#using a baguette as a sword

[faaun]

ok let's catch up quickly

[yonemurishiroku]

Give Nico the ✨baguette✨

..........I'm concerned about the blinks but. eh. give Nico a baguette. and a hug. a lot of hugs, probably.

[earthlyruins]

"beauty and the beast au where zoro's the beast and sanji's—" okay sure yeah but what about when sanji's the beast and zoro's the beaut.

zoro's good with kids and good with math. we've seen this. we've experienced it. he play fights with the kids regularly and helps out with stocks and sales of local shops

think of link twilight princess... big brother swordsman

also better than All of the knights in the village. this includes a very certain red, blue, and green haired trio. they're all very bitter about it. among other things

zoro's also the only person to ever use three swords so like. there's that. everyone thinks he has a few screws loose. he doesn't. or so he proclaims

insert kuina backstory... he makes a promise to himself to become the greatest swordsman in the world. it's just that he's, in a word, broke. and also a little sentimental but don't let nami hear him say that

judge is the head of this mini military and is very adamant on trying to recruit zoro to siege the palace on the hill. for Some Reason.

nami conspires with zoro that it's because he has some long lost enemy up there. Little Does She Know

meanwhile sanji lives alone in the castle, cursed. but not in the way you'd think. rather than a hulking beast, he's pretty much the same if not for the fact that he has a helmet on his head. thanks, dad.

thinking about the rest of the straw hats being little dancing singing objects. that was more or less an accidental side effect of the curse (sanji took off his helmet once, and it knocked luffy into a candle and ussop into a clock and well.)

he's slowly starving (hence why he tried to take the helmet off). the cook who cannot taste his food. throw in a wilting rose metaphor and when the last petal falls is when he dies

fortunately he has an old man by the name of zeff who literally won't let that happen. also all his friends that will fight death to keep sanji kicking

quite literally in some cases

so that's why when nami goes missing trying to explore the mysterious castle and zoro immediately goes to follow her, zeff practically knocks down his door to set the fear of god in him

too bad zoro doesn't believe in any god

but hey fine he won't hurt the creature in the castle. creature. period. zeff hits him over the head with a baguette

zoro finds nami and also sanji. decides in a split moment to announce he'll trade places with her. she is sitting on a couch. unharmed. she wouldn't have Been harmed. nami proceeds to call him a fucking idiot

sanji laughs at him, and zoro refuses to leave out of spite. he learns that sanji is a priss and a prince or sometimes a princess depending on the day, that he has a brilliant passion for cooking (whose skills are similar to a certain chef back in the village), and that when he laughs, zoro finds himself laughing too.

discovers sanji's dream of the all blue, and zoro finds himself telling sanji about his dream of becoming the greatest swordsman, of wado, of kuina

and eventually, Eventually, he finds out the details of sanji's curse. why he sometimes can't dredge out the energy to get out of bed (and why it's getting more and more frequent these days), and why he can't take off that helmet when the key is right there. and what the flower is all about.

proceeds to Book It when sanji tells him about judge and his brothers. except he doesn't tell sanji this, so sanji is sitting around in the castle, heartbroken and wondering Why he's heartbroken, while zoro is marching back to his village, Pissed

zeff pulls him aside though and they go and find reiju after zoro tells him that sanji's condition is worsening

zoro comes Back but this time with sanji's real dad and sister in tow and after a lot of tears and yelling (at zoro) ((and zeff)) (((then at zoro again))) they devise a plan on how to take judge down.

zoro plans on beating up ichiji niji and yonji simultaneously which sanji disagrees with. specifically because he wants to be the one to kick niji into next week

yadayadayada insert fight scene bc this is already ungodly long and judge gets exiled and imprisoned. niji gets drop kicked. the helmet comes off just as the timer runs out (thinking that the only way it could come off was to not only have someone fall For "the beast" but to have said beast love himself too. which zoro did. #love)

happily ever after. sanji eats and cooks and zoro fights and they take care of each other and find all blue. okay goodnight

[allthatmay]

Silly Shanks Headcanons:

Whinges about the weather, especially to Benn. I can just see Shanks being a baby when it's too hot or cold. (He doesn't tell anyone, but sometimes extreme weather makes his arm, or lack thereof, hurt.)

Missing arm jokes. Endless amounts. Sometimes, when he's really drunk, he puts a baguette up his sleeve and tricks strangers into "shaking his hand." It causes catastrophe when he tries to use it, grabbing his drink with both hand and baguette.

