’t immediately reply, and she bites her tongue. “Forgive me, my prince. It is not my right to ask.”

“You’re my wife,” he says simply. It is the first time he acknowledges it. “You have the right to ask anything of me.”

Keeping her bewilderment subdued, she arches an eyebrow when he nods to himself.

“It doesn’t.” Prince Aemond clears his throat, fingers fidgeting against the pages of his book. “It doesn’t feel like a missing limb. Even in her absence, I always sense her.”

It must be the most that he’s ever said to her.

The water has gone lukewarm. Goosebumps rise atop her skin. She could politely request that he take his leave in order to get out of the bath. She could.

She won’t.

“So a part of her lives inside you?”

He turns, and now they are facing one another.

Has the foam dissipated? She doesn’t dare take her eyes off of him, and so she cannot check. If the foam is gone, he can see the outline of her body. Does he see it?

No, she thinks. Surely, he would have already looked away.

“As does a part of me inside her,” he admits. “In more ways than not, we are one being.”

One being. Is this why he refuses to let her come close? Is it because there is no more space in his heart left for her to rest in?

It seems a plausible enough theory. In truth, all theories seem to be true when she’s wallowing in solitude and sorrow and rejection.

“It must be nice,” she murmurs, and this time she is the first to break eye contact, “to be known from the inside. Intimately. In the deepest crevices of your heart.”

Something in him changes. She catches it when she glances at him. The Prince’s hand abandons the book, and when he stands from his seat, she is sure that he’ll leave.

But he doesn’t. She gapes at him when he comes closer to the bath.

“Scoot over,” he instructs.

Her mouth parts, ready to sputter questions, but they all dissolve into nothing when she catches the intensity in his gaze.

She holds her tongue. No words could reflect the depth of her confusion.

Prince Aemond now watches her without past shame.

The scent of fire and smoke permeates the air, and she inhales it sharply. His heat engulfs her back in gentle flames, and she draws her knees to her chest, oddly bashful.

When she does as instructed, he is quick to put his hands on her scalp. A gasp falls from her lips at the touch.

He is washing her hair.

Does he hear her heart pounding? It’s so loud. So very loud.

“It does feel good.” His fingers weave through her hair. “Before her, there was no one who wished to know my heart at all.”

They dine with the Queen, and she engages in conversation with a desperate sort of enthusiasm. The past days have mostly gone in perturbing silence, and she yearns for the opportunity to erase it, even with idle talk. They speak of the gardens, and the ladies-in-waiting, and Princess Helaena’s children that seem to be growing more and more each day.

Aemond holds his tongue beside her, and the quietude in which he wallows no longer takes her aback. More often than not, his silence speaks for itself. All she must do is look into his eye to comprehend the words.

“Children are a woman’s greatest joy,” the Queen rambles on, and there is a softness in her face that takes away all remnants of the usual misery that she wields. “It is only a matter of time before you’ll find it yourself.”

She straightens her spine.

Words die inside her throat. Does she smile and change the subject? Does she confess that she will not find it—she’ll never find it—because her husband has no desire to be a husband at all? All protests and confirmations and pretty promises are insufficient. She thinks it is better not to speak at all.

She nearly jumps out of her seat when something warm engulfs the skin of her palm. It’s Aemond. He has taken her hand into his, and the way he holds her is both gentle and firm.

Do they not fit perfectly? Aemond’s hand is larger than hers; its lines are harsher. She lets their fingers lace together, and when she hesitantly turns her eyes towards him, she finds him already watching her.

He holds her gaze with unmasked expression, as if to say: this is me trying.

She is possessed by a surge of boldness.

The lights of the chamber are dimmed, and she is long prepared for the night. There is a tremble in her hands. She cannot discern if it’s one of trepidation or excitement.

Aemond offers nothing more than his usual greeting when he stalks into the room. It’s neither warm nor cold; as always, it’s not enough. She watches him stride towards the table, and he sinks onto the chair, hands reaching for one of the books.

He doesn’t truly read them. It took her a while, but she now sees right through his habits. Aemond repeats the same exact process every night. He sits with a book, and keeps his eye downcast, and sometimes—just sometimes—his gaze moves towards her when he thinks she isn’t looking.

Each day, he comes back not to read, but to see her.

Each day, she waits for him to act.

There are moments when they touch, and when their touches linger longer than they should. There are moments when he takes her hand into his, or brushes hair away from her face, or grabs her waist as he walks by. There are moments that she allows herself to push closer to the heat that he radiates.

She is tired of surviving on moments alone.

With her breath unsteady, she waits.

Aemond taps his fingers against the surface of the table, and she cannot help but observe the motion. His rings shine in the flickering lights.

“What are you reading?” she asks, keeping the buzzing anticipation on a leash.

His shoulders tense. She never interrupts his lectures.

The floors are cold beneath her bare feet. She keeps her pace slow. The distance between them shrinks, and soon she is standing right behind him.

Aemond’s heavy exhale hits her ears. She wishes she could preserve the sound.

With her shaky hands, she reaches for his shoulders. He is firm and solid; strong and warm. Scorching. When he says nothing—when he doesn’t move away—she lets her hold on him tighten. Just this once, she wants to touch him as though he was hers. Like a wife ought to. The way she never learned how to.

Emboldened by his stillness, she bends closer; their faces are at level. She brushes away the silver strands of hair that shield him from her, and soon she is free to take the sight of him in.

The line of his lips is thin and tight. There is a small, white scar on his temple. His skin catches the slightest hint of pink, and it crawls onto his cheeks in gradual motion. He is right there—right there—and her mouth is dry. She puts her lips to the soft skin of his cheek before she can hesitate again.

Aemond’s breathing turns rugged. She sees the rise and fall of his chest, quicker with every inhale. Her fingertips burn with the want to feel his heartbeat.

When she grabs the book he holds in a vice grip, he turns to her.

Their noses brush.

The air is gone. There’s nothing left of it. Her gaze trails from his eye to his mouth, and they’ve never been this close.

It takes the smallest tilting of her head for their lips to meet.

She is blinded. Flames flood her vision. Her heart bruises her ribs, and Aemond’s fire burns her tongue, and never before did she imagine that a kiss could leave her so ruined.

He is quick to match her pace. His mouth moves against hers with a brutal force; he breathes her in, and she catches the silent groan before it dissolves. She nibbles at his bottom lip, hungry for more, and when their tongues mingle, she no longer remembers her name. He’s sweeter than any cake she’s ever tasted, and she wishes to forever devour him—to never, never stop.

But then his lips are gone. Strong arms seize her hips, and he effortlessly moves her away from him.

She doesn’t understand. Aemond shoots out of the chair, and rushes towards the door, and she watches his shrinking figure—always, always watches him leave.

She senses his gaze on her skin.

An entire day has gone by, and she’s long since stopped expecting Aemond to return. Her heart has turned into stone. She forced it to do so.

And now he’s standing there. Watching.

“Am I not worthy of your affection?”

She regrets the obvious cracking of her voice, though there is little to do about it now. He isn’t deserving of the mask of collectedness that she could attempt to put on. She will not veil her hurt. Because he chose to cause it, he may well see its aftermath.

Aemond doesn’t answer. She knew that he wouldn’t.

“Is it because there’s no fire in my blood that you deem me below you?”

She turns, eager to see his features, and then almost wishes that she hadn’t. There is something broken about him. His face is ashen, marked by shadows of exhaustion. His lip quivers.

“I’m chained to you,” she half-whispers. “The least you could do is not tighten the shackles around my neck.”

“I never wished for it.”

“I never wished for it, either!”

There is a dull ache in her chest. The stranger before her won’t meet her eyes, and she loses her footing again, alone and tired and desperate for a change.

She won’t beg. She’ll never beg.

But she is not yet ready to stop pushing.

“You won’t even let me close.”

Aemond’s face crumbles, and she finds nothing in him but raw, agonising vulnerability.

“It is not easy to learn something so foreign.”

Her fingers find the lacings of his riding leathers.

They have succumbed to a heavy sort of silence. It stretches and grows; haunts their days and nights with equal intensity. She allows this quietude to exist with a trace of vindictiveness inside her bones. If one of them ought to break it, it is him.

As always, he prepares to leave with the first mark of sunset. She bites back all protests rising to her lips. She will not speak. Her words do little more than fall upon deaf ears.

She allows herself this much: crumbs of him, all stolen, when she stands close and brushes her fingers against his clothes. She ignores his scent, and his warmth, and the way her skin itches with the want to press closer.

Aemond’s eye scorches the skin of her cheeks.

He hasn’t moved away. She is glad not to have been forced to choke on scarlet shame—to have him flee her touch again would be the end to all the lingering remnants of hope. Aemond stands still and stiff, and she is half-convinced that he’s holding his breath.

She freezes in her tracks when one of his hands grabs both of hers into a gentle embrace.

The tips of his fingers are calloused. He strokes her skin with his thumb, and she clings onto the last of her composure, unwilling to melt before him.

A single touch. That’s how much it takes to shatter her resolve.

“You’re too good,” he says, and the words are little more than a whisper. “Pure. My hands could only ever ruin you.”

Her eyes find his, and she wishes she could decipher what remains unspoken by looking at him alone. She wants to know his heart and his mind. She wants to know all his thoughts.

