#there are a handful of male artists i listen to because there are simply no women in those genres i like and i'm not here to do tokenism

[spiderfreedom]

Not a female separatist but I'm forever grateful to them for introducing the idea of just centring women in our lives. Focusing on women artists, scientists, writers, showrunners, businessowners... and where we don't see women in those positions, asking why, and what can we do to help. Focusing on female friends and female family. Building relations and community among women to help women. Spending your $$ money $$ on women. You don't need to be a full separatist to incorporate this into your life, and imagine what women could accomplish if we just decided to focus on uplifting women as a class.

[nouearth]

12 Months

peter parker x male reader.

series: 12 Months. part i.

summary: where you couldn't possibly imagine to find love and sanctuary anywhere else, you somehow find it in the presence of a boy named peter.

wc: 4.3k. genre: angst. warnings: loner!reader, sad!reader, implied abuse, implied bullying, high school senior year, slow-burn.

a/n: i'm trying something new with my writing! mostly not using all lowercase because it became a pain to type on my phone, LOL. but i welcome you guys to my fully planned series! it's exciting, but especially kind of scary since school is coming up. i might put off requests to focus on this, if it does well, but if not, i'll slowly update. i guess the reader kind of hits close to home, a little too close, since i've been feeling some type of way recently. nonetheless, i hope you enjoy the first part!

SEPTEMBER.

The big hand of the clock flicked closer to the end of the day, the small hand circling around the circumference to pass time. 

Conversations of peers were usually drowned out with the help of your earbuds. The gentle strum of acoustics would counter the excitement of the students’ well-being; friends opinionated in after-school activities, athletes talked about the upcoming game with your rival school, artists boasted over the amount of commissions they’ve received overnight.

For the first time, you heard it all, and took it all in with an inhale, then silence as you stared at Peter Parker. The earbuds were slotted into your ear canals, but today, the wired nubs were worn to merely dull your surroundings as you awaited the intercom to bid the occupants of the building farewell for the day. Your leg shook, bouncing your book bag atop of it, and you held it steady when you hugged it close to your chest, chin resting at the strap. It appeased the throttle in your chest, but every time the classmate opened his mouth for a laugh, it swelled painfully larger. A pump to the husk of a balloon, a breath to the bubble of blue raspberry bubblegum, a vapor to the particles of billowed smoke, it continued swelling and roped your anxiety along for the journey. A part of you needed to talk to him, but the other part begged for reconsideration. 

At some point, you forgot to breathe. Feeling blue in the cheeks, you finally exhaled the caught nerves. They drew out of you in shivers, spaghetti boiling in bubbling water if the warmth of your breath could change matter. While the man listened, then talked within his small group of friends, chairs and desks were gathered around to form a circle, you examined him cautiously. If Peter was to turn his head and meet the affection in your gaze, you were lucky to have the window by your side to turn back to, feigning interest in the clouds, the sky, the breeze in the trees. Until then, his smile unmasked pearly whites that rivaled the lights that illuminated the classroom. His russet hair was pushed back, wavy locks that were brushed simply so people could easily follow the pattern with one glance. 

“Gooooood Afternoon, Midtown!” The intercom blared, and a warning from your teacher hushed your classmates into a sea of scatters. “Before we send you kiddos off, we would like to remind all of you that the Midtown Tigers will be playing against Weston’s Sea Hawks tonight! Show your support by attending the game and cheering for our team. Let’s show those dirty hawks that tonight will be the night that we can bounce back from our 18th consecutive loss!” It continued with its usual announcements of bus delays and afternoon activities before finally blaring that cathartic bell.

Footsteps crowded the halls, and your classmates joined its symphony in heavy to light strides. While you watched, your pace slowed deliberately as Peter’s friends bid him farewell. You overheard them asking him if he was going to join them in the mall, but he declined, blaming his absence on his aunt. They left one by one, until the only occupants were you, your teacher, and Peter.

“Peter?” You were up on your feet, approaching him from the back of the classroom as you slung the bag over your shoulder. Your voice cracked from the parched of your throat, mousy in performance, and you were unsure if Peter heard you. Your mouth opened again to call to him again, but he turned with a friendly smile, raising his brows in interest, and they closed.

“Oh, hey!” His face lit up when he saw you, or maybe you were convincing yourself. Not even your reflection looked at you the way Peter did. You were even surprised he recognized you. Cared to remember you. He hurriedly threw his books into his backpack before swinging it over his shoulder, meeting you in the middle of the row of desks. “What’s up?”

“I…” You’ve only spoken to him twice. The first was a mere greeting, and the second was a painful answer to his worry. 

Are you okay? Yes.

The beating in your chest hiked in rhythms, compelled gravity to rob your voice, but you were conscious enough to steal it back, softly speaking. “I just want to thank you for… last year. I never got to… properly thank you. So, thank you…” You were intoxicated by the amount of times you said those appreciative words, but gratitude sobered you up, offering the latter a small, grateful smile. 

“Oh…” The smile on Peter’s face simmered into a relieved line. He then nodded towards the door for you to follow him, and you did, silently by his side. “You don’t have to thank me, (M/N). I did what anyone would do.”

Everyone let it happened, except for you.

The hallway was quick to clear as students rushed to spend the remaining hours of their Friday without any regrets. The silence was deafening except for the squeak of your shoes and the whispered gossip between faculty members, and for a place you often labeled as your personal hell, it wasn’t so bad when it was purged of those that spawned that definition in your life.

Maybe you were walking slower, or you were keeping with Peter’s pace, or the hallways had undergone construction to stretch the floors, or the awkward silence between the both of you that blurred your perception, but the travel from your classroom to the exit of the building was a journey.

“Is he still bothering you? I don’t know if he’s in your other classes, but he’s not in mine, so…” Peter spoke up, alluding to the classmate who called you disgusting names, shoved your books to the floor, stole the change of your clothes during gym. And you wished it would stop there, at the actions of the cliché bully trope, but it never did. He pushed the door open, politely letting you out first, and you stepped into the warmth with a small thank you,’ and continued walking with him. Summer cicadas harmonized in their greeting.

“No, not anymore.” You lied, dropping that hand that once held onto the padded straps of your backpack to your side. The dark color of your pants masked the bruise on your wrist when you shoved it deep into your pocket. “I have him in a few of my classes, but luckily he’s preoccupied with his friends.”

“Geez, you got his friends too? That’s… gotta be a loud classroom.” He laughed, and you joined in to delude yourself, and Peter, into thinking everything was okay.  

The sound of multiple engines running within the yellow busses reminded you how incredibly enamored you were with Peter. By now, motors would’ve been buried by earbuds, and the walk wouldn’t have been so deafening to your ear canals. But hearing Peter’s voice soothed the damage, and you wished you had a playlist of him saying your favorite words, reading your favorite novels, rescuing you with worried comfort. You wanted to continue the conversation, change the subject, but you never knew how, so it fell to silence. Again.

“I’ll see you around, Peter.” You spoke softly again, paused when you and Peter reached the end of the sidewalk. You were familiar with Peter’s route. He lived in the opposite side of your street, and the curved path to the right practically led him back to his apartment. All he had to do was follow the beige pavement. “…and thank you, again. It means a lot.” A genuine smile, one that you haven’t been able to sprout for weeks, months you could argue, and Peter’s breath hiked.

“Of course…” It took his breath away. The cloudy day was drawing in the last of its colors, but the rare hint of your teeth, the curve of your lips, made the sky above him, behind you, bloom in the softest blues, yellows, and whites. Selfishly, he wished you smiled more, because the release that was pulled from him evened the astonishment of a child seeing stars for the very first time. 

“I’ll see you around, (M/N).”

OCTOBER.

The workload in your classes had picked up, and with the part-time job at the local bookstore, you were envious of customers who had finished their backlog of novels. Mainly working adults. Still, there was never enough hours in the day to immerse yourself in the world of a brave protagonist, slaying off demons and dragons in the pursuit of love. You never got to finish the fantasy novel you were reading, but you’d imagine it ended with the hero beheading the fire-breathing behemoth, and its head would be pridefully worn on a stick like cotton candy. Cheers erupted when the character returned, then roared when their love blessed them with one thankful kiss.

The ladder was anchored to the wooden, though creaky, floors as you held your breath from inhaling dust. When the door was pushed open by curious passersby, particles of dust sailed with the draft that was invited in, and you coughed into the crook of your arm whenever one floated into your throat. Though, you couldn’t be too annoyed. It also provided a test to see if the Halloween decorations could withstand the wind as they sat on hooks that were nailed into the ceilings. Spirals of orange and black ribbons roped cartoonish gravestones, black cats, pumpkins, skulls, ghouls, all the mascots of the holiday, from above. The draft animated them in gentle swings, delicate arcs that cooled the confined space of the bookstore, but as far as you could tell, none of them had landed on the ground.

“Looks great, (M/N)! I think we’re good on the hanging decorations!” Your manager, Anna, gave the metal ladder a strong pat before tending to the fallen dust. It shook in fear, and you did too, immediately clutching to the fly to stabilize it.

“Any else? We still haven’t decorated the windows.” You climbed down cautiously, making sure she was in your line of sight because for all you could know, she could be an omen.

“The stick on the ones I got suck, so I was thinking that we’ll decorate it on Halloween? Before opening?” She said, opening the door after to sweep out the culprits of your coughing fits. 

“Sounds good.” You collapsed the extension of the ladder once you stepped off, folding it into a thicker shape, and nodded before returning the ladder to its rightful place in the storage room.

“Doing anything fun for Halloween?! Parties?!” Anna’s voice boomed despite the door muffling it. The natural luminous of her voice was something you usually cowered away from, especially when she called for you in front of customers. Luckily, the store was closed, vacant of any witnesses to the flare of your cheeks. Cardboard boxes stacked atop of one another, and for some reason, you were suddenly determined to face your procrastination head-on. “Horror movies?!”

“Uh…” The volume of your voice was still muted despite forcing yourself to make it sonorous. It came out in staggered breaths as you flattened the boxes with your weight, stepping on them at the crease and fold, until you were able to fold them into neat, flat shapes. “Not really! I usually don’t do anything for celebrations.”

“Seriously?” The sound of sweeps came closer to you. They sounded like laughs, almost as if they were mocking you. When you looked up, it was Anna’s fretted expression that reminded you that they were just sounds. No one was here to hurt you. Laugh at you. 

It was just you and Anna. And sounds.

“Mm-hmm.” You simply answered, packing the flattened boxes into a trash bag before storing it back to where the stack previously harbored. The room felt bigger now. You exited after switching off the lights, and took Anna’s broom to sweep up the fuzzy stray materials of cardboard. 

“How come?” Her shoulder supported her leaning stance as she pressed to the wall, watching you diligently work with crossed arms. She gasped out of realization. “Oh no—did something horrible happen on Halloween? Is that why you don’t celebrate?!”

“No, nothing like that!” You laughed. It was always genuine with her. Anna was at least twenty years older than you, but she still kept the youthfulness of a child. You were envious of it. 

“I just…” Big sweeps to walnut flooring kept your mind at ease. The thick hairs brushed evenly, catching lint in the hay. They clung protectively onto the strands the more you brushed, the harder as well. It reminded you of nights, lonesome in your bed. No matter how hard you tried to remove those pesky lints, they always stayed. Always found a way to intrude. “—don’t have parties to go to.”

Nor did you have friends to watch movies with, or a willing family to celebrate with if all plans fell through. It’s been you since you can remember, and you’ve gotten used to it. Though, you’d never admit that to her.

The trail of your voice and the mindless polishing of walnut immediately foiled your discreet speech, but Anna knew better than to prod. From the day you came in for the interview, she remembered the timidness of your slouch, your pattern of speech, your orbs. One could argue that they were nerves, universal tremors one every eighteen year old got when applying for their first job. Then, she trained you. It was just you and her, and the shelves of delicate books. Over the next few weeks, Anna learned that you were as frail as the old spine of donated hardbacks. 

Her knowledge of you only sank surface-deep, barely a scratch or a wound. At one point, she thought it was because of her personality: chipper as a mourning dove, loud as her neighbor’s lawnmower on Sundays, but compared to how she met you five months ago, it delighted her to see progress. Slowly but surely, you opened up to her. She knew your favorite color, your favorite meal, your favorite novel, and she was no longer insecure. There will be a time when she’d meet the root of your soul, and if it took a month, a year, or another, she’d wait.

“Everything okay at school?” She’s been meaning to ask. It was an exciting time for a new business, but incredibly stressful as well. Most never made it after six months, especially within an industry where independent bookstores have become increasingly difficult to sustain with the presence of technology. Anna was just fortunate enough to have seen such quick growth.

Anna took the broom from your hand, stashed it back in the storage room, then guided you to a table for two near the entrance of the store. It was her favorite spot because she loved seeing the wonderment of her customers when they left with the book they couldn’t find anywhere else.

“Yeah,” You quickly answered and offered her a simple smile, devoid of any purpose but to pacify her worries. It worked on your parents, and you liked to think that it worked on Anna as well. “Well, they’re doing some construction in the school gym. I heard that they’re planning to add a room for—“

“That’s great, (M/N), but…” Her arms remained crossed, below her chest, and she nodded to the bruise on your cheek. Purple bloomed high on your cheekbone. Occasionally, it throbbed whenever a draft hit your frail skin. You assumed it was its way to kiss it better, and so you would let it in seek of sating the empty feeling in your stomach. “That. I meant the bruise…”

“Oh—“ Out of instinct, your hand reached up to dab at the purpling skin. Numbed at the first layer, but you pressed deeper, and you hid a jolt with a sudden clear of your throat. “Uh… cat— got me. My mom always said to never play with strays.”

It was a lame excuse and you knew it. Anna did too. Before you could see her face scrunch into a stew of concern, you turned the bruised cheek away and looked to the heights of the sky, out the window, and wished you could fly into the night.

On Halloween, the promotion regarding a sale on donated books, though only paperbacks, if you wore a costume propelled the place to a considerable height. The small size of the store felt even smaller, even more so as Anna’s playlist Halloween music blared in the wall stereo. The sound waves and chatters of excited customers confined you, and you shrunk yourself in corners where it would be coldest. Anna took care of the crowd of patrons, while you assembled the paperbacks in a neatly order within the shelves. 

Anna didn’t expect you to comply in participating in the event of Halloween, so the elation in her face was immediately framed in your mind when she hugged you tight, bruising enough to beckon the former bruise on your cheek to reappear, in your Where’s Waldo outfit. Simple, but you were a simple man.

“Excuse me?” An inquisitive voice tore your focus from arranging the novels in alphabetical order. You were kneeling to fill the lower shelf that was too low for anyone to comfortable browse through, but maintained the position as the crowd seemed to have closed in on you. “Do you know if this book qualifies for the sale, or is it paperback only?”

You looked up through your artificial glasses, and the size of your eyes matched the roundness of your frames when it embarrassingly didn’t take you very long to uncover who was under the layer of green face paint. “Peter?”

“O-oh! (M/N), you work here?” His eyes also widened, but he was sober enough to reach his hand out for you to grab onto. “That’s fitting, I guess. You always went to the library during lunch—I-I mean, not that I watch you or anything. I just— happened to notice…” The heat from your palm jumped onto Peter’s when you held on and pulled yourself to your feet. You weren’t sure what to respond to first, but the closed distance between you and Peter was distracting. A fleeting feeling in your chest, and it still overstays it welcome when you backed a step away. 

Peter’s never been so close to you. He could smell the scent of ocean mist that he likened to previous shopping trips ago. His aunt may would drag him to the nearest retail store and he’d spend every second of the agonizing trip smelling laundry scent boosters while she stocked up on the pantry. He laughed to himself. You seemed like the type to use those.

“Thanks, uh…” You carefully took the hardback in your hand, examining it with several cycles of flips. It was in mint condition. Usually, a poorer state allowed an extra discount. “The sale is only for paperbacks, but…” Your eyes scanned the room. Fewer people now. Anna was still busy entertaining those that came to participate in the costume contest, a sudden endeavor to drive engagement.

“I can make an exception.” There was a swell in Peter’s heart when you gave him a smile, an uncertain small one, but nonetheless, a smile that warmed his insides. He wouldn’t have minded if he had paid full price anyhow, but he also wouldn’t reject the opportunity to save money. 