Doesn't carry any money with him, anywhere. All he's got is a trusty sword and a clever mouth. He often ends up inveigling the bartenders into forgiving his debt through some other manner, such as a game, bet, or favour—unless, of course, the price is too high. Then he has to get Benn to pay.

Personal space problems. A friend asks him a quick question? He's their problem now, and he will use every trick in his arsenal to get them to stay; any excuse for a bit of fun. The easiest way, of course, is to wrap an arm around them—but he's not above tying their sashes together like they're two dogs leashed to each other. The man has no concept of personal space.

Runs off with the joke. If you make a joke in front of him, you better be prepared to go all the way with it. Shanks will go to, and has gone to, extreme measures to commit to the bit. Just ask him about his tattoo.

Singing all the damn time, especially dirty limericks. He does it regardless of time or place. Imagine, if you will, an in-universe variation of:

There was a young sailor from Brighton, Who said to his girl, "You're a tight one." She replied, "Bless my soul, You're in the wrong hole; There's plenty of room in the right one!"

[Overheard by poor Makino, who dropped a whole cask of beer in her haste to cover her blushing cheeks. She had never before heard such filth.]

[crimsonkenjii-writes]

Cockwarming Giyuu

NSFW • MDNI

cw: fluff; Gn!reader; not much else reader just sits on his lap baking Giyuu’s baguette inside them | ू•ૅω•́)ᵎᵎᵎ

Giyuu had come back from a mission, his entire body sore and feeling exhausted from the travel, staking out the demon and the fight itself. Finally being able to come back home and see you waiting for him released some of the tension from his shoulders but the bruises and overworked muscles continued to throb in pain.

Entering his home, you were already on top of him. Your arms slung around his neck and your lips already fluttering kisses all across his face. A big smile adorning your face as you told him how much you missed him. His hands heavy on your waist, holding you close to him but his knuckles no longer wanting to curl. Sore from how tightly he held his sword in battle. Your hand sliding down to hold his, guiding him to your shared bedroom where a fluffy futon was already waiting.

Now sitting on his lap, you grind yourself against him, your hands trailing down his sore back and across his biceps. Pressing down firmly to massage the aching muscles. He groans out that he’s too tired, his muscles too sore to be doing this with you, even though he really wishes he could. Your puffy lips trailing down his jaw and down his neck, whispering between each kiss, “It’s okay, just relax. I just want to feel you. Missed you so much.”

Your hands slowly sliding down his chest until you reached his belt. The metal softly clinking as you undid it with nimble fingers. The white belt hanging loosely in its loops as you unzipped his pants. Fingernails dragging across his underwear and stroking his growing hard on. Giyuu shudders beneath you, breath hitched as your warm palm cupped him and your lips continued to press against his neck.

Taking him out of his underwear and slowly pushing him inside of you, a whine escaping your lips as you felt the familiar stretch. A ragged breath leaving Giyuu as he held you closer to him. Nearly holding his breath as he waited in anticipation for your hips to start moving, for you to start gently bouncing on his lap.

Peering into your eyes, “Why aren’t you moving?” He asks timidly.

“Told you,” you whimper out, “I just wanna feel you.” Smiling as you place your hand on his cheek to bring him in for a kiss. Giyuu groans, placing his hand as the base of your head to deepen the kiss.

“You’re just going to sit on my lap, with my dick inside you?” He struggles out, already whimpering and panting at just the feeling of your warm walls hugging him tightly. “Mhmm” you nod, legs and arms wrapping around him tighter with your face buried in his neck.

Giyuu felt his face burning, prominent blush on his cheeks and tips of his ears. Hands shaking as he held onto your form, trying to keep himself as composed as possible. He really, really missed you. He had been starved of you from his mission, even your scent alone drove him crazy. Now your sat on his lap, barely moving as you just keep him buried deep inside you. Being able to feel even the slightest of movement from you; from adjusting yourself on his lap or your walls giving little squeezes here and there — each time sending a shiver up his spine. Giyuu could hear his heart pounding in his chest, his breath long and heavy with his nose buried in your neck and hair, taking in your scent. His arms wrapped around you tightly as he used every fiber in his being to stop his hips from bucking upwards. His dick twitching inside you, feeling so warm, nearly hot, aching for release but still wanting to bask in the moment.