Her greedy fingertips trace the lines of his palm. His hand trembles.

“How could something so gentle ruin?”

He has only ever held her with meticulous cautiousness. She knows his touch as tender and attentive. Warm. Doesn’t he see the shivers he evokes? Doesn’t he know that they come from fondness and devotion and the deep affection that she drowns in? He cannot ruin her. His hands are not capable of it.

Aemond doesn’t believe her. His vulnerability shows through the cracks of his usual composure. He tries to enshroud himself in indifference, but she has long since learned his mannerisms. The mask of blankness will not deceive her.

He attempts to tear his hand away, but she tightens her hold.

“Look at me, husband.”

It is a demand. Aemond must recognise it as such, because the lowered eye flickers and gives in.

Because she is a woman of weakness, she lets herself put a hand on his cheek. Her fingers hook under the strap of the eyepatch. She hears him gasp for air, and the sound reverberates in her ears like a prayer.

Her heartbeat is wild and strong, and she whispers, “Don’t you see? There is no fear in my eyes.”

The memory of his gaze induces odd tremors long after he departs.

The mattress dips behind her.

There is an onslaught of heat that spreads over her bare skin, though she has yet to discern what it stems from. The air goes still. Heavy.

It begins with a fingertip tracing the length of her forearm. The touch is featherlike—no more than a gentle stroke that lacks any pressure. So light. So light, barely even there, and yet at once she is consumed by flames.

“Husband,” she breathes into the night.

A rush of hot air hits her ear when he whispers an answering, “Wife.”

Aemond’s fingers traverse the expanse of the skin that isn’t covered by blankets. He moves from the side of her palm, through the nook of her elbow, higher, higher. His hand reaches her shoulders; fingers spread towards the outline of her collarbone, dipping into the crevices and searing a string of goosebumps into her skin. She holds her breath. Her heart pounds against her chest in violent patterns.

He smells of smoke. She wishes to inhale his fragrance until she chokes on it; until it fills her lungs and replaces all oxygen. Aemond presses closer to her, and she holds back a whimper when he moves his hand to her neck.

“I have neglected you,” Aemond murmurs.

“You have.”

“And now I must beg your forgiveness.”

Aemond’s hand closes around her throat, and she holds back a gasp.

Their bodies are pressed together. She exhales in surprise when she finds his forearms as bare as hers. He must have abandoned his shirt before crawling into bed.

Their bed. The bed that is supposed to be shared.

“I rather thought your constant neglect was deliberate practice,” she says, forcing her voice not to crack. “Why would you beg forgiveness for something you feel no remorse about?”

A gasp tears out of her throat when Aemond seizes her arm and flips her onto her back.

Their faces are close; closer than she thought they’d ever come again. In the pale moonlight, his features become soft and veiled. She wishes she could see him in sharp lights; wishes to trace every blemish and mark on his skin. This subdued version of him is not sufficient. She must imprint every part of him in her mind.

When he hums, her own skin vibrates with the sound.

She clamps her legs together.

“Yes,” he muses. “You have voiced your displeasure with astonishing fervour.”

Her lips part when one of his legs sneaks in between hers. He is quick to push her knees apart.

“As was my right,” she replies, and the words come out as breathless.

Aemond’s thigh is solid. She feels the flexing of his muscles against her own skin. Her nightgown rides up from the friction, and soon her calves are left exposed.

“You said you were chained to me.”

“And it was the truth.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Only when you pretend that you’re not chained to me as well.”

Slightly, slowly, she pushes her head up. His breath hits her cheek; her lips come so close to his chin that she could press them against it without straining.

Aemond’s fingers tighten their hold on her neck.

Their eyes meet, and it is fire clashing with fire. The purple gives way to a deranged darkness; Aemond’s face is unmasked. She looks at him and holds her breath. Looks at him until everything in the background blurs. Her trembling fingers reach to cup his jaw, and when they connect with the soft skin, he lets out a quiet gasp.

“I do it for your own sake,” he breathes out. “You know nothing about the depravities living in my mind.”

She trembles when his thumb comes up to caress her lips.

“So good. So pure.” Aemond trails the outline of her mouth, voice dropping with each word. “And yet you’ve instilled a madness in me that I can no longer quench.”

She wants to grab him by the neck and pull him closer. She wants their lips to press together; to meld into one, and turn to ashes from the force of flames. Does he know that she dreams of the shape of his lips? Does he know that her eyes trace it when he’s reading—that she now knows it by heart? His taste haunts her. Sometimes, she puts her warm fingers onto her mouth and imagines that the heat is him. Sometimes, she touches herself and imagines his lips nibbling on a different spot.

Keeping her scorching desire leashed, she remains still.

It is he who must cross the remaining distance. It is he who must light up the flames.

His hand comes up to her face. Her cheek tickles from his fingertips; lashes flutter when he brushes his thumb against them. She opens her mouth—to taunt him, or curse him, or beg. She only knows that she must say something. Anything. She cannot let this fire die. Her head spins and her skin tingles—

And then his mouth is on hers.

It is a hungry kiss. He aims to devour her. She moans into his lips when he bites down; he shifts his weight, and her skin burns underneath his body. Aemond holds her chin; tilts it to his liking, claiming her mouth with greed and lust and depravity. She forgets to breathe. There is no need for air when he’s this close.

Out of fear that he’ll try to move away, she wraps her arms around his broad shoulders. His skin is scalding-hot, and she cherishes the way it burns.

She licks his bottom lip, demanding entrance, and he is quick to oblige. Their teeth clink, and she pulls him closer, and soon their tongues swirl around one another, none willing to yield. He tastes like fire. She wants to swallow him whole.

They break apart when his fingers grab the fabric of her nightgown.

“I want this off,” he says, already hiking it up, impatient to leave her naked.

“Do you?” she teases.

Aemond is not in a mood for her games.

She gasps in surprise when something rips apart, and then she sees two pieces of white cloth hanging from his hands. He has ruined her gown, and seems to be awfully pleased with himself. She should make her displeasure clear—

He traces the outline of her lips with his tongue, and she forgets all about the robe.

“You’re so sweet,” he pants. “My sweet wife.”

His words push her to the brink of madness. Wife. Wife.

His eye trails from her lips to her throat, and lower towards her breasts. He looks at her peaked nipples, red and aching like her mouth.

One of his fingers brush against the pebble, and she stifles a moan.

“Look at you,” Aemond breathes, and his chest rises and falls with increasing intensity. “I barely touched you, and you’re already trembling.”

He must not realise the extent of his influence on her traitorous body.

She opens her mouth to tell him as much, but then his mouth travels down her throat and her breastbone, and soon replaces his fingers. He peppers her sensitive skin with kisses; nibbles at the flesh in the hollow of her bust. She quivers under his attention, hands finding the strands of his hair. When Aemond’s lips wrap around her hard nipple, she cries out.

His hand traverses up her thigh. Wantonly, she spreads her legs so that his hips can fit in the middle. He is quick to push against her—push until there’s barely any space left between them—and when she feels his rock-hard length, she forgets all about swallowing the desperate sounds. Her back arches, and Aemond keeps sucking at her breast, alternating between soft brushes of his lips and harsh bites of his teeth, and she is burning. Flames consume her whole.

She pulsates against him. Her walls clench around nothing—they’re empty, they’re empty, and she must be filled or else she’ll go mad.

“I want you inside,” she demands, nails sinking into his skin, too lost in her desire to veil herself with feigned innocence.

Aemond breathes out a laugh in response, and the warmth mingles with the cold saliva that he’s left on her nipple. She makes a strangled noise.

He raises his head, and there is a sudden sobriety in his expression. She knows its roots. Aemond insists on holding onto self-deprecation, and it is clear that he still doesn’t think himself worthy of touching her.

She will rip this doubt out, even if its thorns draw blood.

Her hands come up to cup his face.

With intensified ardour, she repeats, “I want you inside.”

Slowly, hesitantly, he rids himself of his resolve.

Her breathing turns rugged when Aemond grabs both her thighs, pulling them further apart. It’s dark, but he must see the way she glistens under the moonlight. Her cunt is dripping wet. She restrains herself from rocking her hips forward in search for friction.

“You do want me.”

She does. She does. She needs him, and she must be touched, and if he doesn’t bury himself inside her—

Her body jerks when Aemond’s fingers descend to her clit.

His touch is a firestorm. She shudders when he circles around the nub; all her rational thoughts die in flames. Aemond flicks his thumb back and forth across her clit with a firmness that has her panting. His digit is already slicked with the wetness pooling out of her entrance; his fingers gather the moisture and spread it over her pulsating lips. Her face and chest must be red with want. She wants him so much that it hurts.

A shaky moan tears out of her mouth when the pressure of his touch increases. Aemond speeds up his movements; it burns, it burns. She buckles her hips, and the muscles of his thigh tense, and he is watching her with raw wonder.

Aemond kisses her sloppily. The way their tongues brush against each other is filthy. She takes his bottom lip in between her teeth, and he grunts into her mouth, and his fingers don’t stop moving against her. The friction is euphoric. Before she knows it, it brings her over the edge.

She spasms beneath him, and he doesn’t let their lips part.

It is like reaching the stars. Like drowning. Like water given to someone dying of thirst. She’s suspended in a place without time; without faces that aren’t his. There’s just Aemond. His lips. His fingers.