He followed your steps to the back, away from the engaged crowd, and stilled as you began checking him out. “Just one book?” You looked up, and his lips were already parted as if he was about to say something, but he nodded instead.

Another moment of silence as you took his card after applying the sale to his book, and your fingers drummed to the beat of the music to fill it out, awaiting the receipt to print out. Whenever you had the courage to look at him, he was immersed in the ambiance of the bookstore. Smiling to himself, to Anna, to the laughter of the crowd, and you couldn’t help but hide one yourself, to the ground. When Peter faced you again, you quickly looked away in time, and the receipt rolled out in one smooth motion.

“How are you? Is it always this busy? I’ve never heard of this place.” Peter had a habit of stacking multiple questions with his own observations, with statements, with more questions. Rambles, people would call it. He was attentive, curious, and it all made him the more endearing.

“I’ve been doing okay. Tired, mostly. Miss Wilson’s been keeping me up though.” It was your attempt at a joke, and luckily, it landed when Peter laughed in agreement, elated as if he’d been waiting for the culprit of all-nighters to be of subject.

“Right?!” Peter shook his head when you asked if he wanted a bag, and continued, tucking the book in his armpit when you returned it to him. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love her—she’s awesome. But chill out on the essays! An essay about our essays is a task sent from the devil himself.”

A chuckle escaped from your lips, and a wider smile brimmed your face in support. For the first time, you felt compelled to talk, to engage into conversation.  “Yeah, I missed a few deadlines, but she’s pretty lenient with late work, thankfully.”

“Really? I have a feeling it’s because it’s you! You’re probably her favorite student since you always get the right answers when she calls on you.” He laughed again to escape the awkwardness of his compliment. Subtle, but he hoped you took it pridefully.

Peter looked to the side to see if anyone was coming to conclude their purchase for the night, and was delighted to see the hardwood floor left unattended. “Are you doing anything after this? It’s Halloween, so I imagine people are probably out partying or something.”

“I’m not really a party person.” You nodded to assure yourself, mindlessly rearranging the supplies around the desk to avoid the gaze of his eyes. It sucked you in once, couldn’t look back even if you tried. It was only when Peter turned himself away that you were no longer staring into warm chestnuts. “I only dressed like this since I’d probably look a little out of place if I showed up in my usual uniform, haha.”

“You look cu—“ Peter hurriedly cut himself off, frantic before smiling again. “Nice. You look nice.”

“Thank you,” You returned his smile, soft in form. “What about you? Are you doing anything?”

“Well, I’m not a party person either—oh! There’s this new horror movie that came out a week ago! I’ve been dying to see it,” Peter sparked, gently bouncing on his toes as hope frayed within his words. “If you’re free, would you want to watch it with me?”

“Oh—“ For the first time, you had the option to say ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ and for some reason, Peter was always at the crime of your firsts. “W-what time? I’ll have to see if it’s okay with Anna if—“

“Let me see…” Light reflected off of Peter’s faced as he searched on his phone, but a buoyant smile that revealed his teeth shined brighter. “One showing at eight, another at ten, and one final one at midnight!”

“Is… midnight okay?” You hesitantly asked, and Peter brightened.

“Midnight is perfect.”

When you left from work, you didn’t bother to call for your parents. It would’ve gone to voicemail anyhow. Instead, Anna took the excited initiative to drive you to the theater despite your assurance that walking would’ve sufficed.

Nonsense! I’m getting my coat. Hold on! Stay right there!

The mystery of what held the rest of the night for you frightened you to the core. What if everything went downhill from here? What if Peter never showed up? What if this had been a prank all along? During the car ride, you breathed, and breathed, and breathed.

And then, breathed. 

Inhaled.

Blew in one continuous breath.

Inhaled.

Your chest ran steady again.

That night, Peter made you feel normal. As normal as someone like you could be. 

You didn’t plan on getting your fingers buttery, but Peter assured you that his  popcorn wasn’t going to finish itself. You shared your sour gummies in return. Peter jumped when a ghost flew to the screen, and you did the same from his own erratic movements. You watched the film through half-closed eyes, peeking between the cracks of your greasy fingers, prepared to be startled by the sound of a door closing, and you laughed silently to yourself because it was silly when you flinched to a cat scurrying away.

While you focused, the structure of your nose and lips, your entire side profile, were handsomely illuminated by the flickers of the screen and Peter took in the animation of your presence, a behemoth contrast of the you he’d known silently for years; the you that kept to himself, ate at lunch by himself, did group projects by himself, studied in the library by himself, walked home by himself. It was pathetic, many would heckle to their circle of friends. Peter overheard the tease and taunts, and he wanted to defend you in those moments. But he couldn’t, not until he knew you.

When you felt the air thicken, you turned to Peter and his gaze unfurled the heavy cloud between the two of you until it vanished into smoke. It sucked you in; his eyes. And you stared wide-eyed, bewildered and lost in the sea of broken stars the screen illustrated in Peter’s orbs. They twinkled with every cut of the scene, sparkling under the terror of the performer’s haunting, until they no longer didn’t when he turned away. 

Crimson blanched and wilted into his face, radiated even in the dark when you followed and turned back to the screen. You felt your cheeks rivaling in swatch.

For the first time, you weren’t scared. 

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[capslocked]

VANITY

male reader x kim chaewon

5k words

"Quarter to six?"

"Quarter to six."

"Quarter to six?" you ask one more time checking your watch, praying for a different answer.

She repeats herself with stern punctuation, "Quarter to six."

You hazard the obvious question, "I thought you said check-in was at seven?"

"I also said we’re meeting everyone for drinks at a quarter to six. You should listen to me more often."

"Well. Shit." You swing yourself about the door frame of the bathroom, your dress socks on the wood floor like skates on an ice rink. "Then we probably need to get ourselves—"

Your eyes immediately find Chaewon’s reflection in the mirror, astonishing, mesmerizing, confounding.

"Whoa." You have no idea if the word actually spills out of your mouth or the airy sound it makes is audible only in your thoughts.

A shy smile dimples her cheeks, pretending it doesn’t notice the obvious leer on your face. "How do I look?"

Gorgeous. Ravishing. Fuckable.

You swallow that candor back down somewhere into your throat before it might otherwise escape you, completely unrestrained.

"You look—incredible." The word sticks to the roof of your mouth as you dart your attention up and down the tiny cocktail dress that barely even constitutes clothing. Its black fabric hugs the contour of her figure so tightly it leaves little to the imagination, but even then you can’t stop imagining all the ways you might rid her of it.

Admittedly, perhaps shamefully, you didn’t think much of Chaewon the first time you met her. Just another pretty girl that would get up on stage to sing and dance—big deal. However, something wouldn’t let you leave it alone. Not only were you wrong, she made damn sure you were sorry for it. You’d found her obstinate, a tad selfish, and more than anything, entirely irresistible.

Before your brain can chide your hands, you saunter forward and wrap yourself around her hips.

"You’re late ya know."

"I wonder why that might be," you say, pressing your lips into her bare shoulder. Your nose tickles the bottoms of her primly cut hair and you breathe in deep. The muddled mix of her shampoo, perfume and the perfect smell that is simply her—it makes a flutter rise in your chest as you let the breath roll off your shoulders.

"You certainly weren’t putting up much of a protest."

"Didn’t realize I had been given a choice."

She smirks, the playful warmth in her eyes holding your reflection with ease. "That’s because you weren’t."

Chaewon pulls your hands forward, folding them gently atop her stomach, the thin material of her dress letting you feel the tightness of those muscles above her waist.

Grabbing a makeup brush off the counter, she delicately applies the finishing touches on a canvas of smooth, porcelain skin, the masterwork of an artist, stretching out along the meticulously drawn lines that define her figure. Your eyes on her and it fast becomes a grand heist of stolen glances; the perfect cut of silky hair resting at her jaw, sculpted eyebrows, sweeping lashes, those perfect lips—the true injustice being that she was so much more than simply the sum of her parts.

You blink your way out of the riptide of brown and gold in Chaewon’s eyes. "Should probably call your friends and let them know we’re running behind schedule."

"Why can’t you?" she asks, "I gave you Minju’s number didn’t I?"

"Well, I mean, they’re not my friends."

Her reflection shoots an eyebrow up somewhere behind those jet black bangs. "Since when are you worried about first impressions?"

"I dunno Chae—you tell me—are they the kind of people to judge a book by its cover?"

"As if there’s anything in those pages of yours worth reading."

Lowering your head, you whisper gently into her ear, "didn’t stop you from paging through them earlier today. Twice."

"Please," she pleads, sparing you a pitiful laugh and slapping playfully at your hands.

Chaewon turns herself in your arms, pulling the hem of that less-than-modest cocktail dress again over the curve of her rear—a battle she’d doubtlessly wage against the fickle garment all evening, one you can’t imagine you’ll ever tire of watching. Hell, you’re not even sure who you’re rooting for.

You watch her eyes widen, glistening, as she reaches her hand up along the edge of your jaw, feeling your smooth, fresh shaven face between her fingers. "You clean up surprisingly nice ya know."

You cock an eyebrow. "Surprisingly?"

Finding a bounce in her feet, Chaewon lifts herself out of her heels. No more than an inch or two, failing to arrive where she wants to be, she repeats the motion several times—her blatantly conspicuous method of demanding you reach down and kiss her.

"Chae… Is there something I can do for you?" you ask, a grin betraying your attempt to play dumb.

"You ass. Come here." A small huff billowing out of her chest, she teases her fingers at the smooth skin on your neck. "Let me at least get a kiss before this becomes all stubbly—otherwise I imagine I’ll have better luck making out with sandpaper."

Before you even get the chance to sink your shoulders, she wraps her fingers around the bottom of your tie, and with a twist and a tug she pulls you into her.

A kiss, sweet but efficient, lingers between you no longer than is prudent. The next, short and inquisitive, is like a second serving of ice cream—inadvisable. For a brief moment, you hold each other with your eyes, able to communicate far more than either of you could ever say. And the third, foolish as it is inviting, finds the last of your inhibition wanting.

You let yourself sink into her, the taste on her lips warming, welcoming, tempting. The spaces between your kisses fill no longer with shy smiles and bated breath, but with profound longing, crashing again in emboldening familiarity.

Your fingers dip dangerously at the hem of Chaewon’s dress, the boundary where smooth skin meets impossibly thin fabric—a playground of reckless decisions. Opposite of you, in no less good judgment, she slides her hands up your chest, quietly lifting your jacket up off your shoulders and finding room for it on the countertop beside you.

Your lips stretch into a coy smirk against hers. "What are you doing?"

Chaewon opens her eyes, mischief smoking from beneath her long lashes, and her voice lilts, "nothing."

She holds her gaze with you, her eyes smoldering with the same playfulness that paints the subtle smirk stretching across her face. She maintains her composure, delicately sweeping her bangs back perfectly into place with one hand, as though she weren’t prying her fingers into the buckle of your belt with the other.

"That’s a whole lot of nothing for someone who was—seconds ago mind you—on my case to hurry up."

"And you’re talking a lot for someone I can feel already getting hard through his pants."

You dig your fingers into the roundness of her ass, pulling her body flush against yours. "I thought you said we were meeting everyone for drinks at six?"

"And I also said check in was at seven," she says, snapping the belt away from your hips.

"You’re insatiable."

"Well, you’re the one who decided to kiss me."

Your eyebrows twist skeptically. "I don’t think that’s how I would describe it."

Her eyes run across the features of your face, resting on the glances she so loved to steal—finding herself contemplating how best she might put your lips to good use. Chin lifted, her voice opens again, "Are you calling me a liar?"

"Perhaps." A flat chuckle breaks your response. "Among other things."

Your hands wander from her waist, up the slender contour of her narrow frame, and you find the shoulder straps of her dress. Rolling them between your fingertips proves them to be as delicate and dainty as they look, easy to sweep off her shoulders with hardly even a simple push.

"Go on then. Let’s get it all out of your system." She unbuttons the front of your pants, sending them to a heap collapsed around your ankles. "What else?"

You think for barely a moment, chirping the first thing that comes to your head. "You’re self-centered."

She pinches the inside of your waistband with her fingertips, pulling it as far as the poor garment will allow before releasing it with a loud thwap. "Uh-huh."

"Spoiled rotten."

"Now that seems a little cold," she says, her voice feigning a despondent tone.

You pull the straps of her dress over her shoulders, letting them fall helplessly down the bare skin on her arms. "And you’re a bit of a brat."

Chaewon’s knuckles fight the tightness of your shorts as she slides her hand to meet the bulge stirring beneath them. She watches closely at the quick breath you draw through tucked lips as she lets her fingers find their favorite spots along your length.

You should be better at this game you play—it’s only the thousandth time you’ve played it. And the score hasn’t been worth keeping for a long time. Maybe somewhere along the way you could’ve picked up a trick or two, but Chaewon is always a step ahead of you, untouchable.

"And still—" Chin lifted, she taps her finger against her lips, her grip beneath the waistband of your shorts tightening. "You want to fuck me so bad."

If she didn’t know it then, she knows it now: somewhere inside you, a red light turns green. You see Chaewon’s mouth opening again, another taunt ready to launch from it, but you steal from her the opportunity, your hand reaching at the nape of her neck, tilting it back—you capture her tender lips again between yours.

Your hands under her arms, you lift her up onto the counter and her legs wrap themselves around you, the edge of her helpless dress rolling up along her thighs until it springs up around her stomach. Her kisses drag along your cheek until you can hear the heat of her breath in your ear.

"What was it you called me? Insatiable?" She works her hand still beneath the tight confines of your shorts as best as they might allow, varying the strength of her fingers’ grip around you—not to mention the unyielding touch of her palm—she rouses your cock fast against its confines. A haughty laugh precedes her. "When you’re this fucking hard?"

"Oh please. Pot, meet kettle." Dragging a finger tip up across the warmth of her entrance, sampling the damp fabric daring to hide it from you still, you listen to her suck a sharp breath past her teeth. 

Mimicking the smug tone of Chaewon’s voice just now, you taunt, "Chae, it lacks a lot of bite when you’re this fucking wet."

You pull the top of her dress down past her chest, two perfect handfuls of soft breasts jumping out over it, two tempting dark buds begging for your lips, your tongue, your teeth. Your nose runs the length of the cleavage gathered in your hands, before again finding her kiss. Once politely, and again expectantly, you pass your tongue against the swell of her lips until finally she lets you in.

"Mmph…" Her muscles jump as you slip your hand again between her thighs, your fingernails ever so barely making contact with gray fabric underneath them. Acquainting themselves quickly to their hot surroundings, your fingertips discover the touches that always make Chaewon weak.

"Twice just wasn’t—enough for you today was it?—you poor thing," you slip forward in the labored breaths between your kisses.

"If we’re keeping count." She bites onto your lip and her hands slide up your chest, looking for something to moor herself to as you press hard against her aching hole, a quiver jolting through her hips. "You only—came in me once."

"I don’t know Chae," you tease, forcing your way past the elastic band around her waist, drawing a gasp from Chaewon’s throat as you dip fingers past the wet warmth you discover. "Weren’t you going on and on about how upset Minju and Yena might be if we’re late?"

“Oh—” She squirms at the pad of your thumb, callously brushing her own wetness over and around her swollen bud. "Screw Minju. Screw Yena. And screw you."

"Well if that’s the case—suppose I could go all by myself." You begin to lean yourself away from her when she reaches for your wrist.

"Do not," she whispers, finding you again with her eyes, now lit so clearly ablaze with want and need.

Her chest jumps at the pleasure you bring, rubbing circles against her freshly shaved mound, and she can’t control the shy smile forming at the corners of her mouth as you drag and tug at the lips of her pussy on each revolving pass. One finger slips inside her warmth, squeezing past her tight entrance. She closes her eyes and tucks her chin to her chest, slowly drawing a purposeful breath in through her nose.

Her hands clutch greedily onto the fabric of your shirt, as you continue to explore the warmth of her hole, teasing at the spots you’ve long learned to recognize, the ones that could make her sing.

“So.” Rubbing and caressing the warm walls around it, your finger makes way for a second, Chaewon shuddering at the sudden inclusion. "You want to cum on my fingers? Or my tongue?"