“Fuck, you drive me crazy…” he whispers into your neck.

[turtleblogatlast]

Leo using 3 baguettes like Zoro from one piece 🤣

Forbidden food swords are the best especially when you use them like this

[toskarinfr]

Is it normal to want to swing a baguette around like a sword?

only if you use them to cleave the saint, cleave the sinner

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

a goose is chasing the m6! how will they react?

The Arcana Mini-HCs: M6 being chased by a goose

Julian: panics and runs at first, until he realizes the comedic potential. starts theatrically trying to negotiate with the goose while threatening it with random harmless objects. gets a concussion

Asra: one quick spell has a draft of wind blowing the goose up into the sky. if you laugh, they might take it a little further with the poor goose, like changing the sound of its honk or the colors of its wings

Nadia: not used to geese. will not realize the danger she's in until you communicate it, at which point she will either 1) call the guards, or 2) try to woo you by using a nearby baguette as a sword and defending you

Muriel: the ultimate poultry whisperer, the crisis will be averted before you even realize it's brewing. will consider bringing it back to the woods, but sadly remembers that there aren't any ponds for it

Portia: if you're with her, she's pulling you out of the way in no time and dodging expertly. if you're safe or not present, she's taking the goose on in a fight and somehow winning without any animal cruelty

Lucio: screeches back at the goose in an attempt at intimidation. threatens it with his spiky arm and sword, all while stepping backwards away from it and calling for MC to do something about it

[heyitsjaysblog]

Lips and Hands That Soothe.

Words: 3926 | Rated: M | Female! Reader Insert  x Astarion (Y/N, E/C, H/C, H/T)

Synopsis: You are absolutely exhausted after the battle between Myrkul’s Chosen, Ketheric Thorm. You and your companions finally begin the trek to Baldur’s Gate. While on your way to the city, many of your fellow travelers take note of your pained state. Astarion devises a plan to grant you some relief. 

Warnings: Act 2 Spoilers! Swearing, mentions of blood, blood/bite kink, heavy petting, fingering?!

A/N: Grad school is kicking my ass!!!!! So, I apologize for not writing as much! I deadass started this like a few months ago and just finished it. I have, however, planned more to add to my fic series, along with a couple of ideas for more reader inserts! I am planning on doing a few for Halsin next, along with one intended for Gale, so I am also open to more ideas if anyone wishes to read more from me. I hope you all enjoy, it and that this isn’t terribly out of character! I was partially inspired by being super sore after the gym & work one day, and thought to myself: what would a massage from Astarion be like??? 

Gonna go repent after writing this too LMFAO.

***Also, a key just in case: 

Y/N: Your name 

E/C: eye color

H/C: hair color

H/T: hair texture

- - -

You are completely, and utterly exhausted. 

By the Gods, if you had just a moment to rest your eyes or a place to drape your weary bones, you would be the happiest woman in all of Faerûn.

And yet, you are still walking. Or in your case, stumbling. Merely moments away before taking a severe tumble toward the ground, which may just grant you the respite you are so desperately aching for. 

You and your misfit group of companions have come quite a long way from the Illithid wreckage off of the Sword Coast. It’s a mystery to you that you’ve all even managed to get this far, and you’re sure that the sentiment is shared. The whole reason you have been walking, or stumbling for this long, is due to the fact that you all recently bested the Chosen of the Lord of Bones, Myrkul. Fighting Ketheric Thorm was a feat that you truly did not think you would be able to succeed in overcoming. Your comrades were sure at one point that you were done for. However, with their support, as well as Dame Aylin’s, you were able to see another day. 

Another long and tiring day. 

You find yourself walking the rubbled path to Baldur’s Gate, now clear of the Absolute’s forces. While you all surely rested the night of the battle, your muscles still ached. Not even Shadowheart’s healing spells have managed to fully soothe the gnawing pain you suffered from being thrown around. Granted, you weren’t the only one winded and wounded, but your companions were slowly starting to realize that they may need to set up camp much sooner than they anticipated.

As you continued to trail rather behind them all, the pace of the group slowly began to halt. 

“...Why are we slowing down?” you ask, as your eyes dart towards each of your companions.

“Solider…” Karlach begins to speak.

“I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like you’ve seen better days,” she adds, her brows arching into a concerned expression. 