He doesn’t slow until she cries out from overstimulation, and even then, he strokes her bundle of nerves in a featherlike caress.

“Touch me,” Aemond breathes against her shoulder.

Still reeling from her high, she is quick to oblige.

“Here?” she asks, hands trailing down his spine, and his answer comes in teeth biting her neck.

He’s softer than she ever imagined.

The way Aemond shudders underneath her palms makes it clear that he’s unaccustomed to tender touch. It breaks her heart into pieces to think of the boy he once was—the one so starved for love but unable to accept it, always, always thinking himself undeserving of it. It hurts even more to know that even now—even when they’re chest to chest, bodies bared and mouths connected—he believes himself unworthy.

He’s so soft. Hard. He is made of harsh lines and smooth dips, and her hands greedily traverse the expanse of his exposed flesh, hoping to prove that her desire for him has no bounds. She wants him as he is. She wants every part of him.

Aemond looks into her eyes, and the purples become blurry. “Your touch heals the rot inside me.”

She claims his mouth because she can. Because he is hers.

When he enters her, she is finally whole.

It hurts because it must. He pushes until the barrier inside her relents; he is slow enough to let her adjust to his length. Pain doesn’t take away the overwhelming sensation of being full. Her breath hitches, and Aemond is quick to steal another kiss before the sound dies on her lips. He kisses her once, twice—kisses her for so long that she forgets who she is.

His next thrust renders her dazed.

Aemond’s neck is slick with sweat. Emboldened—crazed—she gathers the dampness on her tongue. There’s a sound of skin hitting skin; he ruts into her with increasing force. She is not herself anymore; no longer recalls who she was before this. Before him. No one, she thinks. Empty, empty no one.

Her vision swims when his fingers find the spot where she aches most. Aemond sears the smallest of circles into her clit; one of his hands remains on her breast, and her eyes roll back from the onslaught of sensations. His cock thrusts inside her at an agonising pace. The stretch burns.

She begins to toe the line between lucidity and delirium, and he is there to carry her through the threshold.

Her fingers tug at his silver hair. Legs wrap around his waist with a crushing force. She holds him close, and he presses against her, and the sinful sounds that fall from their lips are surely loud enough to awaken the entirety of the Red Keep.

She doesn’t care. She doesn’t care. Now that Aemond is inside her, she never wants him to leave.

Aemond’s grunts become desperate. His movements are stripped of control, and she feels him sink his fingers deep into her hips. He holds her like he wants to leave bruises; pulls her closer with each thrust.

“Is this duty?” he whispers into her skin.

“No,” she is quick to answer. “It’s not. It’s not.”

This is something else. Something more. This is wildfire engulfing her heart; flames bursting through her bones. This is her body moulding into his in a perfect shape; lines blurring.

When his teeth sink into her shoulder, she knows that he is close. She rocks her hips against him, meeting each of his thrusts. She’s somewhere high above ground. She is flying.

“Inside me,” she rasps with the last of her breath. “I want your seed inside me.”

“Fuck.”

It sends him over the edge.

Her toes curl. Aemond’s movements turn wild, bordering on violent, and when he shudders and cries out and collapses, he takes her right with him.

There are stars inside her, and all erupt at once. She can do nothing but thrash beneath Aemond’s solid body; hold onto him so she doesn’t fall. She thrums with pleasure and pain and something else—something she cannot name—that has her gasping his name into the darkness. Aemond. Aemond.

He smothers the words with his lips on hers.

She cannot breathe. Air isn’t sufficient for her lungs. Aemond’s hands trail up her body, slow and exhausted, and soon he is cupping her face.

Their foreheads are pressed together.

All she knows is the colour of his eye.

Husband and wife. He holds her close, and their heartbeats match, and they are one.

[accultant]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･hyperactive hornets in my lungs ~ Dragon Age verse !

details of Iago's Dragon Age verse below bc i have DA brainrot again ➷

The Darlington family was small but content in their small but content town, too quaint to even be recognized by name. When the Fifth Blight hit, it was run through without much fanfare or remorse. Iago was visited by a spirit while they huddled with their family, praying to whomever would listen. It promised to save Iago's family, to give Iago themselves the power to do so, for nothing in return but a space beside their soul, just a little real estate, it's not as if they needed all that room for themselves anyway -

They were young and staring death in the face. It was hardly a question.

They don't remember everything that Chaos did once Iago gave their body to it, but they know a path of violet flames was carved through their hometown, giving only Iago and their brother an escape from the Darkspawn, and devouring everything else.

They traveled aimlessly for some time, Iago learning to live with the spirit they hosted and the effect it had on their magic. Chaos made them stronger, more powerful, but wildly unpredictable and volatile at times, their emotions often amplified by another soul beating up against theirs, crammed into one, small, scared body.

Puck and Iago scraped by with some less-than-savory work, starting as cutpurses and young thieves, eventually blossoming into an assassin and an information broker respectively in Kirkwall. It wasn't pretty, but they were at least getting back on their feet.

It came to a screeching halt Iago's talents were discovered and they were taken to a strict Circle against their will, where they stayed secluded for years, keeping Chaos a secret and festering in unrest and homesickness without their brother, who would join the Grey Wardens while they were away.

They tried their best to stay unnoticed, quiet, but their volatile magic acted out one too many times and they were eventually sentenced to the Rite of Tranquility. It was meant to blindside them, to subdue the wild mage quickly with a single notice to their only remaining family and nothing more, but they discovered what was planned for them and Chaos couldn't sit by. Once again, there were gaps in their memory of this escape, but they remember a brand, screaming, dead templars, broken mages, and stumbling out of the circle into their brother's arms with their connection to the fade miraculously still intact.

With Chaos making itself known and their violent escape from the circle, Iago became a highly wanted apostate. Their life turned into an endless cycle of panic and paranoia, running away and mercilessly cutting down any Templars who got too close. They traveled with Puck until he went missing, seemingly disappearing in the middle of the night, along with the other Grey Wardens. Now, they can be found anywhere across the map, searching for their brother and trying to survive.

━━━━━ ★. *･｡ﾟ✧⁺

TL;DR Iago shares their body with a spirit of Chaos. They kept this a secret until the circle they had been kept in attempted to make them Tranquil. They attacked the circle and escaped, marking themselves as a highly sought after apostate. Now, they remain on the run and search for their brother, one of the missing Grey Wardens. NOTE !! I am hoping to avoid any and all spoilers for Veilguard until the game is released so I can play it as blindly as possible ! Please keep this in mind <3

a billion thanks to @skyheld for helping me figure this out and yapping with me ^-^

[lilac-dawn-103]

Draco Malfoy Headcanons

(Because it's time for the revival of my Harry Potter phase)

𓆙 *•°~

Hey so,, Hi. This blog has been sat postless for too long so to hell with waiting to think of aesthetic things to post. Have some Draco headcanons because I've been having crazy brainrot recently. Hope you enjoy~

(this is assuming he isn't an absolute prick like he was intended to be in the books.)

𓆙 *•°~

- Dimples. He has the cutest damn dimples anyone has ever seen. People don't often see them because he doesn't smile quite bright enough, but they're there and it's vv cute.

- Silver jewelry. Mostly rings. There's a couple that he never takes off but then he has afew that he switches out depending on what he's wearing.

- Speaking of clothes,, bro has a stupidly good sense of fashion. If you want an honest opinion on an outfit, go to this man. As for himself, he takes forever in the morning to choose the perfect outfit, and he always looks good.

- Has a thing for glasses, inexplicably so. He just finds them generally adorable. For some reason though, he does find thick-rimmed glasses much cuter.

^^ To follow up on that, he also does random things for his partner if they have glasses like pushing them up or randomly taking the glasses and cleaning them.

- With his partner, his arm always manages to find its way around their waist. He finds it very comforting to keep them so close, plus it's a sort of instinct. It's very cute if he's just with his partner in the library looking for books and his arm snakes its way around them.

- If, miraculously, he knows any Muggle music, it's definitely stuff from the 60s and 70s. Probably jazz in particular. He just gives those vibes.

^^ Favourites are probably Frank Sinatra and maybe Elvis??

- Building upon him knowing about Muggle stuff, I feel like he'd really enjoy slushies?? Maybe it's in a streak of rebellion against his father's perfect vision for Draco, but he loves a slushie. His favourite is probably blue raspberry, though he hates that it makes his tongue bright blue.

- Since Narcissa is probably quite busy alot (rich people things idk-), so when he was younger Draco learnt how to style hair. He does his mother's hair pretty often and he's actually very good at doing it. His speciality is probably braids; quite easy to learn at a young age and you can do lots with them.

^^ Because of this, if you have long hair and you're a close friend of his, you best believe he'll style your hair for you if you ask. He even carries around a couple of hair bands in case.

If his partner has long hair, he loves to just play with it and run his hands through their hair to relax. He also randomly does little braids in their hair, and finds it quite theraputic.

- Poor thing probably has some kind of anxiety. I think it gets worsened by the pressure his dad most definitely puts on him. Draco always seems abit fidgety when it gets close to the Christmas and Summer holidays because he has to go back to such high expectations n such. (Poor boy :((( )

𓆙 *•°~

And that is all! Probably could think of loads more but I need time for my brain juices to start working more. Anyways, hope you enjoyed! :))

Edit: forgot to tag @sugarschnaps since they came up with some of these headcanons, so... Ty bestie love u mwah

[sanguineed]

Felix Noire from @vesperione ‘s Call it a Miracle (call it miraculous) because it has been steadily rotating in my mind and has dragged me back to my miraculous ladybug phase by force.