"Don’t tease me." Her fingers grip tightly around the shape you imprint against your underwear and her brow furrows. "I want this."

There’s a part of you that wants to refuse her, especially when she dons that pouting look, eyes blazing and scowling—you’re convinced she’d trademarked it—but you’ve been trying your best to persuade your thoughts to think of anything other than pinning her to the wall since you caught her reflection in the bathroom mirror. There was no chance.

You feel Chaewon clench around you as you slowly drag your fingers out of her pussy, your fingers coated still in her warm wetness. A step back and the two of you let your eyes communicate to each other exactly what it is you need. Two sets of underwear sliding down off your legs, you both gaze upon temptation, upon the only thing that might release you from it.

Your fingers still wet with the fruits of her excitement, you pump them liberally around your cock, lathering a slippery sheen from hilt to head. Chaewon’s eyes still fix closely on you, like an architect reading a set of blueprints, or a musician a new piece of sheet music, she studies you, undoubtedly taking meticulous notes. Even with the experience she’d built, entanglement after entanglement, seducing orgasm after orgasm out of you, she always had a hunger for more.

Coaxing her forward on the counter, she raises her hips and hangs her ass just over the edge of it, supporting herself on the hands she plants onto the counter behind her. Chaewon whines as you rub the tip of your cock between the lips of her pussy, gathering more of the wetness that glistens and shines around the warmth radiating just beneath its beautiful folds.

You shuffle your feet, adjusting your height to hers. "Ready?"

She hooks herself off the back of your neck, lip curling between her teeth, and for the first time in a while, Chaewon has no cute response, no quip to needle. She simply nods her head.

"Fuck," she hisses, her face wincing as you push yourself into her warm embrace. The further and further you fill her, the more you can feel her stretch to receive you. You hang your head a moment on her shoulder, overwhelmed by the heat, the depth, the tightness that is Chaewon around you. It doesn’t matter how many times you’d buried yourself inside her, it always rearranges your thoughts, makes it difficult to speak.

"Chae—god—you’re tight."

Your hips are second to move, Chaewon quickly lifting hers against you, desperately searching for the friction they now so desperately crave. She punches her breath into your ear, teasing again, "C’mon now. It’s not your first time—don’t just stand there."

A groan leaks from your chest, your cock carefully moving itself again past her entrance. You struggle with the tie around your neck, and Chaewon gathers the cue to start working at the buttons down your shirt, freeing you of everything save a pair of dress socks you hope she wouldn’t look down to notice. Though luckily she’s more interested in your lips—reaching her hands into your hair and seizing you into a kiss of her own. You can feel the vibration of each quiet moan that escapes her lungs rattle off your teeth as your slow thrusts find a momentary rest, deep in the heat of her aching cunt.

You cup Chaewon’s breasts between your fingers, squeezing the soft malleable skin a tad harder than you should, and a strained yelp spills through the seal of your kiss. The sound only persuades you to find her swollen nipples, rolling and gently twisting the sensitive flesh between your fingertips. You drink in the sounds of her reactions, wincing and gasping, working her between your hands.

Slowly, on account of the way Chaewon manages to suck you in, you find yourself moving faster, hitting deeper, the connection between your lips struggling to meet your rhythm. Chaewon’s legs reach around you, pulling you further into her at the end of each thrust, wrapping and gripping your cock with a perfect warmth. It’s your turn to roll your lip past your teeth, biting down to find a momentary release as the feeling of Chaewon’s tight body becomes foolishly enjoyable. You stammer, "You feel so fucking good Chae."

She closes her eyes tight. "Yeah—you’re—making me—so—wet."

Heavy breaths slice the words coming from Chaewon’s mouths into fragments, each rising and falling with the motion of your hips crashing against hers. "Your cock—it feels so—amazing."

Reaching forward, you find the soft skin beneath Chaewon’s jaw with your lips. The way she looks, the way she feels, the way she sounds—your thoughts are filled with her. A taste of salt from the first few beads of sweat enters your mouth, and there’s little left you can do to possibly escape her.

"Fucking—," Chaewon groans, her fingers digging into your back, "I need it faster—harder."

You pull yourself off her, untangling her arms and legs from your back and in one swift motion, gathering her ankles together over your shoulder. The toes of her shoes click against one another as you position her where you want her, where you need her. The weight of her round thighs pressed into one another—the slick walls around you—you feel it almost pushing you out of her warmth completely. But you dig in on your heels, pushing yourself into her and relishing the unreal tightness that you bury yourself in, again and again.

The sounds off her lips, they drive you mad. The look on her face, it drives you mad. The grip she has on your throbbing cock, it drives you mad. But its her eyes—filled now with urgency and need—lustful eyes that drink in the image of you fucking her, trusting eyes that look to you provide everything she could ever desire, gentle eyes that hold you tender yet, they effortlessly set your heart aflame.

No longer committed to words, having found the adjusted angle, the new depth, the novel sensation of your cock burying itself into her, she simply lets out a long, seedy moan, one that starts on the lofted pitch of a particularly lustful note, and ends panting miserably beneath her breath.

"Chae," You groan, teeth gritting as you slam your hips into the soft cushioning of her thighs, "you feel incredible."

"Faster." The word barely makes it over the out-of-breath puffs of dry air that heave off her chest. "Please—I need more."

You give her more. And then some. There’s little you can hear beyond the sound of your own thighs slapping wet skin against hers. Each time you bury yourself into her, you can hear the blood rush to your head, spinning and twisting your thoughts about and flushing back down as you pull yourself out along the slippery walls of her pulsing cunt. You hug tighter at the legs across your chest, gripping Chaewon’s delicate body and racking it beneath you—her moans grow louder, more intense, more needy.

Again her voice rasps, "faster."

Always is everything on her terms. It doesn’t quite make you angry, but you’d be lying through your teeth if you said she didn’t often frustrate you. You slow yourself at the end of a long stroke, dragging your throbbing length slowly out of her pussy and wiping sweat from your brow. "Hop down."

Exasperated, she complains, "What the hell are you—"

"Hop down."

Chaewon’s eyebrows twist in confusion, and she whines as you pull yourself from her grip completely. Her feet land on the floor and a huff of hot air shoots from her chest. Just because she’s a handful doesn’t mean you can’t steer her with a commanding voice, the sternest you can muster—a commodity increasingly in demand.

"Now turn around."

With a slight hesitation, and her gaze lingering in yours, she shuffles and faces the mirror. You press yourself behind her, your slick shaft welcomed by two gentle curves of her ass. She’s caught in your reflection, just as you are in hers. You watch closely how her lips purse and her eyes shut tight the moment you take her breasts in your hands. "Do you want me to make you cum?"

A quiet voice, subdued and meek, splits the silence, "yes."

You lean forward, lips hovering against her ear. "Grab the sink."

For once, Chaewon does as she is told, her fingers curling over the top of the chic white bowl beneath the mirror. The hourglass of her figure presenting itself perfectly at your waist, you grab a hold of hers, the bunched fabric of her dress filling your hand.

You dip your finger into her folds, quivering in exactly the messy state you’d left them. "Tell me exactly what I should do."

She raises her face between her shoulders, eyes practically glaring at you through the mirror. "Fuck me."

The tip of your cock against her, you tease the lips around her entrance, the obvious look of need filling in Chaewon’s expression."Aw—Chae—we both know you can give better directions than that."

Begrudgingly, desperately, she plays along. "I want you—I need you—to fuck me until I—"

You watch her mouth gape and her eyes widen as you drive into her. Burying yourself in the inviting, stretching, grips of her pussy, your hips land flush against the soft tender skin of her ass. It's an angle that hits deep, Chaewon still struggling to vocalize the words failing to leave her tongue, but as you thrust yourself into her again, the look of shock becomes one of pure euphoria.

You can feel a specific fatigue, one that arrives with three sessions—Chaewon’s appetite voracious—in a little under twelve hours, but any weary thoughts you harbor are galvanized by the image of Chaewon’s toned, tight, athletic body, folded against your waist, writhing in the pleasure only you could bring. Finding again a tumultuous rhythm, you fuck the girl in your hands with reckless abandon.

"How does that feel Chae?" Tightening your grip on the fabric of her dress, you pull her back into each of your thrusts, her ass receiving your hips and ringing with a strident slap.

"So hard—so deep," she gasps, her voice trailing off into an urgent cry, "so—fucking—amazing!"

The prim cut of jet black hair that rests on her shoulders had become disheveled and unruly, a rare sight. Her face twists and contorts deliciously in front of you as she watches attentively at the way you fuck her.

"God—God—God, fuuuuck!" she cries, rolling her hips back and rocking opposite your thrusts. Yearning, pleading, she needs you and your cock bad. Sinking her face between her shoulders, she slides forward onto the counter. "There. There. There. There!"

You can see only one hand, knuckles clenched, grip helplessly at the sink, while the other steals away between her thighs, rubbing and caressing at the hot mess between them. There was never an enough for Chaewon—always needing more attention, love, pleasure—little was ever sufficient.

The dress around her waist, bundled and clutched in your hands makes the perfect rein, and you pull back on its makeshift strap, bringing Chaewon’s shoulders nearly flat against yours. Taking in the image first on the mirror, your flushed faces inches apart, gasping for breath, you bend and kiss at the skin that draws her neck from her shoulder.

"Fuck—fuck—fuck—fuck!" The cries of pleasure keep you locked into a dangerous cadence, slamming your hips into her, filling her with your throbbing shaft. She mewls, she moans, and you reach a hand against her breasts, pressing together soft skin—an outlet for your pleasure and a conduit for hers. "You’re gonna—I’m—fuck!"

You whisper into her ear, catching a nipple between your fingers, twisting, teasing, tormenting. "Cum on this cock Chaewon—cum however you like."

Her voice is hoarse, but still she begs, "Tell me—tell me how you like fucking me."

"Chae," you strain against gritted teeth, "I fucking love it."

"Tell me there’s no one—no one better."

"Nobody—" you clench your eyes tight, letting the blood flow anywhere else in your head. "Nobody is even close."

"I can’t!—Fucking—I can’t!—god it’s so—fuck!"

The words out of her mouth are less and less cohesive, your name, curses and nonsense all muddled beneath her breath in whatever order the pleasure reeling through her head prefers. She moans, she mewls, and all too obviously, she seeks release.

Her eyes find yours through the reflection above the sink, smoldering, they say a thousand words, most of them fuck and please admittedly, but you recognize the look that makes your heart, droning along its dull beat, catch fire and race—the one she held beneath her lashes the first time she told you she loved you, and every time after that.

She’s obstinate, selfish. She can be a bit of brat. But she’s perfect. And she’s yours.

"Chae I’m gonna—"

Just a little more, she mouths silently, nodding her head and struggling to keep her eyes open still, stealing everything they need from you.

It takes everything in you to keep yourself from crossing that threshold, to make it just a little more. Cumming together was for fairy tales, and you weren’t going to be around to see the look on Chaewon’s face should you beat her to it. You bite your lip, your cheek, your hands press relentlessly into her breasts, her ass, anything that might distract you just a few more precious moments from the intense, quivering heat clenching around your shaft.

"Fuuuuuck."

The word is long and drawn out. Through its vowels, it meanders from its initial register a scale of wildly salacious notes, each one more debauched and husked than the last, until finally it lands hard, crackling on those final consonants. Chaewon’s body goes rigid, landing forward again against the counter.

Leaning into her, you follow the curving rise of her spine, fingers digging harshly into the perfect shape of her ass—pulling her into the ends of your thrusts. She quivers and quakes, trembling through the storm of pleasure you’d both created between her legs. It clutches you, clenches around you.

"Fuck, Chae, I’m gonna fucking cum—"

A surprisingly lucid moment has you both staring into each other, Chaewon’s face twisted and strained—her eyebrows curling and her lip between her teeth—she nods. And on a particularly deep, rather unforgiving thrust, she takes you completely into her. The warmth envelops you and you begin to feel dizzy. You don’t even know how to describe the sound that leaves your lips, but it makes the tension building in your head more bearable all the same.

Chaewon’s cunt still quivering in ecstasy, you erupt.

Her voice rasps past your ears as you continue to fuck your cum into her, "Fuck—baby, that’s it, cum for me."

As much as you want to continue soaking in the visual in front of you, the curve of her back, the flare of her hips, the flustered look on her face, your eyes shut tight. A primal instinct, involuntary and cruel. You feel each jolt from your hips delivering more of your hot release deep into Chaewon’s orgasm—clenching and pulling you further into her.

Your hips slow to a halt, your cock still resting in her, and Chaewon reaches up again, finding your lips in a clumsy kiss, her lips cool, wet and comforting. Heavy breaths shared between you start to rouse you back into reality and the noise of Chaewon’s phone buzzing stridently on the vanity rips you both back into the world of the living.

Minju’s smiling face appears atop her name on the dark screen—slowly vibrating its way to the edge of the counter. You pant, gathering enough breath to ask the obvious question, "Are you gonna answer that?"

Chaewon stares at it blankly for a couple seconds, weighing her options, before finally reaching forward and picking it up. Her breathing still beleaguered, she does her best attempt at whipping a composed voice together.

"No—we’re still—I know, I’m sorry."

She mouths to you, pointing expectantly at the heap of clothes on the floor. And then she sees it.

"Were you wearing those socks the whole fucking time?—no, Minju, I mean—I’m sorry that was—" She gives you a sour look and tosses your jacket out the door. Holding her phone against her neck, Chaewon’s instructions are clear, "Check-in is at seven."

[scekrex]

hey, hear me out, Adam with a reader with lots of tattoos, like, the WHOLE body, and Adam finds the reader really badass and try to do a tattoo too but he totally regrets it afterwards

Okay so reader's not only tattooed but also a self-taught tattoo artist bc I said so °^° I hope ya like Adam's breakdown over a shitty tattoo <3

He can fix it

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

Adam adored every single drop of ink that had been poked underneath your skin, even if he didn’t understand certain design choices, he loved your tattoos, thought they made you look badass.

And then one day you had gotten home from yet another appointment, heaven had two, maybe three tattoo studios and the only one near you was fucking shitty so getting a tattoo always went hand in hand with being gone for at least three days - yet it was always worth the travel because at least they did a good job. There was one little studio close to you, the artists weren’t nice, their work wasn’t good and every damn day you wondered how they managed to pay rent because there was simply no way people were actually getting tattooed there. But on the other hand it really wasn’t your place to judge because you had started just as shitty when you had started to learn the skill of tattooing. You hadn’t tattooed others though, only ever practiced on fake skin or your own body.

So when you got home from your latest appointment and proudly showed Adam your newest tattoo, the first man was quite surprised that it was related to him. You proudly flexed your forearm as you showed him the artwork of the battle ax version of his guitar that would now forever be on your skin. “You’re absolutely fucking insane, babes,” he wispered as his hand grabbed your wrist in order to pull your arm closer to his face to see the artwork up close. It was a super detailed image that left Adam breathless, he loved it so much. “This is fucking on point, and the blood sinner dripping from it? Holy fuck man.” You shot him a teasing grin as you pulled your arm back to grab the first man by his collar and pull him in, “So, when do ya get my weapon tattooed?” It wasn’t meant as an honest question, you knew Adam adored tattoos on your skin but getting inked up himself? He wasn’t so sure about it. The pain he would be able to handle without any problems, that wasn’t his deal at all. It was more about the design. And to be fair? Getting your halberd tattooed sounded like a great fucking idea in his ears. So he offered you an equally teasing smirk as he tilted his chin upwards and confidently replied, “I’m gonna make an appointment right fucking now.” You curiously raised an eyebrow at Adam, he had been so quick to decide for something so permanent? It wasn’t that the first man was against inking up his own skin - far from it actually, he had told you so often that he wanted tattoos too, but whenever you had offered to design him one he had backed out. So this decision came quite surprisingly. "You sure? Y’know that ya don’t have to-” “Oh shut your fucking mouth, I fucking know okay? "BUT I wanna.” His voice didn’t sound as confident anymore and you seriously questioned the decision he had just made. But if he was so sure about it, you would let him have some fun. He had to know what he was doing, that really wasn’t your place to tell him no.

-

Adam had made an appointment at the tattoo studio near your apartment, you had told him that their work lacked skill but he had simply ignored it, had told you that it’ll be fine. He simply was too lazy to travel so fucking far for something as simple as a tattoo, and seriosly how bad could it be?