“What?- No, I’m fine…I could just use a small break, is all,” you explain, dismissing her claims. However, you are far from fine. Not far from your side, Astarion quickly scans your face, fairly aware that you’ve lied through your teeth. If anything, he’s gotten to know you rather well over the past couple of weeks with the amount of time you’ve both shared. 

And he was certain that you were moments away from passing out. 

“Darling, I think she’s right.” he adds, as a look of apprehension surfaces on his face. 

“Perhaps it’s for the best that we find somewhere to set up camp…” he suggests, as some of your companions nod in agreement. 

“I wholeheartedly agree.” Gale chimes in, now utilizing his quarterstaff to keep himself upright. 

“In fact, I think we may have some Waterdhavian cheese, baguettes, and cured ham within our camp supply pack…perhaps I can quickly prepare something for us all.” he adds, with a reassuring smile. 

With a heavy sigh, you agree with them all as you allow yourself to be navigated to a nearby clearing, immediately finding a fallen tree trunk to collapse upon. 

- - -

After completing a rather savory meal prepared by Gale, you found yourself sitting on top of your bedroll, which was situated right before the campfire. Your (e/c) eyes indolently studied the dancing flames, as you rested your chin within the palms of your hands. Before you begin to doze off, your ears detect approaching footsteps before a figure takes its place beside you. A pallid hand swiftly runs through your (h/c) hair, slightly surprising you before you sit upright.

Astarion blinks before snickering a bit to himself at your reaction. 

“Apologies, my dear- did I startle you?” he asks, as you begin to rub at your eyes. 

“It’s alright…I think I was beginning to fall asleep.” you explain, taking his cold hand into yours. As you run your fingers over his pale knuckles, Astarion continues to look over your face, taking into account the deep dark circles under your eyes.

“...How are you feeling?” he asks, wondering if your state has improved even slightly from earlier. 

You raise your shoulders to shrug, before offering a response.

“A little better. Just still feeling sore…it’s like my muscles are crying out for help.” you explain, as you look into his vermillion eyes. They appeared to burn even more red than usual, which typically tends to happen when Astarion has yet to feed. In fact, you can’t recall the last time he had even done so. Normally he would hunt, in addition to drinking from you, however, you can’t think back to the last time you spared some of your blood for your vampiric lover. While you have been so fixated on your aches and pains, it seems as though Astarion had his share as well, judging from the small, purplish-green bruise nestled underneath his eye.

“...What about you? When’s the last time you’ve fed?” you inquire, causing Astarion to wave off your insinuation. 

“You don’t need to worry about that, my dear. I’m sure I can procure… something later from the woods.” he attempts to assure you. 

“Besides, I don’t think I could bring myself to drink from you in your state. If anything, you need rest.” he adds, causing you to roll your eyes. 

You were fine! 

A long and good night’s rest should nurse you back to health in no time. 

“I told you all, I’m okay!” you exclaim, attempting to raise yourself to your feet as proof, only to immediately make contact with the ground once more. You let out a groan in response, laying flat on your back from your failed attempt.

Astarion raises his hand to his mouth to stifle his laughter, as you playfully nudge him with your foot to get him to stop laughing. 

“You poor, poor thing,” he says as he helps you sit back upright, causing you to grunt from the movement. 

In doing so, Astarion’s eyes light up as an idea comes to him. 

“In fact, I think I have something in mind that can potentially grant you some…relief,” he says.

As your mind cycles through a myriad of different things he could be alluding to, your brow quirks up in curiosity.

“And that is…?” you respond with a confused expression.

“A massage, of course. I’m known to give rather good ones…or so I’ve been told,” he says with a playful smirk.

“Perhaps I can come to your tent in a bit, and help rid you of some of the tension you have built up.” Astarion suggests, prompting warmth to begin to generate within your cheeks. 

“Hm…I can’t say I’m in the state to turn down a massage…” you drum your fingers across your chin, playfully considering the offer, despite already having your mind made up. 

“Come to my tent in 10 minutes.” you eventually state, causing Astarion’s toothy smile to surface. He swiftly stands, before dramatically offering out his hand to help you up. You roll your eyes in response as a small smile surfaces on your face. Taking his hands, he pulls you up from your seat, causing another groan to escape your lips. 

“Go get comfortable, my sweet. I’ll come find you shortly.” he assures you as you part ways, seeming rather excited as he walks back to his tent. 