She came out looking more like Alice than Steph in my opinion but she’s like 11 at the point in the fic when I started drawing this so I’m just going to blame the timeskip and leave it at that

Anyways READ THE FIC ITS REALLY GOOD SO FAR lautski is incredibly lovesquare coded and the brainrot is real

[rosie-b]

20 questions for Fic Writers

Thanks for tagging me @aidanchaser! 🩷

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

27 fics.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

201,097! (Wow, the last time I checked it was closer to 100k lol)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Only Miraculous Ladybug so far!

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

From most to least kudos, they are:

1. "Camembert" and Other Magic Words 2. Stealing Freedom 3. A Catching Sickness 4. Married in Black (know that she loves you back 5. A Blessed Curse

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to respond to every comment I get, though I'm slow in my responses sometimes. I value getting comments, so responding to them is a way I show my gratitude!

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't write angsty endings; I've never really liked them! That said, home is where the fight is leaves our heroes in a pretty precarious situation, though it's implied that they'll win in the end.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

*stares at my wall of HEA fics and asks them to answer for me*

The Overheating of Adrien's Brain, maybe? Adrien's pretty happy in that one!

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I've never gotten any serious hate, no. A couple of demanding fans and people who forgot to read the tags, but beyond that, nothing! (May it stay like that forever 🙏)

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Nope! I don't read or write smut. It makes me uncomfortable, but it's fine for others to enjoy, of course!

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I don't write crossovers; my brainrot is caused purely by Miraculous Ladybug, so there's no need! I enjoy reading other people's crossovers occasionally though.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of! I don't think any of mine have ever gotten popular enough for that lol

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope! But it would be cool if it happened someday.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, honestly I don't know how that function even works on AO3.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

The lovesquare! I've been a fan of many media and ships that could have dragged me into fandom, but none of them were powerful enough until I came across Miraculous Ladybug. I went from 0 to 100 pretty fast after that lol

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Growing Fangs. (But I will finish it someday!!!!) I have so much lore for it in my head but it's so hard to connect to the published chapters, which are set a decade before the actual plot. Why I did this to myself I will never know!

16. What are your writing strengths?

I've gotten compliments on my dialogue, characterization, and overall writing style, which is nice!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Imagery my beloathed!! I don't quite have aphantasia, but it's hard for me to picture stuff in my head, so trying to write good descriptions is always a challenge for me. The words are words all right, but do they form a picture in someone's head? I can never tell.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I think as long as it feels natural and has a translation in the notes or at the end of the fic, it's fine!

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Miraculous Ladybug! My first true obssession 🥰

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

All of them?

I have a lot of fun writing my crack fics, like Erinnerungn't and A Catching Sickness. I also really enjoyed writing "Camembert" and Other Magic Words and A Blessed Curse, and puzzling out True Blue's plot has been a lot of fun!

Thanks again for the tag! 💕

I will no-pressure tag @mostmagical @lady-de-mon-coeur @miabrown007 @wackus-bonkus-maximus and @coffeebanana!

[theskeletonprior]

[ID: a greyscale banner of a skeleton reclining in rich silks, cropped so only the ribcage and part of the spine are visible. It reads ‘A Year in the Priory’ in white. /End ID.]

I saw a post going around by @maguayans​​ about making a year-in-review post, and it looked too fun for me to resist!

It hasn’t quite been an entire year for me. I started this account on January 18th, but the time has flown right by! I think it’s good to reflect, and this is the time of year for it, that’s for sure. I didn’t want to do it Spotify-style, so here we are. Just the bare bones.

On Writing

This year really marks the start of my taking my work as a writer much more seriously. It was also the first time I was paid for my writing (!!!). I opened commissions, although I only sold any to people I knew. I only published one piece of fanfiction this year, in January--just a little study of Silco and Jinx from Arcane. But I have a couple others that I’ve been fiddling with to keep me loose that I might even finish one day. In April, my husband and I launched our Patreon, and as of this month, we’ve released nine volumes of The Bishop of Black with a 10th on the way! We managed to put out a new volume every month, along with bonus side-stories. I’m very proud of what we’ve been able to accomplish together. In the summer, I came down with some terrible Gorr the Butcher brainrot, but the fic isn’t finished. It is, if I do say so myself, rather good, though. I also immediately became obsessed with Alchemy of Souls, but that fic isn’t finished either. I haven’t had an awful lot of free time, just in general, this year. I’ve struggled to make dedicated time for my projects. This blog has also begun to grow quite well! I reached my first major milestone in October, did a very fun giveaway, and then smashed that milestone to absolute bits. This, I attribute chiefly to the miraculous accident of a post that I made at 2am escaping containment. I did make an attempt at pushing out a few more words in November, but came away with a little more than 5 000 on RAVENOT, which is more progress than I’ve made in some time. I also released a polished first chapter, which stands as a sort of pilot for the project. Some folx were even kind enough to drop a little tip in my jar for it, which was lovely. I did get some little drabbles out, too. So I think I’ve been sneaking out the words fairly well this year. And that’s about it for 2022, as far as my writing goes. I wasn’t able to really get back to my bookmaking, but I’m getting pretty handy with Affinity Publisher and that’s got to count for something.

On the Future

I’d like to try to commit to a few things for 2023. Here’s the list: + complete a draft of one WIP for 2023 (spoiler alert: it’s going to be RAVENOT) + read every day + dedicate time to writing every week (collaboratively, and solo) + consistently include IDs for images in original posts + get back to bookmaking! I’ve been making nothing but x-folds and pamphlet stitches and it’s making me wilt

On Meetings

And I do want to shout out some of the wonderful members of this here writeblr community that I’ve had the pleasure of meeting this year. Warmest regards to: @flowerprose @muddshadow @pinespittinink @impaledlotus @inkspellangel and @calicojackofficial for being some of the highlights of my dash! And of course, I must give mention to those I know and love already: @rosieartsie and @magefaery​ <3

On Reading

I did manage to get a fair bit of reading in this year, all things considered. I would’ve liked to read more, but there’s been a lot for me to adapt to this year. Here’s the list (the ones I especially liked get an asterisk*):

Dune, Frank Herbert They Both Die at the End, Adam Silvera When No One is Watching, Alyssa Cole Manhunt, Gretchen Felker-Martin* Zachary Ying and the Dragon Emperor, Xiran Jay Zhao* Entangled Life, Merlin Sheldrake* The Time Traveller’s Wife, Audrey Niffenegger* A Dowry of Blood, S. T. Gibson* Nothing but Blackened Teeth, Cassandra Khaw Blood Scion, Deborah Falaye Terciel and Elinor, Garth Nix Gideon the Ninth, Harrow the Ninth, Nona the Ninth*, Tamsyn Muir Woom, Duncan Ralston Things Have Gotten Worse Since We Last Spoke, Eric Larocca manga Beauty and the Beast of Paradise Lost (1-5), Kaori Yuki* Jujutsu Kaisen (up-to-date), Gege Akutami* Boku no Hero Academia (up-to-date), Kohei Horikoshi Kimetsu no Yaiba (1-23), Koyoharu Gotouge Kaiju No. 8 (up-to-date), Naoya Matsumoto* Chainsaw Man (up-to-date), Tatsuki Fujimoto* Utena: After the Revolution, Chiho Saito JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure (part 1), Hirohiko Araki

And that’s all, really. I wonder where we’ll be this time next year.

[multi-lefaiye]

Tell me about ivaebhin. a boy filled with brightness.!! ~ @void-botanist

HEHEH :3c yes

so my playlist 'ivaebhin. a boy filled with brightness.' is the playlist i created for songs about the relationship between my oc eden linnaeus and his childhood friend/first love, kader al-masri. as well as eden's relationship with the knight, who... well. we'll get there.

the name specifically refers to kader's favorite pet name for eden, the elvish word ivaebhin. and 'a boy filled with brightness' is the translation.

the vibe of the playlist is like... very doomed by the narrative. losing someone you love more than anything and realizing it may have been inevitable that it'd end that way. and i could talk about that more in his original story, but i've got bg3 brainrot, so i'll talk about how it applies there :3c details under the cut!

first, though, here are some song highlights:

inventor's daughter - branches

cut my hair - MICO

self love - metro boomin, coi leray

the harold song - kesha

never love an anchor - the crane wives

so in my bg3 au with these characters, eden died when he was 28, a few days after a very painful argument with kader that ended their friendship for good. the actual argument wasn't related, but the timing was... unfortunate. and losing kader pushed eden over the edge in a way nothing else had before.

i'm being vague about this on purpose i prommy- but kader blamed himself, and his life fell apart as he desperately tried to find a way to bring eden back, to make things right.

this obsession led kader down a dark path, and it ended with him being willingly infected with a mindflayer tadpole. and from there, kader al-masri ceased to be, replaced with a mindflayer called the knight.

but then... years later, eden came back. miraculously, he was alive again. and when the knight saw him, it felt something stir deep inside it, a strange aching longing. it's drawn to eden, and it wants to be around him for reasons it doesn't quite understand.

eden gets infected with a mindflayer tadpole as well, and the plot of bg3 starts picking up. and the knight, at first, is just another mindflayer seeking to kill the party, the ones standing against the hivemind, against the absolute and its power. but kader's spirit, wherever it may be inside the knight, is enough to pull the knight away from the hivemind. he wants to be around eden again, to apologize and beg for forgiveness.

and the knight decides to follow this urge in its chest.