Well, very fucking bad.

Because when the brunette opened the door to your shared apartment and his eyes met yours, you knew they had fucked up. There was disappointment in his expression, guilt for not listening to you and discomfort for what they had done to his body. They had ruined it, the lines were wobbly, the coloring was so inaccurate and the details of the carvings had been completely ignored, for fucks sake, Adam was sure a toddler would’ve done better.

You got up from the couch immediately, “Show me,” there was no excitement in your voice and the first man knew you were aware of the situation. “Fuck no,” Adam pressed his left forearm thightly against his chest, ignoring the pain that shot through his arm at the firm contact. His wings pushed you back a little as he wrapped them around you in order to feel protected - he was in pure discomfort. Why did he think going to that studio had been a good idea? You had informed him that their work wasn’t good, you had warned him. And he had actively decided to ignore that warning and now he would never be able to wear fucking short sleeved tops again. That’s how much he hated what they did to him. “Ain’t no fucking way I let you see this shit.” You sighed and your eyes softened a little, providing some comfort - you weren’t mad at Adam, why should you? But you guessed the way you had demanded to see the clearly fucked up tattoo made it seem like you were. “Adam, the tone of your voice matched the kindness your eyes offered and you gently reached for his wrist, “Show me so I can make a plan to fix it.”

His eyes shifted from the fresh tattoo that was covered by the sleeve of his robe to you and with a sigh he sunk his wings and extended his arm in your direction so that you could have a look. “They let you leave with that piece of shit on your skin?” you complained and looked at the LED expression his mask offered. “I’m here and that shit is on my arm, so yeah, they fucking did.” You guided him into the bedroom, letting him sit down on the bed. Your hands reached for his mask and carefully pulled it off his head, exposing his face, his eyes were filled with anger, sadness and regret. “Put on a shirt and a pair of sweatpants, calm yourself down a little and come to me when you’re ready okay?” You placed a quick kiss on the tip of his nose, “I’ll set up my tattoo needle and I’ll fix that mess for ya. Take all the time you need for that.” You were about to pull back and give him some space as he grabbed your wrist tightly and looked at you with wide eyes, “You can fix it?” You playfully rolled your eyes and shrugged, “Fuck yeah I can fix it bae.”

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

out of curiosity, do you have any preferred headcanons for how tall the members of the Batfam are? who's the tallest to shortest?

listen I don't have exact measurements but I do have vibes. I'm going to say right out of the gate that I simply do not hold with DC artists and their habit of Russian nesting dolling the Robins so they're each a little bit shorter with age, it's a useful visual shorthand but it's also not my truth even if I sometimes agree with portions.

for instance: I do have to concede that Bruce needs to be the tallest of the Batboys in order to enable a lot of his whole schtick, especially your modern era Batmans who are built to be tanks as opposed to the sleeker, more acrobatically-oriented Batman of earlier ages. Batfleck honestly had a great build for it, 6'4 and built to loom.

on the other hand, I Know what male gymnasts look like and Dick came from a whole family of them; he doesn't need to be SHORT short but brother he is not the tallest Robin by any stretch. he's 5'8 if he's Lucky, likely shorter. and he's fine with it! he isn't insecure about being a compact king!

I strongly dislike the recent development towards drawing adult Jason as a brute, but I have long enjoyed the headcanon that he would have had a hard growth spurt after Bruce took him in and he didn't have to worry about food insecurity. he is absolutely taller than Dick but, HOT TAKE, I don't think he's a Lot taller. as Red Hood he's definitely exaggerating the difference with chunky boots + his stupid full-face mask for extra height, + his jacket and all his gear make him look taller and broader than Nightwing in his little skintight getup. out of costume they physically look much more similar.

I also super hate when Tim is drawn as a skinny short little waif, genuinely there's no reason for that. that's a little American rich boy who grew up on milk and white bread, there's no reason for him to look like he has Victorian urchin wasting disease. fuck this, Tim is taller than both Dick and Jason. same energy as the improv kid I went to high school with who was 5'11 but cool about it.

completing the circle and fully reversing the Robins, I know that other fans have pointed out that Damian's Asian heritage conspires against him being hugelarge as an adult, but genetics are a grab bag and I think he deserves to be Bruce-sized. adult Damian can pick Dick up and put him in the fridge if he wants. at present though his growth spurt is really taking its sweet time and he's hovering around Cass-height (see below).

Duke is hovering in a zone right between Jason and Tim but everyone forgets that and imagines him being taller because the little bat ears on his helmet give him a couple extra inches.

a lot of older comics, especially the Dixon run, frequently have Selina drawn like she's tall as all hell, and I honestly love that for her. 5'11, Megan Thee Stallion kind of build for her.

Cass is frequently drawn as tiny to an extent that is, frankly, implausible and borderline upsetting (if memory serves she literally got folded up and carried in a backpack once?) but listen: she's certainly not tall. I'm willing to offer her 5'3 as an absolute maximum. also literally no one asked but Michelle Yeoh is the Lady Shiva of my heart and shes 5'4, so that's canon To Me.

however tall Dick is in your head I want you to add one (1) inch and that's Barbara. this is so crucial to me.

Steph is like a deeply average 5'4 and a half, and I realize this Does mean that I've Russian nesting dolled the Batgirls (at least in order of appearance in comics, not the actual order they Batgirls) and I am Fine with that. throw Harper Row in here too, she and Steph are just chilling being average height gal pals.

Helena is freakishly tall by Italian woman standards, by which I mean like 5'7.

this is vile and I'm sorry to the Robins but unfortunately Jean Paul is a genetically engineered freak bred to kill so he's probably taller than all of them save for an adult Damian. 6'2 to my miserable boy. beginning to think I was lying when I said I didn't have exact numbers.

so I think in descending order the lineup I've created is Bruce, JP, Selina and Tim, Duke, Jason and Babs, Dick, Helena, Steph and Harper, Damian, Cass.

did I skip anyone vital you want to know about?

[haru-natsuka]

Time (Silver x Female Reader)

Genre: Romance

When time always played with Silver life until it endangered his wife...

(As per usual, the photo is not mine. It belongs to its rightful owner. Do support the original artist for theirs splendid artworks)

"Mommmyyy, daddy is sleeping again! I want to playyyy!"

A young girl with silver hair reaching to her waist was faking crocodile tears while clutching to her mom's dress to display her eagerness in playing with her unconscious father. With an amused smile, her mom, you, could just caress your daughter's smooth hair in the hope it could console her somehow with one hand while the other was wiping her wet cheek.

"Then, let's wake up daddy, shouldn't we?"

Your daughter nodded vigorously as that was what she wanted all this time. She pulled your hand with her tiny arms and little strength as you simply followed her along with the laughter never left your mouth due to her cute action.

Not far from your position, there was a big tree which was Silver's favourite sleeping place beside you of course. Under the shades of many leaves, a male knight for the king of Thorn Valley was peacefully napping with his back laid on the tree trunk with his arms crossed in front of his chest. None other than the father of your cute daughter and your dear eternity partner in life.

"Honey-"

As you were about to reach your husband's side, a sudden blackout hit you. You could not even have enough time to protect yourself from the fall as your body harshly collided with the grassy ground in front of your panicking child and the now much awake Silver.

-----------

Ruckus immediately occurred upon the frequent collapsing of the madam of the house. Several gossips regarding this matter had already lingered around which mostly more to the negative side. This, even arrived at the ear of the only little girl.

"Madam might died. She is just fine before giving birth to that child."

"Sir, should just leave her, what is the use of staying together anymore?"

"Sir, should find a new healthy wife. There are still a lot of women who want him in the society."

The little one was devastated by the maids' conversation about her lovely mommy. How could a servant bad-mouthing their master. Mommy had treated the kindly all this time and was this the way for them to pay back her mommy kindness. In a rage, she stepped out of her hiding spot

"DON'T SAY BAD THINGS ABOUT MOMMY!" The little girl used her small voice to shout with all her might at the maids which startled them before devilishly smirking at her.

"So, this is the girl who kills her mommy. Hmmm? Ungrateful child?"

"ST-STOP! IT'S NOT LIKE-"

"You see yourself how weak madam is, aren't you? She should get to spend her entire life with Sir Silver but do you know you are the cause she will die sooner?"

"She must regret having you"

The rest of the insult turned to deaf ears as tears streamed down her cheeks. Was it true? Her mommy was sick because of her?

"What with this commotion?" A man's voice interrupted the current scene. It was not like he did not hear their prior conversation but choose to hear more until his daughter cried and the maids only laugh at her. This was mental torture for his daughter and even bad-mouthing his loved one! His glare was enough for the maids to understand that they would be fired from their job.

-----------------

"I'm deeply sorry to inform you, Sir Silver but this child comes with a risk. The magic she beholds is beyond madam's will. You have my condolences, sir."

"What would be the risk we need to bear?"

"Madam... -" There was a long pause as the surrounding became silent as the doctor found it hard to drop the bomb of truth on the silver man. No one prefered more for him to tell them the reality but he knew the knight was different and he just deserved to know "...would lose her lifetime."

Was it his fault to listen to his wife plead in keeping the baby? Should he force his wife to abort the child and continue life with being a married couple and never dreamed of being a parent? Did every sacrifice worth it for giving life to another being but only coming to lose another one?

However, his daughter's arrival was a blessing to his family and most importantly you were happy! so did he... You were even absolutely healthy for this five years after giving birth to his and your lineage.

Nevertheless, the child did deserve to survive this world. It was never her fault in the first place except he was the factor of your deteriorated health. He was the one who played with time in the first place due to his uncontrollable sleeping time.

Just today, there were a couple of incidents bestowed upon you. You loss conscious while drinking tea, taking bath, eating and even worse when you climbed down the stairs. You were already being treated by the royal doctor as these problems had concerned his father, Lilia and Lord Malleus too and yet even them, someone who was powerful with their magic could not even help you.

Instead of his wife being his energetic, bubbly and cheerful self, here you were, still did not show any sight of waking up. Even his daughter chose to remain by his mother's side and already napping beside you. He would do anything to protect his loved one from anything. You were his special someone who accepted his good and bad side.

Time always managed to take a tool of his life by cursing him with endless drowsiness until he lost the track of his changing surrounding. He used to let his problem slide but he never wanted the same to be for you. Let stopped being a servant of it by being its new master for your time to be returned to you. He kissed your forehead and the back of your hand while praying everything would be fine.

Other Diasomnia's one-shots :-

Painful Growth (Malleus Draconia x Female Reader)

The past (Lilia Vanrouge x Female Reader)

Technology (Sebek Zigvolt x Female Reader)

[msexplorer]

I believe in sensitive and kind men.

I believe in the mystical men who believe in themselves.

I believe in men who seek temperance and peace inside them.

I believe in men poets, dreamers, magicians, writers, alchemists, artists, teachers, and angels.

I believe in men who like to dance and sing and make life a celebration.

I believe in men who embrace their wounded inner child, listen to him and embrace him true.

I believe in men who want to heal and help others to heal.

I believe in men who refuse to be slaves to their own wound and that despite the pain, they clean it and heal it patiently, with love and courage.

I believe in men who come from the stars and remember the power of their wings, the power of their hands and the power of their heart.

I believe in men who know of intuition and use it as their compass.

I believe in men who share freedom because they are free and do not know another way to live.

I believe in the men protective of women's energy, who know how to read the look of their beloved and who do not intend to change it, simply accompany it wisely on their flight.

I believe in full men who don't need anything from outside because they already know that everything has it inside.

I believe in men who make fire when they are cold, that take refuge in water when they are thirsty.

I believe in men with truthful eyes they see themselves and that's why they love and respect every creature exists on earth.

I believe in men, perfectly imperfect, because it is in that imperfection is where they also find their beauty.

I believe in sensitive men who know how to receive and give love in balance, who listen and who also speak, those who live and let them live.

I believe in men who live sexuality as sacred, because they know that it is a wonderful gift.

I believe in men with clear feelings, which are accessible.

I believe in men who walk barefoot and speak to the plants.

I believe in the tender and wild men at the same time.

I believe in the sacred male and in all the divinity they have stood.

- Rishima

White Wolf Alchemy

[soul-and-self]

I believe in sensitive and kind men. I believe in the mystical men who believe in themselves. I believe in men who seek temperance and peace inside them. I believe in men poets, dreamers, magicians, writers, alchemists, artists, teachers, and angels. I believe in men who like to dance and sing and make life a celebration. I believe in men who embrace their wounded inner child, listen to him and embrace him true. I believe in men who want to heal and help others to heal. I believe in men who refuse to be slaves to their own wound and that despite the pain, they clean it and heal it patiently, with love and courage. I believe in men who come from the stars and remember the power of their wings, the power of their hands and the power of their heart. I believe in men who know of intuition and use it as their compass. I believe in men who share freedom because they are free and do not know another way to live. I believe in the men protective of women's energy, who know how to read the look of their beloved and who do not intend to change it, simply accompany it wisely on their flight. I believe in full men who don't need anything from outside because they already know that everything has it inside. I believe in men who make fire when they are cold, that take refuge in water when they are thirsty. I believe in men with truthful eyes they see themselves and that's why they love and respect every creature exists on earth. I believe in men, perfectly imperfect, because it is in that imperfection is where they also find their beauty. I believe in sensitive men who know how to receive and give love in balance, who listen and who also speak, those who live and let them live. I believe in men who live sexuality as sacred, because they know that it is a wonderful gift. I believe in men with clear feelings, which are accessible. I believe in men who walk barefoot and speak to the plants. I believe in the tender and wild men at the same time. I believe in the sacred male and in all the divinity they have stood. Poem by Rishima for Sacred Masculine

[scarsmood]

I’m absolutely blown away after reading about Bret Easton Ellis the author of American psycho.

Spoilers for the movie and book american psycho. Some heavy topics spanning from violence to repression and bigotry.

I can’t watch movies. But I sure can listen to my friends who can I got to listen to a nice summary of the movie thanks to them. one thing that stuck with me as they laughed about how funny his reaction was is the description of the homophobic scene. Because to me homophobia comes in a lot of different colors. It is not as simple as hating the concept for being gay. Well it is. But how people express this disgust can vary widely. It can be bigotry, the fear of the unknown. The fear of change is essence. It could be repression. Being afraid of the devil you know. You are fully aware what’s happening and just don’t like it.

When I was in middleschool I wasn’t a good person. Per se. Who is? Har har har. I had two friends who were my only friends at the school. We did everything together. It was weird to see any of us alone. We just hung out being assholes to each other. It wasn’t uncommon to do lots of sexual jokes. While my friends got along with them fine I often physically scooted away. I would physically back away from them in disgust. They’d ask me what my problem was. I couldn’t answer the question. Not yet.

Tw violence, homophobia

So what is the homophobia scene? Well, Mr.Bateman is tired of his male coworker while their both in the office bathroom. Gets some gloves on and goes to choke him only for the guy to be into it saying he had a feeling bateman liked him.

Bateman freaks the fuck out pushes the guy away and washes his hands. He rushes out of the bathroom. Thats the end of that. The scene moves off to the next scene as if nothing happened. That was that.

When people asked mr.ellis the author of anerican psycho whether he was gay after the release of anerican psycho he chose not to answer for artistic reasons. He argued if he identified as straight the book would be read in a scope of him being straight same if he was gay. He simply didn’t want that.

Mr.ellis at the release of less than zero was in his mid 20’s he hadn’t even finished college yet. The book shot him to instant fame. It was a high school day to day life book about his experiences. He was contacted by a professional literary agent to further pivot him into his writing career. 2 years later after graduating he released rules of attraction which was was not recieved as well as his first book. It was at this point he moved from californa to new york city.

That’s great but it frames his state of mind. When I read deeper into mr.ellis i was interested to find. He was in quite the interesting headspace during his writing of american psycho.

Paranoia over the success of his second book being less well recieved wracked his mind. For 5 years he wrote american psycho. Releasing unbeknownst to him the book that would be considered his greatest work. To him was something he wanted to divert his eyes from. American psycho the book was released in 1991.

In 2002 ellis was asked if he identified as gay or straight. He simply responded he didnt identify with either for artistic reasons. Years passed. He released more books by 2005 he released Lunar park a speculative and abstract look at his life living with his wife and child. Looking back at his life thus far.