You giggle a bit to yourself as you watch him stride off before walking towards your tent in the opposite direction, picking up a lone lantern as you continue to make your way there. As you reach your quarters, you open up the flap before immediately lowering yourself down to the ground inside, bringing the enclosed lantern in with you. Upon setting the lantern down on a nearby leather chest, you release a deep sigh before beginning to remove your armor. Your arms are unreasonably heavy, making this an even more difficult task. As you undo each layer, you become more and more aware of some of the bruises you suffered from the day before, attempting to carefully maneuver the rest of your clothing without accidentally disrupting one. Once you get fully unclothed, you sigh to yourself as you lift one of the cushions in your tent to retrieve a loose-fitting linen camisole with its matching pair of shorts. You once again lift your arms to pull your nightwear over your limbs and onto your body. Once you accomplish this task, you sprawl your body out onto the scattered cushions on the ground of your tent, finally bringing your eyelids to a close. 

It isn’t too long before you detect the sound of what appears to be someone beginning to undo the flap of your tent. As your body shoots upright, you recognize the pale, slender fingers undoing the ties of your tent’s entrance. The flap falls, revealing Astarion, with a wooden crate that appears to contain a myriad of different glass bottles. 

“May I come in?” he inquires, with his distinctive smirk. 

“You may,” you respond, with a quirked brow as you watch him lower his head before stepping into the tent. He then proceeds to set down the crate and remove his leather boots, before sealing the flap once more.

“I thought with the tadpole you no longer needed to be invited in?” you teased, as you watched him situate himself on the cushions alongside you, prompting him to snicker a bit at your joke. Your eyes once again scan the crate that he brought inside. It appeared to be filled with glass bottles that seemed to store different creams, emulsions, and expensive-looking oils. 

“What in the hells…is all of that?” you whisper to yourself as your eyes flit between each bottle, a smile growing on your face as you stare in disbelief. 

Astarion blinks as he studies your face, wondering why his collection of products seems to be startling you. 

“Well…you seemed interested in receiving a massage, and I found it only fair to give you a proper one,” he says with a grin. 

“I see…” you respond, as you watch him crack his fingers, causing you to giggle a bit at how seriously he’s taking this process. 

Astarion’s gaze meets yours before his brows pinch together in frustration. 

“Well…?” he inquires, before continuing his thought. 

“Don’t just sit there ogling me. Come here, and get comfortable!” he says, patting the cushion before him as he urges you to find a place in front of where he kneeled.

You roll your eyes with a small smile before crawling over to him and turning so that your back faces him. You sigh a bit as you let your shoulders fall, attempting to obey his command and “relax”. Attempting to further ease your comfort, you fold your legs as you situate yourself within the cushion.

Your gaze faces forward, yet you are tempted to turn around and watch what Astarion is concocting once you hear the movement of glass shifting behind you. Letting the biting curiosity take hold of you, you start to turn your body backward before Astarion realizes that you’re watching his every move. He tuts, before taking his cold hands and gently turning your head forward once more, causing you to laugh. 

“No. Peeking.” he states firmly, before continuing with what he was doing originally. 

“Just…close your eyes, or something-” he suggests as he unscrews a glass bottle of oil before letting the liquid fill his palms. As you hear him rub his hands together, you jump a bit as you feel cold, slender fingers make contact with your skin. Ever-so-slightly, Astarion takes his pointer fingers to move your (h/t) hair out of the way, before beginning to gently massage your neck. You sigh a bit, focusing on the flickering flame in your lantern, as you close your eyes. You then shift your posture to move further back into him. His hands glide across your skin before deeply digging into your shoulder blades, causing you to hum in contentment. 

That…actually feels good, you thought to yourself. While you’ve come accustomed to how skilled Astarion is with his hands, you could have never imagined one of his massages feeling like this.

As he continues to work, he directs most of his motion into the center of your neck, right in between your shoulder blades. You stir a bit, as he hits a part of your body that houses a very distinct knot. 

Lowering his mouth to your ear, his soft lips brush against it before he speaks in a low whisper. 

“Do you feel tension here?” he inquires, causing an electric ripple to run through your core at the sound of his voice. 

“M-mhm…” you swallow, somewhat startled by the sensation of his words practically reverberating through you. 