SO BASICALLY yeah the knight and eden have a very weird, intense sort of tension between them, borne from the fact that the knight was created from kader. it's about the regret and the longing and the deep ache of realizing that you can never go back, not to the way things were.

also, to be clear, the knight is a different person from kader. and part of its arc is discovering its individuality--first from the hivemind it was created as part of, and then from the spirit of kader hanging over it. and its relationship with eden is a big part of that.

[corvidshadowgrovestrega]

So yeah, it seems I have another writing idea. And yes it is another one which I will probably never finish but still. I just can't help the fact that my brain is like that. Thus, now I am sharing what I came up with so far.

First things first is the fact it's a fanfiction from my newest brainrot a.k.a. MHA. It's obviously an AU and in here Izuku has a twin sibling named Hanako. Hanako or Hana as she likes to be called has an unspecified fire quirk. Izu still like in canon at first seems quirkless so Hana is very protective of him.

And when it comes to Hanako themselves, she is...something. Why? Because even if they are twins it's Izuku who's more like Inko. Hana on the other hand is in a lot of aspects a carbon copy of their father and absolute opposite of xer brother. It is even smarter than Izu, tall and muscled. Definitely not beautiful or pretty, at least not in the standard sense. Especially considering their scars, sharp features and narrow eyes. She dyes xer hair green and wears vividly green contact lenses. Why is under the red warning. Personality wise xe IS quiet. Like quiet quiet, she is able to talk but they're still effectively mute as she chooses not to. And well, xe's angry, bitter and jaded. Seeing how the society treats quirkless and people with quirks that are considered weak or villainous, people with mutations she doesn't trust heroes. They're not evil but definitely more morally grey. Xe's not exactly kind or comforting either. Even when she tries you can clearly tell it's awkward & unpracticed but nonetheless genuine. And they understand other people like that on a deep level. Still you can tell xer emotions by her eyes. They also force herself to be strong so the others do not have to be. So in conclusion she' a distrustful & sharp, quite antisocial person. She is polyamorous omnisexual however demiromantic & demisexual nonbinary xenogender(fugogender) with she/xe/they/it pronouns.

SPOILERS & PROBABLY V TRIGGERING STUFF UNDER. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED SO PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Firstly, AFO is Hizashi Midoriya and Inko is Nana's daughter. Momo is a Shimura too and Tomura's sister. She was born the same year as Tomura dusted the rest of the members, she's alive because she wasn't there but at the hospital. She was adopted by Yaoyorozus who needed a heir/heiress.

Hanako is exactly this kind of sibling who when she can, wrecks people bullying Izuku. They still can't be on the lookout 24/7 and Izu hides a lot from xer & their mom to not worry them.

Izuku actually has a quirk. It's telekinesis and it's stronger than Inko's. However it was jumpstarted when he took Katsuki's "good" advice. Kat himself saw it and had a brutal wake up call. Izuku did die for a second there but miraculously came back. (We will come back to how later.)

After that some truths came out. Mainly all about the bullying Izu suffered from Aldera & Katsuki. Also the fact how abusive Mitsuki Bakugo is and how Masaru doesn't interfere.

Well hearing that and the true regret from Kats, Inko made a decision. She formally adopted Katsuki and made him go to therapy, both for trauma and anger issues. Now he fixed his relationship with the twins somewhat and is protective of both. Still not the nicest and a huge tsundere but nonetheless slightly improved.

The sludge villain incident with Katsuki happened as in cannon, Izuku jumped right after. All Might after tried to find him but as Zu was in hospital he didn't have much luck. However he met both twins at "that" beach and approached them. He at first planned to do what he did in cannon when it comes to Izu but after learning of the new quirked status of our broccoli boy he just offer to train them. Hana though agreed only to keep on eye on Izu. In the end both siblings actually got OFA as Hana reasoned that if they share it, it may go 50/50 and as such be easier to handle. She wasn't wrong and as they are twins it also made their sibling connection that much stronger. Now they're literally able to feel each others emotions, pain & unfortunately if one dies.

Hitoshi and Kyoka were pretty quickly adopted after they started UA by the Yamada/Aizawa who are married.

Almost whole class 1-A is dating and all are poly. Most are LGBTQ+ in all ways.

Chisaki here is completely reworked personalitywise. While still a criminal and Yakuza leader few things are changed. He's kind to Eri who is his biological daughter. He's trans and dating Hari though only the Precepts know, also the Precepts, Hari & two Chisakis are a family before all else.

LOV is on the other hand even more found family and you can tear this trope from my cold dead hands.

Dabi is Toya Todoroki but he only wants revenge on Enji without including his siblings and mom a.k.a. he's a good older brother(and partner but that later).

Twice & Magne survive. I repeat they won't die here because I said so.

Hawks had been sent as a spy by the Comission but he quite quickly fully deflected after seeing all of the lies he was fed his whole life. He kept the act to protect LOV though and only stopped when told to kill Twice. He paid for it being tortured half to death before getting broken out by one slightly more decent person (OC) and then being brought to the LOV who nursed him back to health. Said OC though dies for that.

Most parents of the 1-A & 1-B kids suck very much. The only decent ones are Iidas, Inko, Rei, Kirishima's moms, Satos, Ashidos & Seros.

Tokoyami after his internship with Hawks got basically unformally adopted by him which much later was actually formalized.

Toru got adopted by Nemuri(who also won't die) and Emi Fukukado/Ms. Joke.

The war happens in their 3rd year but that would be another much more spoiler-y post.

[coffeebanana]

look at me off of sneak mode. uhh 17, 21 (The Simple Life- if you don't have an answer for 21, then same fic but 47), 31 (hehe), 37, 50

17. What highly specific AU do you want to read or write even though you might be the only person to appreciate it?

Help. This is such a tough question honestly, so you're getting my crack answer: the miraculous AU where everything is pretty much the same, except Emilie is actually alive and well...Gabriel just doesn't know she's the one running around as Mr. Banana. How? I don't know, you figure it out 😂

21. If you wrote a “missing scene” in [insert fic], what would it be?

For "The Simple Life™️"? Hmm...

I'd say Marinette actually teaching Adrien to make bread, because that came up in one of their phone calls. Also, maybe Adrien having dinner with the Dupain-Chengs.

31. What’s your ideal fic length to write?

LMAO. When I saw "hehe" in your ask I honestly thought this would be a more evil question ahaha. Ideal is maybe 5k, because sometimes (okay, not usually anymore but once upon a time) I can/could have that written and edited in a day or two, and it's just a rush of words words words without getting long enough that I easily get stuck, but also it's long enough to tell a complete story.

But really...anything that I manage to finish is an ideal length haha. 37. Promote one of your own “deep cut” fics (an underrated one, or one that never got as much traction as you think it deserves!). What do you like about it?

Oh, interesting...

You know what, I'm going to go with Everybody's Changing, because DJWifi doesn't get as much traction in general as it deserves. (And because I have DJWifi brainrot from an idea I had a couple nights ago so that'll hopefully be my next oneshot.) I think what I like about this fic is how comfortable they are with each other? And like, my headcanon of sorts for Alya is that she's the kind of person to downplay it when she's sort of not okay? Like, she's fine, she will be fine, so what's the point in whining about it? But Nino notices something's up with her, and he gets her to open up, and it's just really sweet.

50. Uh...for this one I'll answer 49. (What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!)

I picked this because somebody needs to hold me accountable for finishing Say Something. (Seriously, if I haven't posted chapter 5 a week from now, somebody start throwing not-real objects at me.) ANYWAYS here's a snippet:

Adrien had been silent so long that she’d forgotten the topic of conversation when he finally spoke up. “I don’t think he’ll be surprised.”  “Hm?” “Nino. About you being Ladybug. It just makes sense.” Marinette bit back a laugh—she couldn’t very well tell Adrien it was only him who saw her that way. And how did he keep doing that? Keep making her feel better when his world was falling apart?

Thanks for the ask!! 💜 [questions for fic writers]

[don-quixotine]

hi i come bearing humanitarian relief from optygami

so like, yikes huh?

I didn't expect all the angst and that last scene absolutely DESTROYED me in the worst possible way. Anywhoo, I was so unwell that I dreamt a follow-up. This is a new level of brainrot. So, without further ado welcoome to another edition of

bullet point fics that i'll probably never write but I need to get out of my system: post-Optygami edition

After Optygami, Chat pretends he's ok but he's actually quite sad that Ladybug didn't need him to defeat the Akuma. Even more so, that instead of going for him, she went for Rena and Carapace.

lol Milk Bar scene 2.0.

He tries to hide it, but unlike other things that make him sad like oh idk, his entire family life, this is new. And he can't hide it because Ladybug was the one person that never failed to make him feel needed and wanted.