When I was in highschool after some years of being around the concept of gay. I was less uncomfortable by it but by no means did I consider it a good thing. I tolerated it. Because when I was a kid I was that person hunting down other kids might consider queer. There was something about those specific boys that really made me angry. So I just avoided the conversation about being gay. I didn’t want to get into it. I didn’t want to listen to it. I was just a girl anyways….right?

More years passed but the topic never seemed to go away in 2011 ellis was asked again why he didnt identify as gay and why other journals were identifiying him as bi. In his words “I think the last time I slept with a woman was five or six years ago, so the bi thing can only be played out so long", he said. "But I still use it, I still say it." In another instance of the same vein Responding to a campaign, aimed at preventing suicide among LGBT youth, Ellis tweeted, "Not to bum everyone out, but can we get a reality check here? It gets worse.”

It was about the time in my sophomore year of highschool I realized I was trans. Aftering being with my straight partner for several years at this point. I stared at the definition and realized something clicked that was indescribable. I absolutely hated it. I didn’t want to change my life. I didn’t want to stare at it. I didn’t want to think about it. The anger just got worse.

In the same conversation after a long series of apologies. Ellis admitted he was gay.

American psycho’s premise is that while the character does all these horrible things. At the end of the day every act is all imagiend by a man with a power fantasy in a normal world he simply can’t handle.

For a man who refused to label himself for a decade or two. I’d say american psycho must have been one of the most uncomfortable introspections to write. In the duration of those 5 years. Ellis was paranoid about his second book. He loved it but was angry it never got the reception it deserved. He felt constantly on edge. Powerless. Who could blame him. He just got out of college and was struggling with moving cities trying to write a book and manage his other works. Amoung…other things.

I told my partner I think I might be a gay trans man. We didn’t know what to do. So we did nothing we shut the fuck up about it for the next 5 years. I would silently experiment with different names and pronouns. 3 years later after my first announcement i was asking to be called they/them. 4 years after i was asking to be called he/him. I cut all my hair off. I topped for the first time. We broke up not long after.

How long can you keep something a secret? What does it do to you? When your sitting through years of secrecy and hidden thoughts. How does that shape your frame of mind?

It seems for me and mr.ellis we found the same solice in anger and playing power fantasies. The ability to escape being gay, not wanting to be this depection society forces onto you. Until your reminded inescapably who you are.

Repression is a loaded gun. It is one of the most dangerous motivators in my opinon because you are running from something that is already known. It creates anger, suicidal thoughts, anxiety, panic. It’s horrible to live in a world where your terrified to be yourself. It isn’t fair. It isn’t right. That doesn’t stop it from happening though.

I feel like this feeling of aversion and unmatched anger for being gay is a story that’s told often. I’m excited to read the book. I think it might more familiar than most experiences.

It was discussed later by ellis, bateman is him. He lied previously about the inspiration. He said he was to uncomfortable to admit it was him but after all these years. It’s been said now.

[bluemoonfantasiesiii]

Vincent shook his head "no its alright to ask" he said looking back at him only to notice the change surrounding him which caused the traveller to worry more now and before he could answer or argue with him about his words, the gardener started to fall.

The young artist immediately fell to action raising his hand to summon his Hydro arms to take a safe and strong yet gentle hold of the fallen star "Nigredo! Be careful!" He called even now he is safe in his watery tentacles, seeing him above that black hole was terrifying "The last thing I want is to lose another one under my watch" he said calmly as he place the man on his heals safely beside him after stepping away from the edge.

He embraced him a bit tighter than intended, feeling his warmth put his mind at ease he is still there beside him "if you wish to go explore alone, I will have time to help you, but don't you dare do this again! What would I say to Lily who loves you and every time she talk about flowers she talks about you or Albedo your own brother..? no! What should I tell your son, Rubedo if he finds out that I was with you but didn't do a thing to keep you safe?!" He asked quietly trying to stay calm about it and keep his voice steady, knowing how scary to lose someone you love let alone a family.

"And no" he argued back "it is not a bad omen.. it was a blessing for Rubedo, Diluc, Dain, me and Lily. You helped me making Lily understand that illness isn't bad or a cursed word but need help and healing. Every time I talk about it in the past it gets her so scared but she listened to what you told her and she even accepted that you both are sick and she's not scared of the word anymore. She would be happy every time I say 'I find something could help'" he rubbed the back covered in black clothes gently to help him calm and see his points.

"And for Rubedo. It's true you made him, but he is good~. He helped a lot and saved many lives one of them was actually my only child.. how is that a Mistake? When everything you did up until now is getting better and help others, do you really believe I would say 'yeah, you should go back'? " he said with slightly trembling voice at the idea of losing his close friend who is so much connected to the past.

"I'm not one to let you off just because you felt like that, you have to know that I'll help you in whatever way is possible to get Durin back, so you could feel whole again, If that's what bothers you" he silently promised him for more bright future and support on the informations side.

Vincent slowly let go of Nigredo as his the Hydro arms releasesd the gardener but still surrounding him protectively to prevent any unwise action he could commit. The younger male just smiled warmly at his friend after wiping his eyes in silly way to lighten the mood with big childlike smile then moved one hand up to use his pure healing energy to help him relax before urging the alchemist to feel sleepy after a while.

Nigredo simply stood there for a moment blinking before he burst out laughing, doubling over to clutch at his stomach.

“I- pfft! Sorry! I forget my fatalistic sense of humor isn’t for everyone! I have no intentions of ever going back there. I was just gonna take a dip to clear my head a little, honest. There’s no way they would’ve left that gateway open, so it should be like any other pool of water. But man you got really sentimental just now~!”

He wiped away the tears of mirth, his smile softening. “Still, I’m glad you reacted the way you did. It’s nice having people around that actually care what happens to me. I guess I’m still getting used to that. A whole century with someone like Rhinedottir, 100 years of being told you’re nothing more than a disposable research tool, being told that perfection is the standard rather than the exceptional… That really takes a toll on a homunculus’s self-worth, y’know? Who knows? It may take 100 more years to truly undo.”

[loveology11]

"I believe in sensitive and kind men. I believe in the mystical men who believe in themselves. I believe in men who seek temperance and peace inside them. I believe in men poets, dreamers, magicians, writers, alchemists, artists, teachers, and angels. I believe in men who like to dance and sing and make life a celebration. I believe in men who embrace their wounded inner child, listen to him and embrace him true. I believe in men who want to heal and help others to heal. I believe in men who refuse to be slaves to their own wound and that despite the pain, they clean it and heal it patiently, with love and courage. I believe in men who come from the stars and remember the power of their wings, the power of their hands and the power of their heart. I believe in men who know of intuition and use it as their compass. I believe in men who share freedom because they are free and do not know another way to live. I believe in the men protective of women's energy, who know how to read the look of their beloved and who do not intend to change it, simply accompany it wisely on their flight. I believe in full men who don't need anything from outside because they already know that everything has it inside. I believe in men who make fire when they are cold, that take refuge in water when they are thirsty. I believe in men with truthful eyes they see themselves and that's why they love and respect every creature exists on earth. I believe in men, perfectly imperfect, because it is in that imperfection is where they also find their beauty. I believe in sensitive men who know how to receive and give love in balance, who listen and who also speak, those who live and let them live. I believe in men who live sexuality as sacred, because they know that it is a wonderful gift. I believe in men with clear feelings, which are accessible. I believe in men who walk barefoot and speak to the plants. I believe in the tender and wild men at the same time. I believe in the sacred male and in all the divinity they have stood." Poem by Rishim

[scekrex]

Okay, okay, okaaaayy, fluff/crack idea, because you're my inspiration, you cheeky bastard 🤌

The husbandos just spending some lazy morning together, enjoying their time mostly just cuddling and exchanging small, sweet kisses. It was peaceful, quiet, until their penthouse neighbours got... Loud, if you know what I mean 😏. Reader completely annoyed by the disturbing noise in the morning just put on a displeased face, eyebrows furrowed, a full on resting bitch face with intention of murder in his eyes to then say that he just might go and actually murder somebody. Adam reacting with a laugh and simply daring the reader to do so, reader replying with: "Darling, do you want to see me in shuckles? Cause after I'm done, I'm definitely going to jail" and Adam just: "Oh, no no no no, I take that back, who am I supposed to kiss every morning if you go to jail? Your picture?" and reader saying: "You could kiss the glass in the jail during visit times".

Love ya 💁🏻‍♂️🤩

Fucking love ya too u idiot, also love being ur muse bc fuck yeah, being the inspiration for an artist feels fucking great whoop whoop

Cuffed Up

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

The two of you had been up for at least an hour by now but neither of you wanted to leave the bed. It was one of those lazy mornings that you and Adam loved so much, there was nowhere else for you to be today and Adam only had band practice in the evening which left plenty of time for cuddles and kisses.

You were laying on top of Adam, your head was positioned on his chest, perfect to listen to his calm heartbeat, his hands were on your ass and his wings covered both of your bodies like a soft blanket. You were simply enjoying each other's presence in peace.

At least until your neighbors decided that having morning sex loud enough for all of heaven to hear was a fucking good idea.

You lifted your head and glared at the wall that was letting the noises come through to disturb you. “What the fuck?” you mumbled, these motherfuckers had just managed to ruin your entire mood within seconds. The headboard of their bed was steadily bumping against the wall, making the entire thing even more annoying. Who the fuck was having sex at fucking 9am? Apparently those bastards of neighbors you had.

Fucking great.

“I swear if that bitch doesn't quiet down I'll head over to their apartment and stab both of them until they're fucking silent,” you grumbled with furrowed brows and a clearly displeased look on your face. The fucking audacity to disturb you and your husband at such an early time. Adam simply shot you a sharp grin as he petted your hair in order to calm you down a little and commented, “Y’know, I think you should fucking do that.”

That caused your attention to shift from the wall to Adam and you playfully raised an eyebrow at him, “Darlin’,” you breathed as you leaned in closely, your lips were almost touching his yet they stayed far away enough not to, “You wanna see me in fucking cuffs? ‘Cuz after I'm done with their fucking horny asses I'll be definitely going to jail.”

Adam weighted his opinions for a moment before he responded, “Oh hell fucking nah, while you would look absolutely fucking delicious in cuffs, I need my fucking morning kisses ‘n’ who am I supposed to kiss every fucking morning when your murderous ass is rotting in jail? Your goddamn pictures?” You simply looked down at him with a smug look on your face, “You could kiss the glass in jail during visit times.”

Adam made quick work of moving his hands from your ass to your neck and pulling you down into a heated kiss. His lips were eager to claim yours and it didn't take him long to involve his tongue. A small surprised moan escaped you and it bled into the kiss. When you pulled away just the slightest bit to catch your breath he overconfidently hissed, “The only fucking thing my lips will kiss is your fucking skin.”

His wings shoved you off of him, causing you to land next to Adam on your back. The first man was on top of you in an instant and as if to prove his words his lips started to caress your jaw, your neck, your cheeks and lips turning you into a whining and moaning mess for him.

[rafescoke]

Maybank ; Rafe Cameron (Part 2)

Part #2

Read part #1 here

masterlist

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: Sometimes both sides are in the wrong.

Warnings: More angst, mentions of substance, gaslighting!

A/N: you know the drill. . . send requests!

(Y/N) isn’t one to feel jealous easily.

When she dated a certain boy from her school a few years ago, she wasn’t even phased when she had found him kissing another girl at a party.

She simply didn’t care.

But the aching feeling in her when she saw her current boyfriend sniffing a line on the back of a random girl with the perfect house and the perfect clothes and the-

“(Y/N), do you want to come down to the beach with us?”

(Y/N) finally looks up from her novel in which she wasn’t even reading in the first place. Her mind was somewhere else, and her thoughts weren’t put in the context of the book.

“No. I’m not feeling well.”

JJ sighs, fixing his cap backwards and placing himself beside her. He looks over her lap, reading the first few lines of the book his sister’s reading and sighs. 

“I never read, so I do not understand how this whole novel thing works. But I’m pretty sure reading about getting over a breakup won’t do you any good.”

(Y/N) rolls her eyes, snapping her book with a shut. The last thing she ever wants is for JJ to lecture her. She had enough bawling her eyes the past 2 weeks. 

“What time are you supposed to go again? Go.”

She’s grateful, of course, for JJ. He was there for her the whole 2 weeks when she didn’t feel like eating or taking a shower or anything that involved getting out of the bed.

But she feels better now, her hair perfectly up in a hairdo and the red color of her cheeks returning.

She’s not sad anymore.

The feeling evolves into anger.

Of course, (Y/N).

You’re nothing but a pogue.

If there’s one thing Obx is famous for, that will be the annual bonfire. It’s an excuse for every teenager on the island to let loose and to free themselves after a year of studying.

For (Y/N), it’s just another party for Rafe to ignore her.

But she’s not coming down to the beach with him a few distance away, hell, she doesn’t even know if he’s coming.

“What the fuck! You told me you’re not coming,” JJ laughs, giving his sister a side hug. “You look good. You don’t look pale anymore.”

“I’m gonna be sick if you keep saying nice things to me,” (Y/N) rolls her eyes, though her insides are beaming. JJ has always been her number one supporter, and she loves her brother with all her heart.

“Just don’t go to the other side of the beach, okay? All your friends are here.”

And we’re back to him protecting her.

She gets it, really, but she doesn’t feel like a night full of JJ and his friends becoming some sort of bodyguards to her.

The last thing she ever wants is for Rafe to think she’s still weak.

“J, I know.”

He holds both of his hands up, “I’m just saying. I’m by the fire if you ever need me, okay?”

It’s funny how the boy who cried to her over his scraped knee is the same boy who’s trying his best to protect her. Growing up in a dysfunctional family, all (Y/N) and JJ has is each other. 

(Y/N) walks to the music booth, getting so tired over the same artist being played over and over again. She doesn’t feel like listening to Drake all while trying to forget a certain brunette boy from the back of her head.

“Hey, can I get something different? Play the Euphoria soundtrack if you must. Anything other than the songs you’re playing.”

The DJ looks up to her and gives out the widest grin. (Y/N) tries to look away from the charming smile, but her eyes are glued to a pair of blue ones.

“Not a fan of Drake?”

“Nah.”

“Why? Trying to move on from an ex?”

She gulps, “No. Just have a good taste in music.”

The guy licks his teeth, “Touche. The name’s Nate.”

(Y/N) gives him a small grin, “Hm. Can we change the song now?”

Nate raises a brow because god; no one has ever disregard him. 

There’s something about the girl.

“Is Party In The USA good enough for you, princess?”

Her breath hitches. The last time someone has ever called her princess was probably a few weeks ago. 

This is not helping her to get over him.

“Whatever. You’re the DJ, right?” she answers, turning on her heels. “Oh wait, Nate?”

He smiles at her again, and (Y/N) has the urge to slap the smug look off his face.

“Don’t call me princess. You’re not my boyfriend.”

For the past 40 minutes, no Drake song has been playing. The crowd begins filling the empty space in the middle to dance with each other, and (Y/N) has to look away from the couple getting close and leaving kisses down each other’s necks.

She makes her way down to the drinks counter to get herself a beer because she really doesn’t feel like watching another friend of hers kissing their partners while sober. She decides that if she has to stay for another hour of people making out with each other, it’s better if she’s intoxicated.

“Hey.”

(Y/N) turns her back, expecting to see a drunk friend of hers, but the sight of the same DJ from before greets her.

She rolls her eyes, “I’m not asking you to change the music.”

“I know, I guess I started off wrong just now. Let me reintroduce myself. You deserve to know the real me.”

(Y/N) laughs, because this whole thing sounds like something out of a corny Netflix movie. He’s cute, sure, but she’s just not interested.

He removes the beanie he’s been wearing all night, revealing a blonde buzz cut underneath. (Y/N) tries not to stare.

Okay. Screw cute. He’s handsome. 

“Hi, I’m Nate. I’m from New York, and I just moved here.”

She smiles, finally, because he fits the exact image she has of every male teenager in New York. Blonde buzz cut, an unbuttoned blue shirt with a peak of his toned body underneath, and a pair of red shorts. 

A new kook.