As he pulls away, he slowly begins to work at the knot, carefully making sure to make firm, yet articulate motions to help alleviate the pressure. You let out a breathy sigh, further relaxing into his touch. You take notice of the oil that he applied to his hands, which seemed to be growing warmer and warmer as he used it to massage you. An odd feeling, as both his naturally cold touch, and the warming effect of the oil work together to coax the tenseness of your muscles. The aroma of the oil fills the tent, giving off the scent of spiced citrus. There were notes of sweet almond, cinnamon, and clove, but more specifically, something that you’ve come to grow very familiar with. A scent that smelled so comforting, and distinct. Your nostrils twitch as you attempt to determine the scent.

 It could only be that of…

“This oil you're using…is that bergamot?” you ask, causing Astarion to halt his work. 

If you knew that would be the case, you wouldn’t have spoken at all.

Astarion chuckles a bit to himself, somewhat shocked at the fact that you were able to recognize it so easily. 

“You are correct, my sweet,” he affirms your suspicion, before resuming the massage, beginning to move further down your back. 

“A rather impressive guess.” he commends you, causing you to smile to yourself. 

“It wasn’t so difficult to assume…the smell reminds me of you,” you say with a soft smile, as a rosy tint settles into your cheeks. Once again, however, you jump a bit as you suddenly feel Astarion’s lips brush past your ear. 

“May I go lower?” he asks, as he gently tugs at the straps of your linen camisole. Your eyes flutter open slightly, as they meet his finger lifting the string of fabric. You offer an eager, yet shy nod, prompting Astarion to smirk in response. 

“Excellent.” he says in a low voice, pushing the strings of the camisole down past your shoulders, which causes the fabric to fall down your frame and gather at your waist. The cool air causes your nipples to erect, and once again, Astarion’s hands make contact with your body. As your eyes flutter closed, Astarion’s hands glide further down your back, while he cautiously moves around the bruised patches of skin that he comes across. His fingers lightly trace down your spine, before his hands settle on delicate, unbruised skin. He then carefully kneads into your back, causing your posture to shift. As he continues to carry on, a moan builds in within you, forcing itself out of your lips. 

Somewhat embarrassed, you raise a hand to your mouth, which causes Astarion to chuckle a bit at your reaction. 

“Careful, my love…you may wake our companions.” he jokingly warns, although, he truthfully did not care if others heard.

Suddenly, his hands glide upward across your skin, before slyly making contact with your breasts. With a firm, yet gentle touch, Astarion’s pale hands begin to cup your breasts, causing the tint in your cheeks to grow darker. He begins to massage them, softly brushing the pads of his thumbs over your erect nipples. Another moan spills out of your mouth as Astarion brings his body close to yours. Your arousal builds, causing a pleasurable burn to begin to develop in between your thighs. As he continues to tenderly massage your breasts, you throw your head back into his chest, shifting in your seated position, before Astarion lowers his lips down to the exposed flesh of your neck. He then gingerly peppers your neck with soft kisses, before moving to suck at the skin, intending to leave a hickey to match the other bruised patches of skin you possess. 

Becoming rather amused with all of the squirming and moaning you seemed to be doing, Astarion couldn’t help but pull away, only to take you into his arms and gently pull you back into his lap. A light squeal erupts from your lips before you relax into his hold. You suddenly become very aware of a growing bulge in Astarion’s trousers as it rubs against your sex, causing another ripple of arousal to echo through your core. 

Astarion continues to explore your body as his hands glide down your side, moving toward your stomach until he eventually meets the waistband of your shorts. At this point, your clit is practically thumping in concordance with your heartbeat. 

Pressing his lips towards your ear, he whispers, “Shall I go lower…?”

Your breath hitches before your eyes flicker open. 

“Astarion…you don’t have to-” you start to speak.

“You’re absolutely right. I don’t have to,” he interrupts your thought, using his free hand to guide your chin, as your gaze met his.

“I want to,” he assures you, as his scarlet pupils lock onto your (e/c) eyes. 

A smirk tugs on his lips before he moves his face closer to yours to press a soft kiss onto your lips. You lift a hand to his cheek, desiring to deepen the kiss as long as you can. While doing so, your other free hand takes grasp of his hand, maneuvering it towards your shorts. Astarion smiles into your kiss, reacting to your forwardness. As he pulls his face away, his hands slowly creep into your shorts, and the pads of his fingertips finally make contact with your clit. A soft moan escapes your lips as you turn, positioning yourself so that your back once again relaxes into his chest. As he holds you, his one hand further rubs down the folds of your labia, while the other once again returns to cup and massage one of your breasts. Astarion traces one of his fingers around your entrance, sighing as his finger is coated with your slick arousal. In doing so, he rhythmically rubs two fingers against the inside of your folds, causing you to moan once again. As he continues to go back and forth, occasionally circling your clit with his fingertips, your body twitches as you begin to grind against the friction as well. The feeling was driving you mad, and if anything, you could think of only one more thing that would further send you over the edge.