So, he's at school and he's looking sad and Marinette notices. She kicks into Supporting Friend Mode the way she's done with Zoé, Juleka etc. and asks him what's wrong. Adrien at first doesn't want to say, but Marinette gives her one of her Motivational Speeches™️ and convinces him.

Adrien says that it's hard to explain, but he feels like someone really loves is pushing him to the side and he feels like he is not needed anywhere.

Marinette will very much Not Have That

So she starts telling him all the good things she sees in him and how everyone, especially her, is lucky to have him around. And girl ain't even blushing or stuttering.

"Adrien you're always so kind and compassionate to everyone, you always make time for us even though your Father is so strict with you. You're always willing to give everyone the benefit of doubt, even when they don't deserve it. You're a great friend"

Adrien high key is tearing up btw

And my boy is so starved for affection that he's just. He falls for her immediately??? He never realized Marinette saw him like that??

He feels so acknowledged???????

also Nino sees and he reassures him as well.

"Whoever this friend is can go take a hike if they don't value you, dude. smh I'll throw hands for you."

appreciate the i r o n y

THEN...

Alya figures out Adrien is Chat Noir and she has that oh no moment. Without telling Mari why, she is ADAMANT that she tells Chat immediately about everything that has been going on with the guardianship.

"Trust me Marinette. Just trust me. You NEED to tell Chat about these things."

Marinette confesses she had not told him because she knows he's going to be very angry at her that she relied on someone else in her hour of need and she's scared she might lose him because lesser things have made him doubt himself to the point of returning the ring.

"Alya you don't understand," she says crying. "I know him. I know this is is going to hurt him so much."

Alya, out of curiosity, asks why she came to her and not Chat when things got too heavy and Marinette explains the incident in Chat Blanc and how absolutely scared to the bone she is that it might happen again. Not because she wouldn't be able to fix it, but because she couldn't bear seeing Chat being hurt like that again.

Eventually Marinette gathers the courage to tell Chat Noir and of course he's sad, heartbroken, angry and no matter how much Ladybug tries to apologize or reassure him that she trusts him, he simply can't.

Chat says he understands that she needed to lean on someone and it's her right to choose who that is.

"Don't worry m'lady, I understand. But... I need some time off. After all, something tells me you'll make do even if i'm not there."

BIG OUCH 😃

Marinette is devastated and recognizes her mistake and understands she is in no position to ask Chat to be there but that doesn't help the fact she's absolutely heartbroken.

As a civilian, Adrien notices Marinette is sad and talks to her. Mari cries bc she says she made a terrible mistake and she managed to really hurt one of the friends she loves the most and is scared she lost them for good.

Adrien consoles her and tells her she did the right thing by coming clean to them, and that she should have faith in her friend bc "friends fight sometimes Mari, it's normal, right? They will come around. You were honest with them, and that's what matters. They'll appreciate it eventually."

"Besides, e-even if they don't... I-i'll always be here for you"

"And if they don't, I'll personally go and punch your friend in the face"

aaaahhhh adrinette fluff.

And so, while ladynoir is crumbling to pieces, adrinette is like, VERY close to becoming canon but bc of what happened in ladynoir they refrain from showing their romantic feelings but are like, "No way I'm making the same mistakes again" so they become each other's closest confident (sans the whole Miraculous thing of course)

Adrien starts telling Mari about "this friend" and the problems in his family. Marinette start tellings him about "these responsibilities" and "this friend I have" and they unintentionally coach the other through how to proceed to heal the ladynoir partnership.

Simultaneously, Adrien's help lets Marinette understand how very much she loves Chat and him taking the break from Ladybug's company and replacing it with Marinette, lets him know how head over heels he had been for her all this time = tada! reverse love square.

They become super, super close friends. Like deadass ppl think they're dating (but what else is new smh)

"Ha ha, no. We're Just Very Good Friends™️" *they say as they're literally holding hands or snuggling on a bench*

Eventually Chat Noir comes out of his little break and Ladybug and him meet up to talk and it's like, an ugly crying sobfest ahaha :)

LB apologizes again and begs him to forgive her, she promises she'll do better and she'll show him how much she need him and--

"M'lady, stop. I already forgave you. It's all water under the bridge so--

"No! No it's not, because I can't believe I made you think you're dispensible. Chat Noir you're my partner and you'll always be my partner and I treated you like you weren't but I just... I couldn't tell you, Chaton. I couldn't--"

"But why? What couldn't you tell me, m'lady?"

LB breaks down and explains the Chat Blanc incident to him

"I was so scared. I was so afraid for you and so terrified that I wouldn't be able to bring you back. I'd never be able to forgive myself if one day I cannot bring you back, Chat. I want to know who you are but if knowing puts you at risk, then I won't do it. I love you more than I want to know your identity."

ajgkfahgfak gajfkk UGLY SOBBING.

"Then... that means we cannot be together... ever?" Chat asks and his voice is cracking because he's doing all humanly possible not to cry too.

"Not until Hawkmoth is defeated. I promise minou, as soon as we defeat him, we can be together. In the meantime, we have to keep the secret."

Chat Noir gently wipes off the tears from Ladybug and steps closer to her and goes "Then, m'lady, if you'll allow it, I'd like us to keep one more secret."

He leans down slowly, to give LB a chance to say no if she doesn't want it to happen, but she doesn't stop him. They kiss.

"This one stays between us," Chat mutters and then smirks at her. "See you in the next Akuma, m'lady."

The end.

[alyasgf]

its nice to have a friend

mlb fic masterlist

ao3

Summary- Marinette giggled. “Why would Alya do this? It’s just that this is the kind of thing I used to do when.... oh.” Marinette went silent as the revelation hit her. “The kind of thing I used to do when I had a crush on Adrien.”

—————

Alya not so platonically loves Marinette with all of her heart, and the oblivious girl is only just realizing this

Word Count- 3920

Notes- happy pride month enjoy my massive gay brainrot. i wrote the entirety of this with Bo Burnham’s Inside playing in the background and i regret nothing. also tumblr mobile is my hell :)

Begin

Ever since Alya found out about Marinette’s identity she managed to go from completely forgetting she knew to bombarding her with questions constantly.

Once, she had climbed the stairs to Marinette’s room to see Ladybug coming in from the skylight and immediately screamed out in shock. Marinette had to tell her parents it was a rouge spider and wouldn’t stop teasing Alya about it for weeks.

Another time, Alya spent the entire night that she was over asking Marinette even the most minuscule of questions.

“Who gave you the miraculous?”

“Does Tikki have organs?”

“Do you have to de-transform to pee?”

“Is your suit water resistant?”

“Do you get cold fighting akumas at night?”

Eventually they came up with a system. Alya could ask 5 Ladybug related questions a week. To make sure they were well used, Alya would write down every question she had and chose her 5 favorites every Friday.

It was times like these when Marinette was woefully reminded that Alya was in fact a reporter, and her inquisitive nature just came with it.

Her notebook was disguised as her reporter’s journal and if anyone found it they could assume it was just her random train of thought.

Marinette was never allowed to look in it, so as Alya wrote in it during class she attempted to sneak a peek. She tried to stealthily look at it through the corner of her eye, but Alya noticed almost immediately and laughed before she closed the notebook and nudged her to pay attention to class.

Not a second later, there a was a loud bang outside the school. Marinette tensed as Miss Bustier began to usher students out of the room and to the basement of the school for safety.

“Ayla you have to come up with an excuse for me.” She pleaded with big round eyes.

“Why?” Alya asked as Marinette facepalmed with a disappointed sigh. “Right right! Of course!”

Lately Alya seemed to be as absent minded and jittery as Marinette herself. Whenever the bluenette attempted to bring it up, Alya would redden and dismiss it entirely.

“Miss Bustier! I need Marinette to help me in the bathrooms.” Miss Bustier looked at them questioningly. “Lady problems!” Alya called as she dragged Marinette away before the teacher could respond.

Once they reached the bathrooms Alya didn’t let go of Marinette’s hand.

“Can I ask you a Ladybug related question?” Alya asked in an uncharacteristically small voice.

Marinette nodded and looked into her eyes, confused. Alya looked worried, her breath coming out in short bursts and eyebrows knit tightly.

“When you get hurt, as Ladybug, does the suit cushion the blow? Does the miraculous cure heal you?”

Alya’s hand shook lightly in hers as she said this. Marinette put her other hand on top of Alya’s effectively sandwiching her hand between her own.

“It’s okay, I’m used to it. The suit helps a bit, but there are some risks I just have to take. Besides, it not like I’m all alone out there. I have Chat Noir. I have a team if I need one.” Marinette grabbed Alya’s chin so that the girl would meet her eyes. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

Alya blushed and moved her chin from Marinette’s hand, as well as let go of her other.

“Okay.” She said, her voice returning. “Okay girl. Now go, you have a city to save.”

Alya pushed Marinette toward the door. Marinette wished more than anything she could stay and comfort her best friend, but Alya was right. So instead, she called out her transformation phrase and ran out the door.

As she left, Alya couldn’t help but sigh. Marinette always looked so graceful as she transformed.

After Marinette was gone, she waited a minute before running out behind her and whipping out her phone.

“Hi bugheads! An akuma was spotted somewhere outside of Collège Françoise Dupont and I’m here to give you the inside scoop.” And there she went, hoping to locate the akuma and her best friend as quickly as she could.