“Nate, your kind and I don’t match. You’re a kook.”

He scrunches his face, “They’ve been telling me that shit since the first week I’ve been here-” he steps closer, and (Y/N) can smell his expensive cologne. It’s not the same one she favors on Rafe, but it’s close. “-don’t tell me you believe that stuff.”

Oh.

She grins, “I’m not rich, Nate.”

“So?”

Oh.

“The name’s (Y/N),” she smiles, extending her hand. Nate beams, because finally, after a whole night of watching her from his booth, she finally expresses the most beautiful smile there is. 

“(Y/N), I feel like we’re going to get closer soon.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“I’m not a Drake’s fan either.”

. . .

(Y/N)’s hesitant. 

She doesn’t believe him in one bit, not even when he flashes her the most charming smile ever. 

But he’s not afraid to show her off. She went on a date with him a few nights ago, and she distanced herself from him upon the entrance of the restaurant.

“What the fuck are you doing? C’mere.”

(Y/N) looked up to him, “You don’t have to stay near with me.”

Nate turned to her with a confused expression. “Why? I’m buying you dinner, remember?”

He held her hands in his, and she let him.

Nate pokes her side and suppresses a giggle when she yelps from the sudden touch. He fails, however, when she falls from his bed onto the floor. 

“You’re too ticklish,” he says and helps her up to her feet. Her eyes wander to the band posters on his wall again, being so amazed and surprised by this boy’s taste in music and movies.

“I don’t even listen to half of the bands you listen to,” she says finally, pulling herself down to the empty space beside him. “Do you know who’s Ariana Grande?”

Nate rolls his eyes, “Ha-ha. No. I don’t. Is she the one who sang Despacito or something?”

(Y/N) laughs and her heart suddenly soars. She feels at ease, and there’s lightness in the air, even when they’re in public.

(Y/N) stands up, taking the full room into view again, and walks to the shelf full of pictures of Nate and his family. There’s a picture of him in a soccer jersey, a picture of him playing the drums and then an electric guitar, and-

“Oh my god, is this your girlfriend?” (Y/N) exclaims, picking up a photo frame with a beautiful brunette girl smiling back at her. “She’s so pretty.”

“(Y/N), put it back,” Nate rolls his eyes, standing up from the comfort of his bed and walking towards her. (Y/N) laughs, liking the way his eyebrows scrunch in distress and hides the photo frame behind her.

“(Y/N). . . I’m not playing.”

“No one is playing, Nate,” she laughs, taking a few steps back as he motions forward. “I can’t believe you have a sweetheart back in NYC, Nate.”

“(Y/N), put it back.”

(Y/N) pulls a confused expression, “Put what back?” she brings the frame forward, and expressed a fake sigh. “Oh, this? I was just checking this out-” Nate charges for her and she squeals, running towards the end of his room and watching as he runs in her direction. She panics, looking around for a place to hide, and as her eyes meet his bed, Nate has the same idea in his head.

He pushes her over his bed so she topples over, the frame still in her hands. She yelps, leaving the frame alone and using both of her hands to push his chest away. 

Nate hovers over her, being so close he can smell her sweet scent now, and she looks so good under his yellow lights and in his bed and that goddamn smirk on her face-

“Is she your girlfriend, Nate?”

“None of your concern, princess,” he answers. Her eyes snap down to the cross dangling from his neck, and he can’t do this anymore; not when she looks so pretty under his gaze.

(Y/N) can feel the sudden change in the air now, and the chasing game they’ve been playing suddenly doesn’t look like a chasing game.

He’s like a predator waiting to attack. 

(Y/N)’s eyes look up to him again. “Is she your girlfriend?”

And he connects his lips with her. She gasps from the sudden touch, but after a few seconds, he can feel her kissing him back. 

And for once, she feels okay again. She wraps her arms around him, pulling him close to her and letting his warmth engulfing her.

She feels at peace.

“Rafe,” she whispers, letting the blonde boy trails down to her neck.

Nate pulls away, his lips sore and red after their brief makeout session.

Chest heaving, he steps away. “Rafe?”

(Y/N) sits up, groaning and fixing her hair. “God, I’m so stupid. I don’t mean that, Nate, I’m sorry. Please, don’t go.”

Nate pulls a disgusted face, and it’s the same look Rafe had put in the party a few weeks ago to her and she can feel herself losing again. 

“I’m going out. You can stay here if you want.”

“Nate-”

The door closes behind him, and (Y/N) groans. 

Way to go, (Y/N).

. . .

She hates how bad she feels for Nate.

He has been nothing but a total sweetheart to her, and there she was; moaning another guy’s name and letting him walked out of his own home.

So that’s the core reason as to why she’s standing outside of his house at 10 p.m. on a Friday, letting the heavy rain soaks her whole outfit because of course she would forget to bring an umbrella.

She knocks again, with her fists this time, because she’s certain he hadn’t heard her. For a moment, she’s afraid his father or mother would open the door but after remembering how they’re going to be away for a business trip, she sighs in relief. 

The door opens midway of her banging on the door, revealing a shirtless Nate with nothing but green sweatpants complimenting his legs.

“(Y/N)? What are you doing here?” he groans, tugging her arms in and closing the door after her. (Y/N) attacks him in a tight hug, slightly shivering from the cold rain outside, and after a few seconds, Nate hugs her back.

“You’re okay?”

“Can we talk in your room?”

“Uh, I don’t-”

(Y/N) doesn’t let him give any excuse and she pulls him into the living room, but before she can reach the space, he pulls her to a halt.

“Hey, we can’t go there, I’m kinda, um, doing something. What’s wrong?”

She sighs, “Nate, I’m so sorry, okay? I didn’t mean it when I called you someone else’s name and that’s the stupidest thing I ever did but please don’t go, okay? You’re all I have.”

Nate laughs, “God, you’re really worried about that? I get it, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It is, really. But tell me one thing, though-” he pulls her arms, and pins her against the wall. (Y/N) smiles, staring into his blue orbs. “Is this Rafe more handsome than me?”

“Hey man, we really can’t wait-” a voice starts from the direction of the living room, and before (Y/N) can move away, the voice rings again. “Ah. Of course.”

Oh my god.

She misses him too much. His hair is messier than ever, his eyes bloodshot and his nose red. (Y/N) wonders how many lines he did, but judging from the distant look in his eyes, she’s guessing a lot.

“Rafe,” she whispers, getting closer to the boy she missed and letting his smell engulf her. 

“Rafe?” Nate quirks a brow because this isn’t making any sense. Why would she called his friend the name-

Of course.

Rafael is Rafe.

So this is the guy.

His childhood friend is ‘the Rafe’ of the girl he’s starting to fall for.

After so many hours of trying to find the Rafe she accidentally called him, he hadn’t thought of his own childhood friend to be the guy all along.

Growing up, he have been told to call him Rafael up until the day he moved to New York. 

He can’t believe it.

“Rafe,” she calls again, this time following Rafe out to the living room. “Rafe, listen to me.”

“You moved on too fast.”

“I haven’t moved on, Rafe, fuck, I swear I haven’t,” she expresses. “Please. Listen to me.”

“You were mad at me for doing a line from some bitch’s back and you’re, you’re o-out here, under my own fucking friend’s arms and- did y’all fucked?”

“What?” she gasps, “God, Rafe, no. No. I will never fuck anyone other than you.”

“Yeah?” Rafe raises a brow and lets out a shrill laugh. “God, I don’t even know if I can trust you.”

“You can, Rafe,” she steps forward, trying to reach his face with her cold fingers. The anger she felt before suddenly dissipates into the thin air because god, she did not realize how much she has been missing this boy more than anything in the world.

Her everything.

Rafe flinches away, “Stop. Do you know how miserable I am the past few weeks without you?”

“Don’t turn this on me now, Rafe.” “And you’re out here with fucking Nate Hamilton. Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Rafe, it’s not like that,” Nate suddenly steps in, and (Y/N) gives him a warning look not to say anything more. He ignores her, “Are we not going to talk about how you disregard her just because of her status on this fucking island?”

“God, always with your equality shit,” Rafe groans. “You guys deserve each other. I can’t believe you will ever do this to me, Nate.”

What hurt Rafe more isn’t the fact that she was all pinned under his arms, but it was because Nate knew about their relationship. Rafe had told him everything about her ever since they first started dating, and he hadn’t just lost her tonight.

He lost his childhood friend too.

“I’m leaving,” he says, rubbing his nose and sniffing. Rafe isn’t sure how many lines he has done, but his mind is getting lighter and lighter and the lights are turning blurry. 

He can’t stand being in the same room as them. He will fucking drive if he has to.

(Y/N) bites her lips, trying to stop herself from bursting into tears. So they know each other? Why won’t Rafe ever tell her about him? Is this still her fault? She wasn’t even cheating on him. They’re not together.

Right?

Are they together?

“Hey, you’re okay?”

(Y/N) pulls her hands away, stepping away from the blonde boy and walking towards the exit. She has to leave this house as soon as possible. The once comforting bright color of the wall seems so dull and suffocating now, and she longs for the familiar blue paint of Rafe’s room.

She wants Rafe. 

No one else.

Just him.

“Just me?” Rafe smiled. “Hey, hey, I got a surprise for you.”

“Rafe, I hate surprises,” (Y/N) groaned, throwing her head back against the headrest. “You bought me a dress before!”

“Look-” he smiled, showing her a gold ring in a small velvet box. “It’s a ring.”

“Oh my god, it looks like yours!” (Y/N) exclaimed, clutching his hand with the ring and comparing the color. 

“Of course it’s the same ring. You’re my wife, I’m not going to buy you a different kind.”

“Wife?”

“What? Am I not your husband?”

(Y/N) wishes for nothing but Rafe. 

She presses on his contact again, turning her phone downside and moving the speaker nearer to her lips.

“Rafe, please call me back. I miss you, and we can fix this, okay? I didn’t know about Nate and I was so, so stupid. I can never replace you, Rafe. You’re mine, remember? Please. Call me back. I miss you.”

She sighs, setting her phone down on her lap and watches as the rain patters down her front windscreen heavily.

Love is a hell of a drug.

-

@okayshoto @joselyn001 @onceuponateenagetrash @dyingsleeping @iwannabeapogue @meaganjm @rafesobxs @flossy2929 @unfortunatekiwitrash @scottybitch @asimpwriter @amaya124 @tommy-tommo @thatshithurted8 @fallincindy @marvelwhor3 @rafeswh0ree @kookap @supernaturallydc-blog @blank-velvet @alaniskauany @kiiim8 @witchywrter @kaitlyn2907 @heyimflo @overcookedpastasause @tsukkiswifeey @spidey-d00d @anonymousobxfan @gotmeinloveagain @chicagoblackhawkslover96 @lexi-writes @classydragonthingknight @belongtoyou-u @badbussylol @savannah-elliott @angelreyesgirl100 @haterpenny @beehappyyy @alwaysclassyeagle @maybankslut @kayleea122 @clearbolts @lovelyxtom @christianaevans @jemimah-b99 @opierdalacz @dangerdolns @wildflowerliv @classygirlything21 @pogueslandia @alwaysclassyeagle @rottenstyx @wxn-drlst

[eternal-armin]

they're cheap (i'm free).

jinx and vi meet up in your garage to practice a few songs and celebrate reader's new guitar. [band au/love triangle au] the performance is the song mentioned in the title because it's a bop and everyone should listen to it. reader: male. [neutral version soon] also there's a lot more slang in this for some reason? idk what's gotten over me lol. i really feel like i've been too subtle in this chapter but the second one will be a little more fluff instead of exposition.

new guitar day!

why were you so nervous? or maybe it was just an overflow of excitement. yeah, definitely an overflow of excitement.

pressing your lips together in an attempt to bide the anticipation, you gave the strings a good strum.

hot damn- there was no way you could hide your bright smile at the loud, clear note that ripped out from the amp. this sound was a little something you liked to call, absolutely perfect. you bit your lip, fighting back a proud, surely childish, laugh.

"ho-ly, that sounds sick!" jinx cheered, voice sounding almost quiet compared to the pure power you'd played. but her approval made your heart race.

"i know, right?! so worth the money!" as if she'd given you permission, you let yourself laugh through your words, bouncing and shifting your weight from side to side. you would've loved to jump a few times, but there was no way in hell you were gonna risk ruining the new instrument just yet. even though the strap to it was already snug and resting on your shoulder.

"i'm so excited, i didn't think something could sound better than my oldie," you grinned, still reeling at the combination of excitement and relief.

"i can't wait to hear you play with that bad boy! you better decorate it too, the color looks great but i'm really gonna miss the decorations blue had." as exaggerated as her hand and head movements were, jinx's gentle gaze was glued to your eyes.

the fact that nickname still stuck... "what, because you made the stickers?" you replied, cheeky as ever, tilting your head at her.

"well, yeah! i mean, they looked super sweet! y'can't deny it, pretty boy. some of my best work by far," jinx shrugged. you playfully rolled your eyes.

"it is kinda'a shame that those stickers were permanent," you muttered, kicking the air. you admired all of jinx's pieces- musical and artistic- but those stickers, you loved a lot more. maybe because she made them specifically for you. or because they fit your vibe perfectly. or they were just simply... gorgeous. if there was anyone you trusted to make stickers that encapsulated you in entirety, it was certainly jinx.

"oh, where's vi, by the way? did she forget we had practice?" you had been excited to show both of them your new electric guitar. steadily, sour disappointment clouded your childlike excitement.

"like i'd know, she tells me jack-all! i bet she did forget. wouldn't be the first time, would it?" jinx twirled her drumsticks in her fingers, playing a beat in the air. she looked at you with a small half-smile, a look in her eyes you couldn't quite describe. perhaps somewhere between admiring and annoyed. it was quite a look.

"i mean, like, no, it wouldn't, but she promised she wouldn't miss another," you trailed off, confident voice turning into little more than a mumble.

as if on perfect cue, the jammed garage door was forced open, making you jump in surprise, cursing under your breath.

"i'm sorry i'm late! cait needed my help with something," vi chuckled nervously, giving you both a sheepish smile. "but i'm here. i'm here." she forced the door shut behind her, before turning to you and jinx. "woah. nice ax, [y/n]. that new?" she was eager to change the subject. you didn't mind, and you went along. you returned her smile, though out of the corner of your eye, jinx didn't seem too impressed with her sister's continued late appearances.

"yeah. just got it! sounds like a dream." your giddiness at the new toy seeped right back into your voice.

"really? how much did it cost?" the more vi spoke, the more she regained her breath and steadied her voice. the thought of her hauling ass here was honestly... hilarious. you felt bad that you were biting back laughter.

"i don't... wanna admit that," you giggled, rubbing the back of your neck. well over 1,000 big ones, that's for sure. "was definitely worth the price, though."

"give us a note, then. i'd love to hear it."

"he already played one, vi, y'missed it! we got practice anyway, remember?" jinx interjected, sitting down on her drum throne. the slightly pouty tone in her voice confused you for a moment. you couldn't really recall her ever speaking like that before, unless you just forgot it.

vi glanced at you, and you pressed your lips together again, looking away. "right, right," vi nodded after a moment, taking her bass out of its case. there were a few seconds of awkward silence as everyone set up their respective instruments and microphone stands.

"you guys ready to blow the doors off the neighborhood again?" you looked back at the two with a little grin, supporting the guitar with one hand and holding the mic with the other.

"yeah."

"let's beat it, toots!"

jinx tapped her sticks to the beat. one. two. one, two, three, four.

your voice harmonized with vi's bassline. "you're all incorporated, so. y'don't get investigated." the rest of the line sounded like a dream, your voice combined with vi's strumming and jinx's playing. you could feel her prying eyes on you as always.

"i'm not abbreviated or deflated. i'm tryin' to be appreciated."

on your new angel, you joined the two, playing along to the chords implanted in your head. it was just tingles all up and down your spine at the sound- it was so hard not to giggle into the mic. the smile you bore didn't fit the song at all, but the excitement was just so much.

jinx joined you for the next line. her voice went so well with yours, you couldn't help wanting to listen to that alone. "you know what i know, son don't lie, you know what i know. you know what i know,"

"son don't lie."