———————————

After the akuma, Marinette de-transformed and fed Tikki.

“I think that was sweet of Alya to care so much.” Tikki giggled as she took a big bite of her cookie.

“Yeah she’s been acting stranger than usual lately. Do you think it’s because she knows I’m Ladybug? She’s been nervous and timid and just the complete opposite of herself. Maybe she’s intimidated by me now?”

Tikki let out another giggle. “Oh I’m sure it’s not that. You know Alya. She’s not intimidated by anyone. I think it’s something else.”

“Like what?” Marinette questioned, feeling that Tikki knew exactly what it was and was holding back.

Tikki just silently munched on her cookie as Marinette glared at her.

Marinette heard the gravel crunch behind her and she ushered Tikki into her bag before darting around.

The sudden movement startled Alya who was directly behind her. Now that Marinette had turned around they were practically nose to nose. Marinette could smell Alya’s watermelon scented lip balm and Alya eyed Marinette’s lips before blushing and backing up.

“Hey girl, we should probably get back to class and apologize to Miss Bustier for disappearing.” She said quickly before grabbing Marinette’s wrist.

Marinette pulled her wrist away and crossed her arms stubbornly.

“No, first we need to talk about how close you were to that akuma.” Marinette huffed. “I was worried about you getting hurt and I couldn’t do a thing about it while fighting.”

Alya turned around with a cocky smirk on her face. Looking Marinette up and down, she couldn’t get over how adorable she looked when she was mad.

“Aww was the miraculous Ladybug worried about one measly civilian?” She teased as she walked back to Marinette’s side and threw an arm over her shoulder, attempting not to shudder at the warmth at their contact points. “I was fine. It was just Mr. Ramier again, and I’m not exactly scared of pigeons. Besides, it’s nothing your cure couldn’t fix.”

Marinette attempted to hold her resolve, but Alya could feel her soften under her touch.

“Still, I hate when you cross paths with the akumas, it’s like you’re asking for their attention.” Marinette let Alya lead her back to school, arms still crossed as Alya was draped over her shoulders.

“Makes great content though! Just wait until you see the action shots I got of you and Chat Noir. No way Nadia Chamakh could beat that!”

Marinette smiled as Alya gushed about the article she was going to write later that day. As Marinette put her arm around the small of Alya’s back she admired her. She could get so passionate about her blog, and that passion was why Marinette loved her so much.

———————————

“Are you sure you don’t want to hang out with Nino today? You’ve been with me almost every day for the last two weeks. It’s not that I mind, I love the company. I just don’t want to be stealing you.”

Marinette and Alya were out for juice after school. Marinette was nervously playing with her straw. She noticed how distant her friend was from Nino and figured this might just be the best way to bring it up.

“Actually Nino and I aren’t together anymore.” Alya replied casually as Marinette choked on her drink.

“I’m sorry, what?” She asked, after Alya patted her back a few times and she composed herself.

“We broke up a few weeks ago. It was mutual, neither of us did anything. We’re still friends.” Alya replied, taking a sip from her drink.

Marinette was confused. Alya and Nino were great together. Even after Marinette decided to give up on Luka and Adrien, they made her believe love could still be beautiful.

“Okay but why? I just don’t get it you guys were amazing together. Why didn’t you tell me?” Marinette couldn’t believe how nonchalant Alya was being about this.

“We broke up because, well, I have a crush on someone else.” Alya blushed. “Part of the reason I didn’t tell you is because there’s another thing I’ve been working up the nerve to tell you.”

Now it was Alya’s turn to nervously fiddle. She brought her hands beneath the table and picked at her fingers as she but her cheek.

“What do you need to tell me?” Marinette asked softly, in an attempt to ease Alya’s nerves. “You can tell me anything, you know.”

“Marinette I-“ Alya’s voice broke off as she lost her nerve. “Marinette I’m bisexual.”

Marinette’s heart warmed at the confession. She still felt like Alya was holding something back, but the fact that she trusted her enough to come out made her giddy.

“Oh Alya!” Marinette stood up and crossed to the other side of the table to throw her arms around her. Since Alya was sitting, Marinette placed herself in the girl’s lap so she could throughly smother her.

“That’s amazing! I’m so happy for you!”

Alya let out a deep breath she didn’t realize she had been holding in.

“You aren’t weirded out?” Alya asked, even though she knew Marinette to be the most accepting girl in the world, it was still terrifying.

“Of course not.” Marinette said as she climbed off Alya’s lap and returned to her seat. “It’s not like I’m entirely straight either.”

Now it was Alya’s turn to choke on her drink.

“Really?” Alya exclaimed with wide eyes. “Why haven’t you said anything?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t really feel the need to come out. I’m not sure what I am, but I’ve definitely had my share of girl crushes.” She said it like it was no big deal and Alya couldn’t help but laugh.

“Well god, if I knew that I would’ve just told you sooner.” Alya sighed.

Suddenly Marinette got a look in her eye that made Alya uneasy. It was a familiar look of determined curiosity with a smile that made her stomach flutter with butterflies.

“Sooo,” Marinette began. “You mentioned a crush?”

Alya immediately regretted her words.

“Now that I’ve given up entirely on my love life it gives me plenty of time to delve into yours. Schemes, plots, you name it, I can do it.” Marinette moved her now empty drink to the side and out her elbows in the table so she could lean closer.

Alya blushed, Marinette was so close she could count the freckles along her nose. She wished she could kiss every one as she did, but she immediately pushed that thought away as she tried to focus on the situation at hand.

“I... uh... it’s... well...” Alya tried and failed to get it out. It was just too much. She could smell Marinette’s perfume (strawberries and a hint of chocolate), see Marinette’s soft pale skin so close to her, and her mouth felt as though it were filled with cotton.

“Hey it’s okay.” Marinette returned back to her normal position in her seat and reached for Alya’s hand on the table. “You don’t have to tell me right now. When you’re ready I know you will.”

Alya swore Marinette was trying to kill her. Her hand was so soft and warm against her own and she wished more than anything she could just tell her. Instead she gave a small gratuitous smile to the beauty across from her.

“Now, I know it’s Friday, so what do you say to spending the night at your place and you can ask all of you questions?” Marinette proposed once she noticed Alya had finished the last of her juice.

“Sounds great.”

————————-

“Have you ever used your powers for personal gain?” Alya read from her notebook.

They were cross legged on her bed after dinner and Marinette had just gotten out of the shower.

“Is that seriously what you’re gonna use your last question on? Kind of a boring one don’t you think?” Marinette raised an eyebrow questioningly.

She looked adorably cozy, with her oversized pink hoodie and pink sweatpants to match. Alya shook her head slightly to clear her mind.

“Answer the question!” Alya pouted.

“Okay okay!” Marinette said begrudgingly.

And so Marinette told her about Adrien’s party. The Bubbler had played music for Adrien and Chloe to slow dance to and the lucky charm helped her change the song.

Alya loved hearing Marinette’s point of view of Ladybug related things. Stories about akumas or patrols were always so interesting as she told them. She was just so smart and quick thinking, while still being the same clumsy and kind hearted girl that Alya adored.

“Alright well that’s about it.” Alya said as she closed her notebook. “I’m gonna go take a shower and then maybe we can watch a movie?” She suggested as she climbed off the bed.

“As long as it isn’t anything scary!” Marinette called to the girl descending the stairs.

Once Alya was gone Tikki came out from whenever she was silently eating.

“Hey Marinette why is your name covered in hearts all over this book?”

Marinette turned to see Tikki looking through Alya’s notebook.

“Don’t touch that!” She said as she snatched the book away. “Some things are private!” She hugged the book close to her chest and gave the kwamii a pointed look.

Still, her curiosity got the best of her and she pulled the book away from her chest to look at the page. Sure enough, it was filled with random questions as well as doodles of Marinette’s name all over with little hearts.

Marinette giggled. “Why would Alya do this?” She asked Tikki, who was looking over her shoulder beside her.

Tikki couldn’t help but sigh at how oblivious her holder was. “I don’t know Marinette, but you should probably put that back before Alya gets out of the shower.”

“Alright I won’t look anymore. It’s just that this is the kind of thing I used to do when.... oh.” Marinette went silent as the revelation hit her. “The kind of thing I used to do when I had a crush on Adrien.”

“Sorry, did you see where I left my hair tie?” Marinette yelped and immediately threw the notebook away from her as Alya entered the room.

“Yeah it’s in the lamp by the dresser! I mean by the lamp on the dresser!” She squeaked out.

“Okayyy....” Alya said confused by her friend’s behavior. “You good?”

“Yep! Never better! Just me... hanging out with Tikki... like I do sometimes.” Marinette rubbed the back of her neck and looked around the room, avoiding her friends eyes as she turned bright red.

Alya just shrugged before leaving the room.

Marinette let out a sigh before grabbing a pillow and burying her head into it to scream.

———————————

The rest of the night was... odd to say the least.

Marinette couldn’t understand why she couldn’t look Alya in the eye anymore. What had changed? She could do it easily hours ago. (She knew exactly why. Alya liked her... and she... well she wasn’t exactly sure how she felt.)

In the end, Marinette was glad they had decided to watch a movie. While Alya was deeply invested in the movie Marinette put on (“What do you mean you’ve never seen Ponyo!?) Marinette couldn’t help but focus on how Alya’s body pressed against her, every point of contact setting her nerves on fire.

They were laying comfortably on Alya’s bed, and under the glow of the television they settled into their usual positions. Alya would lay down and the smaller girl would lay in her arms on her chest.

Before, Marinette would think nothing of it and quickly fall asleep, but now all she could think about was her racing heart and how calm Alya’s sounded throughout the entire movie. Over time she calmed down, laughing at Alya’s comments and supplying a few of her own.

“Marinette.” Alya whispered, in case she was asleep. The movie credits were playing in the background and Marinette had just began to drift off.

“Mhm?” Marinette replied, coming back from her nearly asleep state. She removed her arm from around Alya’s waist to rub the sleep from her eyes.

“Did I wake you?” Alya was still whispering which brought a warmth to her chest that Marinette couldn’t understand.

“No.” She lied. “What’s up?”

“I’m bored, can we do something?”

“Alyaaa” Marinette whined, snuggling deeper into her side, “it’s so late.”

Alay laughed and rubbed Marinette’s head. “It’s barely 10, you just sleep too much.”

Marinette grumbled before begrudgingly pulling herself up from the warm embrace. “Well fine, what do you want to do?” She crossed her arms over her chest while Alya detangled herself from the covers.

“Do my makeup?” She asked, walking over to turn off the television.

Marinette blushed at the thought of such close contact. It’s not like they hadn’t done this before, but Marinette wasn’t a fool, she knew what the fluttering in her chest meant all too well.

“O-okay.” She got up quickly, hoping she could hide her reddening face.

As Alya climbed up onto her bed, Marinette went to grab the makeup bag.

Alya hadn’t mentioned anything about her odd behavior so far, and as much as Marinette would’ve liked to attribute that to her amazing acting skills, she knew it was just because Alya wouldn’t want to do anything to make her feel uncomfortable or embarrassed.

And so they sat across from each other for about 20 minutes, joking and laughing while Marinette played around with her makeup.

“Marinette I swear, if I look in the mirror and don’t like what I see I’m going to kill you.” Alya said as Marinette reached for the black eye pencil.

“Oh be quiet you always look cute, besides I saw someone do this in a video I wanna see how it looks. Now stop talking, I can’t do your lips if you keep moving them.”

“I’m sorry, you’re putting that on my lips?” Alya asked with a shocked laugh.

Marinette joined in on laughing before shushing her yet again.

As she lined her lips, she couldn’t help but admire them. Round, full, and so magnetic. She then made the mistake of looking up into Alya’s eyes.

They were bright with laughter, but the minute they made eye contact they softened. Marinette swore she felt the energy in the air around then. She cursed to herself in her head before giving in.

Since they were so close, she didn’t have to lean far to meet Alya’s lips. At first, Alya let out a soft breath, almost like a gasp, before slotting her lips between Marinette’s.

Marinette could taste the hint of toothpaste and something unique to Alya. Her lips were softer than they looked and it felt so so good to give into the thoughts that had been going through her head for the last few hours.

Marinette’s hands went up to cup Alya’s face and Alya brought her’s up to cover them.

After a minute Alya pulled away slightly, hands still holding Marinette’s in place.

For a second they just sat there, Marinette caught her breath while admiring how pretty Alya looked with her freshly kissed lips. She looked up at Alya’s eyes to see them dancing along her face. Eventually their eyes met again.

Alya was the first to break the silence.

“That was... wow. I mean, wow, but what was that?” Alya slowly removed her hands and sat them in her lap, face going from blissful to what Marinette could only describe as confusingly lovesick.

“I read your notebook earlier.” Marinette blurted out. “I didn’t mean to I swear! It’s just that Tikki saw something and showed it to me and- well” Marinette took a moment to steal herself. “Alya am I the crush you didn’t want to talk about?”

Alya wouldn’t meet her eyes and Marinette could see a blush. Her heart swelled.

“I knew it.” Marinette tilted her head to catch Alya’s eyes. “It makes so much sense! The way you’ve been acting lately. I- I think I like you too”

Alya’s eyes widened in shock, still she said nothing.

“I didn’t realize that I did, but we’ve always been so close I never really thought about how good it felt to be around you. How all I wanted to do was be close to you, as close as I could get, always.”

There was a beat of silence. She cupped Alya’s face again, this time to turn her head to face her.

“Say something?” Marinette asked, nerves setting in after baring her feelings so openly.

“I didn’t want to say anything because you’ve been dealing with so much. With Adrien, with Luka,” Alya looked down as Marinette’s hand returned to her side. “With being Ladybug. I’ve been in love with you for a while, I didn’t want to admit it to you, admit it to myself, I didn’t want to scare you away.”

“Alya-“

“I need to finish. If I don’t do it now I don’t know if I’ll get the nerve to do it again.” The girl laughed nervously. “I’ve never felt this way so strongly before. Usually I don’t have any trouble telling anyone anything.

So imagine how confused I was when every time I tried to tell you I could barely breathe. It hurt so bad, so I pushed it down, I helped you with your boy problems and for a while I could ignore it.

I convinced myself the feelings were gone. I started dating Nino, and for a while everything was okay. But then you broke down, after you told me everything, we got closer, and it just felt like all my walls broke down. I love you Marinette.

I love how insanely clumsy you are. I love that cute little face you get when you’re annoyed, or how you will go out of your way to help anyone, even Chloe. I love your eyes, I love your smile, I love you.”

Marinette just sat there in shock as Alya poured her heart out. How had she felt this way all along, and how had Marinette not noticed sooner?

“I understand if you don’t feel the same way, or if we can’t be together because of everything you’re dealing with, but I just had to let it out.”

The minute Alya finished talking, Marinette pulled her into her arms and held her as tight as she could.

“The reason I can’t be with anyone else is because I can’t be honest with them. Alya, I can tell you anything and I wish you knew sooner that you can do the same. Even if I didn’t feel the same way, I promise it wouldn’t have hurt our friendship.

But I do feel the same way. I can’t imagine being as close to anyone as I am with you. I can’t believe it took me this long to realize, but I love you too. I really do.”

She felt Alya’s arms tighten around her, and they sat like that for a while, listening to each other breathe, enjoying the feeling of the other in their arms, no longer holding back any feelings.

Marinette pulled away to look at Alya, and she laughed.

“You’re right, that eyeliner in your lips doesn’t look as good as I thought it would.”

Alya let out an offended laugh. “Last time I checked, you said I always look cute.” She teased.

“I never said you didn’t still look cute.”

This time, Alya was the one to lean in for the kiss.

———————

End Notes- sorry i havent been writing that much, ive been hating everything i write so i have like 5 unfinished fics in my drafts😅

[milf-merridew]

okay trans jack au brainrot time (if youre gonna shit on me for hcing jack as trans youre transphobic <3 /hj)

okay so in my au, jack thinks hes a cis girl when he comes to the island but as he spends more time there, away from the hyper-feminine gender roles hes been raised with he soon realises he Might Not Be A Girl

idk if ill make this a modern au, probably so he doesnt get fuckin hate crimed and murdered <3

anyway, also i hc that thats why he asks everyone to call him chief when hes like the leader of the tribe, so they dont call him his deadname, they call him "chief"

and like in this au when they get back to Normal Life, and go back to school n shit, jack tells his mother hes trans (lets pretend the dad is on work trips a lot so hes out of the picture for now) and starts living as a boy at school, which obviously makes his reputation go down by a lot, and because everyone loves aus where ralph transfers to jacks school, guess what,,,, ralph transfers to jacks school so he can be closer w the friends that are still alive after the island (ill probs make it that simon and piggy are miraculously alive somehow just so ralph can have some friends other than jack <3) also i hc ralph as using he/they which i think is very swag of me

also simon uses he/she/they/it <33333

the fact ive gotten to the point of hcing lotf characters as trans and enby is,,,,, sad to say the least /hj

also lets bet jack has some mad internalised homophobia coz he feels that if he were gay it would make him Less Of A Man so hes like No I Dont Like Boys At All Definitely Not

oh also warning theres some jalph in this au

tbh he probs lowkey had a crush on ralph on the island but coz he "was a girl" he was like yeah this is fine, but by the time he knew he was a boy he didnt like ralph and was against him so

also unlabelled sexuality ralph supremacy <3

anyway ralph liked jack on the island and before that he didnt think he liked girls, probs had never liked anyone before so he was like yeah i like a girl, then obvs they became enemies and the feeling went, so now jack is a boy, hes like oh alright then guess i like boys, i feel like ralph wouldnt care too much abt his sexuality but jacks over here having a heart attack trying to make himself straight,

also i feel like coz jacks reputation would have gone down coz yk he came out as trans, i feel like he wouldnt have as many friends, probs just the main choir boys, like roger and maurice but then he becomes friends w ralph, simon and piggy, and samneric are probs in there somewhere too

also hc that jacks dad is mad lgbtphobic, like whenever his dad comes home jack has to look all feminine and normal, oh my god imagine one day coz his dad is home he has to go to school presenting feminine and like gets sad coz dysphoria <33 but his friends help him through it

and before anyone comes at me for bad trans rep, i am trans so <3

yeah thats all i have for now ill add more later, please feel free to send asks to ask questions abt this au i would love to ramble about it :]