"son don't hide all your sinners, flaunt 'em like a winner, like a creep!" with a kick, the music from your guitar got louder, electrifying the air with almost-discordant notes. you threw your head back from the mic, screaming for a few counts.

laughing proudly, you had gained the confidence to jump with your angel now that you'd played with it. "holy shit! that was great!" you rubbed your throat, wincing just slightly. but that pain was oh-so easily outweighed by the glee of such a great few songs. looking back at your bandmates, they were both just as excited.

"that new baby sounds nice as hell!" jinx whooped, laughing, spinning on her chair. "that was one of the best rehearsals yet- you are incredible, toots!"

"that was really awesome. you did great too, jinx," vi shot her a smile, and jinx returned it with the ever-professional finger guns. vi sounding so nonchalant when she looked like a kid in a candy store, it would never cease to make you smile.

"don't forget about yourself, vi! i swear, you play like a god. oh- 'scuze me, goddess." you giggled quietly, trying to ignore the intense glare jinx so graciously gave vi, practically like a beam of red-hot light.

vi's cheeks dusted pink at your compliment. which somehow took her by surprise, despite it being pretty much a ritual. "if i'm a goddess, you must be a god," she responded, soon after regaining her relaxed smile.

innocently, you shook your head. "psh, nah. i've got a long way to go. but- but thanks." you smiled softly at vi, before turning the same smile to jinx. "c'mon and join the diviners, huh, o goddess of the drums?"

breaking into a proud smile at your attention, jinx jumped at the opportunity, joining you and vi in the little group. she slung an arm over your shoulder, grinning. all three of you were quickly becoming tired, which meant crashing down on the couch with a pile of snacks and soft drinks, plugging in a show, and most likely falling asleep until vi realizes she has to go home. you and jinx would usually continue the event from there.

"speaking of diviners- that's a hella good name for our band! diviners, picture it now!" jinx splayed her hands out as if gesturing to a broad sign. you couldn't help but giggle.

"strong pitch. i like it. how 'bout you, vi?" both you and jinx looked at her- she didn't have much of a choice.

looking only at you, vi smiled. "it's perfect."

[ein-liebloser-wanderer]

Ohhh can we get silent orchestra headcanons please? Your writing inspires me so much!!

⸸ Yandere Lobotomy Corp — The Silent Orchestra Headcanons ⸸

(Disclaimer: A yandere AU of Lobotomy Corporation where I make as many Abnormalities into male humanoid as possible. OOC and fanon are to be expected)

Since this is humanoid AU, the Silent Orchestra is more like a group of individual Abnormalities with their own personalities, and make up a String Quartet and the Conductor.

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

Many question the importance of a conductor. After all, he doesn't really seem to do anything other than wave his hands around.

But some express complete indifference towards him. The string quartet gets all the praise while he is completely ignored by the audience.

It hurts him deeply. But alas, as the leader, he must keep his spirits, and he does so by complimenting his musicians for a show well done.

The String Quartet, of course, know his pain. As fellow artists, they understand how it feels to have their craft ignored or unappreciated.

They exist to be praised, to be adored, to hear the applause of the audience, and that very much applies for the Conductor, even if he doesn't play an instrument.

Little does the Abnormality know, it wasn't that the Agents didn't appreciate his work. In fact, some of them truly admire him. They noticed how much the music was influenced by his feelings and personality. No two performances from the ensamble ever sounded the same because of it.

But of course, everyone knew that any work done on the Abnormalities must end with a NEUTRAL result, and that has been done thus far by complimenting their music while feigning ignorance to the Conductor. That was what had been taught to them by the senior agents.

No one knows what would happen if a GOOD or BAD result were to occur, but they will soon find out when a certain Agent forgets to practice their Temperance.

"Behold and watch as a glorious performance begins! No words nor action can express his love for you better than the Symphony of the End!"

When he saw the awe in your eyes as you looked at him, he knew he had finally done it. A job well done. After so long, he finally earned the praise he had been desperately craving.

You may deny it, but your eyes can't lie. They are, after all, the windows to the soul, and it is the Conductor's duty to see to it that every performance touches it.

If it's still not obvious, a NEUTRAL result ensures that the Conductor never gets attached to any of the Agents. Because out of all the ALEPH Abnormalities, he is undoubtedly one of the most difficult ones to appease (except WhiteNight but that fact only makes it worse).

With the Conductor knowing that you are the only one who can truly appreciate him, he will constantly crave your attention and approval.

The only reason why he would breach after a BAD work result is because he feels as though he has disappointed you.

Maybe you weren't paying your full attention on him, or you made a certain facial expression other than awe, or you didn't praise him enough.

He breaches because he wants to prove that he was distracted, that he wasn't usually that terrible, or whatever excuse he could think of to tell you that he wasn't awful at what he does.

He only wants to be worthy of your love, sopleasedon'tlookathimlikethat—

As for why he would breach for a GOOD work result, well...you might as well ask why a performer would want to keep on playing even after hours upon hours of playing.

He simply wants to continue impressing you. If there had to be a reason for you not to applaud, it would be because he will never finish the concert.

Except he wants to keep this up forever. He doesn't want the performance to end. He wants to keep playing and playing and playing until you drop dead. He won't have your eyes and ears settle anywhere other than him.

All you need to do is pay attention to him.

"Look at me, Darling...Just keep your eyes on me as you listen. Let my music pierce through you."

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

Unrelated headcanon to yanderes, so I put it down here:

"I was the composer of Lobotomy, I put my everything into it. Now, I conduct the song of apocalypse to make everything right. As if he is about to start the performance, he stretches his arm. The conductor, who thought he is the freest soul, was not free at all. The performance ended." - Last Observation, Legacy

Back then, composer (or conductor, depending on translation) and managers meant the same thing in-game.

So, wouldn't it be interesting if the Silent Orchestra manifested as an Abnormality from one of Ayin/A/X's many previous incarnations? Perhaps, during one of his many failed attempts, his self-loathing towards his mistakes was so strong that it created another 'composer' to set everything right in his place. Unfortunately, that desire had combined with the setting's general hopelessness.

From Ayin's despair to a world that had lost even the most basic of concepts like unconditional kindness and love... wasn't it only natural that a world-ending Abnormality was born to correct our mistakes?

(This isn't canon anymore, obviously, but I find it interesting to think about if Project Moon decided to go with this route)

- Eldritch

[nobodyfamousposts]

Helluva Deal (Miraculous X Helluva Boss)

Well, since Miraculous crossovers with Helluva Boss/Hazbin Hotel are a thing now, I figured I’d write my own on how I think it would likely go. Since this IS the Helluva Boss universe, expect mentions of death and the afterlife, allusions to violence, innuendos, and general inappropriateness:

“Let me get this straight.”

Blitzo stared down the demon before him.

Said demon simply looked back, unimpressed. The little thing was small with blue skin, dorky-looking round glasses, and uneven horns. It wasn’t even a notable demon. Just a random weaker demon who somehow got the funds to pay for their services.

And normally, Blitzo was hardly one to turn down money—or a job that offered money. But this…

“You want to pay us to kidnap someone from Earth—not murder, which is in our company’s name, but kidnap. Which is decidedly more difficult and less fun.”

“Yep.”

Blitzo steepled his fingers together and held them up to his face. “And you want this person kidnapped—not so you can kill her yourself for whatever issue you may have, but because you want her to make you a jacket.”

“Yep.”

“A plain old jacket you could just get anywhere here in Hell.”

The demon gasped in offense. “It’s not just ANY jacket! It’s an MDC original piece and I want one!”

Blitzo took a breath, getting the feeling he was going to regret this. 

“Why?”

This…made the demon pause and eventually shrug. “Well, I did say I would have died for an MDC jacket. And I’m dead now, so…gimme.”

Well, who was he to argue with that logic?

Although…

“That is going to require quite a bit more effort…” He started, obviously leading…

The demon gave a flat look. “I’m not paying you double. I need the rest to pay her for the jacket.”

“Why would you want to pay for it?” Blitzo demanded. “This is Hell! You’re a demon! Just steal one!”

“It’s a commission! I have to pay for it!”

Blitzo would have spit out his drink if he’d had one.

“What are you even in Hell for, anyway? You won’t kill. You won’t steal. You just want to pay some human for a jacket you could get anywhere. What’s the point of that?” He asked, giving the other demon a strange look because really, what kind of demon WANTED to pay for things?

The demon stared flatly at Blitzo, his tail flicking against the chair in apparent increasing agitation.

"Are you saying that a commission shouldn't be paid for?” The demon asked curiously, sounding a little...too polite. “Because the last guy who tried to skip out on paying for a commission died. Eyes stabbed out and everything. Do you want to risk that kind of thing happening to you?"

…

Blitzo paled.

“Oh.”

The silence lingered to the point of long past uncomfortable as the demon continued to wait for an answer and Blitzo’s not so subtle attempt to desperately press his secret security button under his desk had no effect.

This would turn out to be because of Loona disconnecting the thing due to her hangover. Though in the moment, Blitzo would choose to blame Moxie.

After a good minute of no response from his team, Blitzo started to sweat when the determined artist demon seemed to grow bored and pulled out a pencil.

He jumped to his feet.

“We’ll take the case!”

And immediately fled the room.

_______

Once on Earth, the problem came up rather quickly that they had no idea who MDC was or how to access them. The client only knew the target was a fashion designer in Paris, which narrowed it down to one city at least but still was little help when the city in question was one of the fashion capitals of the world.

Blitzo, naturally, took the lead in trying to work out a means of information gathering.

And by “naturally”, what was really meant was “horribly failing”.

“I’m telling you, the plan is foolproof. We hold someone for ransom until MDC trades herself.” Blitzo said with apparent glee.

“Sir, that would be the exact opposite of subtle and get us the wrong kind of attention!”

Moxie, for his part, was trying to come up with what he would call “sensible plans”. Millie was simply scouting the area while the two argued. Ever faithful Loona stayed behind to try using her own connections…a magazine.

Needless to say, Blitzo was the one carrying the team. Or at least in his not-so-humble opinion.

Blitzo rolled his eyes. “I don’t see you coming up with any plans, Moxie.”

The smaller demon gave his boss a disgruntled glare. “I already told you! We should just go back and ask the client for more information!”

“Hmm…” Blitzo paused, before pulling out his phone. “Hey, Loona. The client still in my office?”

“Yeup.”

Blitzo immediately closed the phone. “Yeah—nope.”

“Sir—”

“He gouged a guy’s eyes out, Moxie! I need my eyes! I’m too pretty to lose them! They frame my face!” Blitzo exclaimed, bringing his hands up to his head in a fit of dramatics. “Is that what you want, Moxie? Do you want me to lose my precious, precious eyes?”

Moxie stared at the man like he was insane. Granted, Moxie had long had doubts about his boss’s sanity, but still...

“Hey, fellas?” Millie called, interrupting the two as she waved them over to the side of the building they had set up a temporary base atop of. “Listen to this!”

Blitzo immediately headed over, with Moxie following along behind looking annoyed. As they got closer, they heard what Millie had called them over about. Blitzo leaned over and peeked into the room in question.

Below them was an open window of the building where apparently a number of teenagers were gathered within for some inexplicable reason. And in this specific room, a group of the teens were gathered around one particular girl with a large forehead and hair that appeared to be made of meat. It was this girl who had their attention.

“—really friends with MDC?” One short blonde asked, looking overly excited like Blitzo did when he got a paycheck.

“Of course!” The meat-girl replied, looking smug. “We go way back! I was even the one who encouraged him to start in fashion and inspired his Heroes line.”

Blitzo looked back up at his team. “I thought MDC was a girl?”

Moxie shrugged. “If no one knows their real identity who's to say if they're a boy or a girl?"

“What else are they saying?” Millie asked, which returned the focus to the room.

More talking from below, using words that none of the demons really understood or cared about.

“—which was why he even made the Fox outfit for me!”

“Wasn’t that design based on Rena Rouge rather than Volpina?” One other girl with blue hair asked from the doorway of the room. She appeared to be rather annoyed for some odd reason.

The meat-girl looked somber. “Well, that was before he had to change it. After all, as bold as he is, not many people would support an akuma line, even if he had kept my idea to donate the funds to charity for the victims.”

The group “oo”-ed over the girl and praised her for her thoughtfulness. The meat-girl preened at the attention. The bluenette rolled her eyes. Some other blond guy looked on in disappointment.

“How amazing!” The little blonde exclaimed, clasping her hands to her cheeks. “I’d love to be able to meet MDC!”

“So would we!”

All eyes fell to the window which Blitzo, Millie, and Moxie used to make their entrance.

Honestly, he thought it was one of his better displays of dramatics. It certainly warranted some applause. Or screams of fear. Maybe one fainting.

“Akuma!”

Honestly, he was rather disappointed by the underwhelming response.

“I know we're demons and all, but I thought this place was French, not Japanese!"

“Nevermind that.” Blitzo replied to his workers before stepping forward to face the students.

Or rather one student in particular.

“Greetings! I am Blitzo. The two behind me are Millie and Moxie.”

The class stared as one of the two glared at them while the other waved cheerfully—or would be considered cheerfully if her teeth weren’t so razor sharp.

“We represent IMP, a for-hire group out of Hell. We take contracts, complete tasks, and make wishes come true!”

The teens looked at the demons in wariness and confusion.

“That sounds nice…” The little blonde in pink said.

“Those wishes generally involve murder.”

“I take it back! That sounds horrible!”

Blitzo grinned. “We are the ‘Immediate Murder Professionals’, dealing with the unfinished business of those poor wretched souls who are seeking some small vindication in their current status in Hell.”

“Then…why are you here?” The bigger male demanded.

Blitzo ignored him in favor of his true target.

“You! Ugly girl!” He shouted, grabbing the meat-girl.

“Hey!” She exclaimed, insulted.

He shook her. “Take us to MDC and we’ll rip out those sausage-links you call hair!”

“…don’t you mean ‘or’?”

He grinned ferally.

“No.”

She shrieked in fear.

“Lila!” Others cried out in horror.

Ah, yes. There was the fear. This, Blitzo was good with. It made him feel better about the previous lackluster response to his entrance.

“Why do you want me?!” The girl—Lila shouted, looking panicked. “I don’t know where MDC is!”

He raised an eyebrow at this. “But you said you were friends.”

She glanced around, taking note of the fact that her cohorts were still in the room. Though he didn’t know why that should matter for her answer.

“We are! But…I don’t know where he lives now! He’s moved since his name got out there and hasn’t given me the address yet!”

A glasses-wearing girl frowned in confusion. “But didn’t you just say that he invited you to his house for fittings?”

“Yeah, you said it was for the latest line that just came out.” Another girl with multi-colored hair added.

“That was months ago. Before he moved.” Lila replied quickly. “So I can’t help you.”

“Sure, you can!” Blitzo replied jovially. “We can just use you as ransom until MDC agrees to hand himself over.”

Moxie approached the two, keeping his gun leveled at the other kids. “We can save some time and see if she can’t call him.”

“Hey, yeah!” Millie agreed, grabbing Lila’s bag off of her and searching for her phone. “If they’re friends, she’s gotta have his contact info!”

“It’s not in there!” Lila replied quickly. “I was worried someone would steal my phone to get his info so I don’t keep his number in my phone!”

Millie frowned, before holding the now open phone up to Lila. “Then just type in the number yourself.”

Lila glanced around the room in growing agitation. “I can’t! I don’t have it memorized!”

“Then where did you write it down?”

“I lost it!”

The demons were looking particularly vexed.

“When and where?”

“It was a while ago. I don’t know where.” Lila replied.

A girl with glasses looked at her in confusion. “But didn’t you say you just called him this morning to congratulate him on the new line? And that he promised you a free outfit as thanks for all your help?”

Lila paled. “I—”

“Then the number should still be in the phone under its call history.” Moxie noted. Millie grinned and looked back to the phone screen to look through the data.

“I deleted it right after!” Lila shouted desperately.

Millie looked up at her in irritation.

Then promptly crushed the phone in her grip.

Lila shrieked, though it would be up for debate as to whether it was in shock at the loss of her phone or in fear that she may soon share that same fate.

Blitzo seemed similarly put out, but ended up shrugging it off as he pulled Lila closer to him. “Then it’s back to Plan A to hold her for ransom. Or torture her to see if she can’t remember the details.”

“No, please!”

“Lila!”

“Let her go!”

Lila grabbed at the arm holding her, panicked but not enough beyond reasoning. She couldn’t afford to reveal she lied now. She could only hope that these monsters would take her somewhere private where she could manipulate them with less witnesses.

Marinette, for her part, was also analyzing the situation.

These were three unknowns. Definitely not akumas. If they were to be believed, they were actual demons. From Hell. Which existed, apparently. And was where Lila would likely find herself in the next hour if she kept this up.

But from Lila’s expression, it seemed she was insistent on staying tight-lipped about her lies. Marinette figured as much due to her history. But she would have thought that Lila would have had some measure of self-preservation. Though perhaps that only applied to the preservation of her lies and manipulations rather than her own well being.

It was clear that Lila wasn’t going to get herself out of this. Not in any way that would spare her and everyone else in the room, at any rate.

As it was, the classmates were about to rally in Lila’s defense. While they had stood their own against akumas in the past,Marinette didn’t want to see how well they would fare against demons. Nor did she want to have to test if the Miraculous Cure would be enough to fix whatever would be left of them if they tried.

Marinette looked to the doorway.

No one was paying any attention to her right now. She could escape. She could go out, find a place to transform, and come back to deal with these…demons.

But by the time she returned, who was to say what could happen. The demons could kill Lila. They could kill all of her friends for being witnesses.

Ladybug may not be able to fix this.

But Marinette…as Marinette, she could.

“I’m MDC.” Marinette admitted.

Everyone froze.

“Come again.”

“MDC.” Marinette enunciated. “It stands for Marinette Dupain-Cheng. My name. I’m MDC. I’m the one you want.”

Alya stared. “Girl?”

Moxie looked at her in consideration. “That would fit with the client’s report of MDC being female.”

Millie, frowned in suspicion. “How do we know she’s really MDC?”

Marinette took a breath and slowly pulled out her tablet. “Well, my signature is in the clothes, so if you’ll let me pull up one of the shots, I can point it out and—”

Blitzo cut her off, grabbing her arm. “Yeah, I think we’ll just take you both and let the client sort it out. Sound good? Good, because we’re leaving.”

“Bye all!” Millie said, waving to the group. “Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do!”

Moxie rolled his eyes. “That’s a pretty short list…”

Blitzo ignored them an opened a portal, dragging both girls after him. Without a glance back, both Millie and Moxie followed him through the portal. Before anyone else could move, the gateway closed behind them.

A long pause followed.

“Not so fast!”

Suddenly, the door was kicked open as Chat Noir burst into the room.

The much less enemy-filled room.

“Um…did I miss the party?”

_______

The room they soon found themselves appeared, for all intents and purposes, completely normal. It looked like an office of the sort they’d find anywhere in Paris. Complete with a secretary’s desk, a few chairs, and a table littered with magazines.

The difference was made quickly apparent, however, through the view out the window. The landscape the deceptively quaint room was mostly a collage of red and black, with a sunless sky above and a myriad of strange buildings. Also of note where the various denizens of…distinctly non-human appearance wandering the streets outside.

“All right, ladies! Welcome to Hell!” Blitzo announced with a flourish, causing the girls to pale.

Lila fell back with a screech, landing on her butt and immediately attempting to scuttle back away. Her path was quickly halted as she bumped into something. Looking up, that “something” was actually a wolf monster, making Lila panic even further.

Loona, for her part, was not having a good morning—ignoring, of course, that it was actually the afternoon. And as if it wasn’t bad enough that her hangover still hadn’t cleared, now some…thing had shoved into her, followed shortly by an ear-piercing shriek that only made her head feel worse.

Seeing the way the wolf demon growled, Lila opened her mouth, possibly to scream even more when Marinette quickly shoved a hand over her mouth with a smile to Loona.

“Oh my! Your hairstyle is quite lovely!” She lied. Blatantly lied to the wolf girl’s face.

“It’s bed-head.”

“I couldn’t even tell. It looks so sleek and shiny!”

“Whatever.” Loona grumbled and stormed off to the break room, slamming the door behind her (and then immediately regretting it due to the noise agitating her headache).

Marinette decided to take the initiative. “So…what do you want with us, anyway?”

“Our client paid us a pretty penny—”

“Basic contract.” Moxie interrupted.

“Pretty. Penny.” Blitzo continued as if he hadn’t heard. “For a chance to meet with MDC.”

Okay, they had mentioned that before.

“Then what?”

“If you are MDC, you can do whatever the client is wanting. If you’re not, you’ll at least make for a decent distraction while we escape and blow up the building.”

The humans in the room blanched at that.

“WHAT?!”

“I know. She was a beautiful building.” Blitzo said mournfully as he actually wiped a tear from his eye. “And I just got my office arranged how I like it, too. But it

Marinette stared.

Lila whimpered.

“I second that ‘what’.” Moxie interrupted. “Nobody at any point discussed blowing up the building!”

“It was on page 3 of the handout I gave you this morning, Moxie.” Blitzo exclaimed, covering his eyes in exasperation. “At least read the mission briefings!”

“Sir, the ‘handout’ was a paper napkin. There was no third page!” Moxie insisted.

Beside him, Millie for her part was looking over the aforementioned napkin for the part that was supposed to mention the circumstances in question…or really any of the plan.

“We’ll discuss it later.” Blitzo said over his shoulder to Moxie as he proceeded to grab both human girls and drag them over to a previously closed door.

“Hey wait—!”

“Hang on!”

Within seconds, Blitzo opened the door and proceeded to shove both girls through before slamming it shut behind them, the last thing they heard being him mentioning where to buy explosives.

_______

So.

Recap.

Hell was real. Demons were a thing. And the two human girls were getting a first hand view of the less than pleasant or holy side of the afterlife.

Marinette was…actually taking it all in stride.

Lila was less so. She was sitting ramrod straight in the chair, keeping a tight grip on her knees and trying very hard not to move as her eyes glanced quickly around the room at the assembled demons.

Marinette actually felt bad for her. And probably should have been panicking herself, all things considered. Maybe she would have been had it not been for her extensive experience as Ladybug.

Sure, it was Hell, but floating gods and people turning into monsters had already broadened her horizons of the possibilities of the universe. Plus despite the name of the company that had kidnapped them both, murder didn’t appear to be on the table. All in all, despite the circumstances, Marinette didn’t feel that scared.

The fact that the “client” in question who hired the group was actually a fan of hers wanting a commission helped quite a bit with that.

As did the flattery.

“OMG! OMG! I can’t believe it! It’s you! Can I get your autograph?! No—wait! I need to focus! Can I get a jacket with your autograph?!”

“Thank you.” Marinette said, somewhat flustered. Honestly, she hadn’t thought she had gained THAT much fame. Especially not enough for someone to want to commission her from the afterlife.

…was that a thing? Could that be a thing?

“What I don’t get is why the other girl had to tag along?” The demon asked, curiously. “Is she your assistant or something?”

Lila brightened, looking ready to speak—likely to try to lie her way out of this. Or mess up what little peace Marinette had managed to create.

“No!” Marinette interrupted quickly, ignoring Lila’s petulant glare. “No, she’s not. There was just a mix up since they didn’t know where I was or who to bring.”

Blitzo rolled his eyes. “Well, how were we supposed to know?!”

“You could have asked me when I contracted you.” Said the demon, somewhat annoyed.

“I have a website, you know.” Said Marinette, very annoyed.

They paused.

“…the fuck’s a website?”

Silence.

Marinette coughed. “In any case, you wanted to commission me?”

“Oh, yes!”

_______

It didn’t take long to make the arrangements. Marinette named her prices and the demon was more than willing to pay her for her services. They made use of Blitzo’s office to negotiate and fine tune some details regarding the arrangement. From determining the materials to writing up the contract to negotiating the costs, it was all pretty professional.

And ultimately involved the humans not being murdered and the building not being blown up, which was always preferable.

It finally came down to determining just how the demon customer wanted the jacket to look, and Marinette started drawing out some sample sketches on spare paper in the office that may or may not have been important documents for Blitzo which she may or may not have particularly cared given the whole “kidnapping and being used as a sacrifice” matter.

The only issue seemed to be that the demon customer wanted the jacket to be made of materials that were only available in Hell. Which made sense, she supposed, since she wasn’t sure how long anything she made on Earth would last in this environment. Millie and Moxie had been sent out to gather the necessary material in question, and what they returned with was a strange sort of leather. It was unique and of a color she had never seen before, and part of her really wanted to get a bit more detail about the make.

…given how pale Lila had already gotten, Marinette kindly decided to refrain from asking questions.

“Well then, let’s go over a few sketches and determine which one you like.”

The demon looked almost giddy at the prospect. The IMP team looked relieved. Except Blitzo, who still seemed to be pouting over their takeover of his office.

Lila was…less enthused. “WHAT?! What are you thinking?! He’s a demon!”

Marinette shrugged. “Well, I do have a non-discrimination clause.”

“That shouldn’t apply to demons!” Lila hissed lowly.

“The demons who have brought us to Hell and are currently our only way of getting back.” Marinette pointed out, dryly.

Lila huffed and went back to her chair.

So, with Blitzo and his team begrudgingly kindly being forced willing to donate their office for her use, Marinette sent to work to try and design a jacket to the client’s taste as quickly as possible.

The sooner she got done, the sooner they could go back to Earth.

…hopefully.

Lila, for her part, was terrified and miserable and just wanting to go back to Earth. Immediately would be preferable. Even without Marinette.

Yeah, thanks Lila.

“Why do I have to stay here? Why can’t I go back home? Or do anything else?”

The client tilted his head. “Are you saying you don’t like art? Because the last person who told me they didn’t like art had their eyes stabbed out. With pencils. Would you want that to happen to you?”

“…can’t I like art and not stay in Hell?”

“No.”

Lila paled and sunk lower in her seat, where she remained quiet for the next couple of hours while Marinette worked.

It was mostly in silence as Marinette drew one sketch after another. Asking occasional questions about preferred length, how many pockets, special embellishments, and which parts of the various jacket styles did he prefer. Eventually, they had come to an agreement about the set look he wanted, the materials needed, and when he wanted it completed by. And from there came the matter of payment…

“Um…I’m not sure what the exchange rate is for Hell currency.” Marinette said, looking at the coins he handed her.

The demon frowned, tilting his head in consideration. “I could always rob a human bank and pay you with that.”

Marinette paled.

“This is fine. Really. I can probably buy some things from Hell with this.” She said with a forced smile.

“There are tons of things you can only find here.” Millie said, brightening. “We could deliver them for you!”

Well, that was a good point.

“That’s true.” Moxie agreed. “You could make other things with the fabrics here. Hats. Shirts.”

He paused, looking over his shoulder at Millie who was busy chatting with the customer regarding the fabric he chose. Seeing she was suitably distracted, he turned to Marinette. “So…how much would it be to make a dress. Just out of curiosity.”

Aww. Even in Hell there was love.

She smiled. “We can certainly discuss it.”

The moment was ruined as Blitzo stepped in and slung an arm around Marinette’s shoulder.

“How about one of those sexy maid outfits for the bedroom? You’re French, right?” He asked before giving Moxie a nudge. “You could stand to have a little more fun in the bedroom.”

“Sir, I’m 14.” Marinette replied dryly.

“And what we do in the bedroom is none of your business!” Moxie rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Didn’t we just have a discussion about this last week?”

Marinette coughed as the two started to argue. “So…um…are we going to return to Earth so I can start working on this?”

Blitzo sighed. “Fine, fine. Killjoys.”

Lila heaved a sigh of relief. “Oh thank God.”

_______

With an agreement forged between Marinette and IMP to have the customer’s order completed and delivered within two week’s time, Marinette and Lila were safely deposited back in their classroom no worse for wear.

…well, physically. Mentally, there were probably going to be a few scars.

Several of their classmates had apparently remained since the earlier incident. Perhaps it was out of worry? Or maybe classes had resumed after their disappearance—akuma attacks and strange circumstances had become rather common, after all.

Still, it was Alya’s cry of surprise and then being pulled into a hug that assured Marinette she was, in fact, back home.

“You’re back!” Alya exclaimed, relieved. “We were so worried!”

It wasn’t every day your best friend and classmate was dragged to Hell, after all.

“—and I’d been trying to reach out to Ladybug and Chat Noir, but only Chat showed up and Ladybug must be busy or maybe she already knew? Did she help you? How did you escape?”

Part of her wondered if Alya had even stopped to breathe. The rest of her was just basking in the happiness that they had made it back safe and nothing too terrible had happened in the meantime.

The absolute LAST thing she needed was to come back and find out Hawk Moth had let loose another akuma that destroyed Paris while she was gone.

Alya suddenly gasped as though struck by a thought.

“Oh my god, Marinette! I can’t believe you did that!”

Marinette smiled. “Well, I had to—”

“You claimed to be MDC just to protect Lila! And here I thought you hated her!”

Happy feeling gone. Gone like a punch to the face. Knocked out. Dead, even.

Alya beamed. “I’m so proud of you, girl! I knew deep down that—”

“Nope!” Came a quick interruption. “That’s not what happened. It was just a lie. Completely and utterly.”

The interruption was half expected.

The fact that it came from Lila was not.

Everyone froze.

“What?”

“I never met MDC.” Lila explained, wasting absolutely no time with subtleties and just blurting it out. “I never knew Marinette was MDC. I just lied about knowing him because I thought he was the next big thing and I knew you would all believe me.”

“…what?”

Lila sighed. “I lied about knowing MDC. And being the muse behind his fashion line—well, hers. Since Marinette is MDC. She never lied. I did.”

The classmates were startled, but seemed to be taking in the information.

Rose, for her part, tried to be positive. “Oh...well, you didn’t have to lie about knowing MDC—”

“No, I mean about everything. Ever. In fact, there’s probably not a single time we’ve known each other that I was ever honest with any of you.”

Everyone stared.

“I’ve been lying since the moment we’ve met.” Lila continued. “I am a liar. Always have been. I am a horrible lying liar who lied about everyone I ever claimed to know and everything I ever said I did just to get you all to admire me because it was easier to manipulate you that way and get you to do things I wanted. From interviewing me for the Ladyblog to carrying my lunch tray to buying me things. I lied about having tinnitus just to get to sit next to Adrien and lied about not being interested in him to manipulate Nino into guilting him into letting me come to his house. Ladybug herself even called me out for lying. And when Marinette got upset that day I came back over the seat change? I threatened her in the bathroom because she was wise to me from the very start.”

A few stares were sent Marinette’s way. She didn’t have any explanation for them though. She was just as surprised as they were. More, even.

Lila shrugged. “Everything I’ve said. Everything I’ve done. All lies. Ever.”

Everyone gaped in shock. Nobody even really knew what to say.

Marinette started. “But why—”

“Because that was Hell, Marinette. HELL. The bad place you go to after you die, reserved for bad people. And until today, I didn’t even think it was real. Or that there could be a chance I could end up there. But I imagine if anything would warrant that, it’d be lying, manipulating, and trying to get revenge on a superhero.”

Nino blinked. “Wait…what was that last one—”

As if a great weight was lifted from her shoulders, Lila sighed. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go join a convent to try and save my soul now that I know I have one.”

With that, she promptly exited the room, leaving the group staring after her in complete bewilderment.

Alya gaped. “...what?”

_________

Epilogue: 

Marinette completed her commission to the demon and later for Moxie. Her fame increased in both realms and she eventually did open up her own design house. The only issue came in the customers who wanted to pay her by removing her competition, which she was mostly able to prevent until IMP took a hit on Gabriel Agreste. While Marinette did stop the attempted murder, this did still reveal his secondary identity of Hawk Moth, allowing the Butterfly and Peacock to be recovered and peace to return to Paris.

The classmates were shocked at the reveal of Lila’s true nature, but were more bewildered than anything given how it happened. They did all feel foolish and embarrassed for trusting Lila, but considering what could have happened, they all chose to take it as a life lesson to be more cautious in the future. They all remained friends and moved on to live quite fulfilling lives.

IMP formed a contract with MDC and gained a secondary job of delivery service as well as assassins, which increased their profits.

And Millie loved her new dress.

Lila Rossi convinced her mother to send her to a convent, where she became one of the most pious and devout members, spreading the message of being good in life more than any other.