As your body arches against his, you tilt your head slightly to the side, exposing your neck. With a free hand, you attempt to reach back, trying to guide his face towards your neck once more. 

“Bite me.” you say, as his eyes widen a bit by the proposal. 

His gaze quickly meets yours, looking for confirmation, only to be met with another eager nod. As you confirm your request, Astarion lowers his head towards your neck, planting a delicate kiss at the crook. He takes his other hand and cradles your head. As he teases your entrance, Astarion fangs graze against the sensitive flesh of your neck before piercing the skin, all the while dipping two of his fingers into your body. Your body arches once again, biting your lower lip as you stifle a deep moan. Blood starts to stream down your neck, past your collarbone, and drips down your chest. As your blood coats his tongue, he can’t help but moan into your neck as well, causing a flutter of arousal to echo through your core once more. Sweat beads on your forehead, as you clamp your eyes shut in pleasure. His fingers work in and out as he steadily fingerfucks you with little to no resistance. You shudder from the sensation, growing wetter and wetter from feeling filled by him, and him alone.

Astarion continues to suck at your neck, simultaneously thrusting his fingers with ease. He could practically feel your heartbeat thumping against him, and as the pace slows, he pulls his fangs out from your neck. He drags his tongue along the bitemark, attempting to quickly cleanse the wound. As he finishes drinking from you, his hands shift from cradling your head to directing attention back to your clit. With the combination of circular motions, thrusting, and rubbing against that one particular spot, you were only but moments away from cumming. 

“A-Astarion…I-I’m-” you begin to stammer, before reaching climax, and practically gasping for air as you feel a complete release come over you. 

“That’s it, my love…” he coaxes you with a low tone as you coat his fingers and hand as you orgasm. Your body practically goes limp as you recline further against him, and he can’t help but snicker at your ecstatic expression. Bringing his fingers to his blood-stained mouth, he sucks on the two that were just previously inside of you, wanting to taste your arousal. Astarion moans a bit as he shuts his eyes, taking in the flavors of you, before he licks away the remaining blood from his lips.

As you enter a state of blissful stupor from your orgasm, you slip out from his lap before falling back onto the cushions of your tent and wiping away the sweat from your forehead. A contented sigh escapes your lips. 

Astarion’s brow quirks in curiosity, as he was very interested to know what you were thinking.

“Well…how do you feel now?” he inquires as he takes a nearby rag to pick up any of the blood that may have dripped down his chin. The purplish-green bruise that once sat on top of his cheek now seemed to have faded away upon him feeding from you.

With your eyes still shut as you lay on your back, still basking in the aftereffects of your orgasm, a rather goofy-looking smile surfaces on your face. Truth be told, a massage and an orgasm were almost exactly what you needed to temporarily forget about all of the bodily pain you were experiencing from your previous battle. 

“That was…” you begin, before pressing a hand over your bare chest. 

“I feel fucking amazing.” you finish your thought with a laugh, slightly opening your eyes to meet your lover’s once again. 

Astarion chuckles a bit at your response. His eyes look you over and a pleased expression forms on his face. 

“Well, my dear, I’m glad I could be of service,” he says with a smirk before an inquisitive expression takes over. 

“Y’know, truth be told, perhaps I missed my calling as a masseur…” his voice trails off as he briefly ponders the thought. 

You giggle a bit, before turning to face him. 

“Well…now it’s your turn.” you announce, as Astarion’s eyes widen in anticipation, once again being caught off guard by your forward demeanor.

Abruptly, you take the frilled collar of his white shirt into your hands, pulling him down towards the cushions with you. 

You desperately wanted to return the favor.

[worriedvision]

okayvso i have a bit of angsty(ish) request its basically with tighnari(or cyno if u want to do him instead !) but reader is basically from a home which doesn’t have much of food so usually reader has to steal the food from other place and it was getting to a point where people started to actually think reader is a burglar its its gets the attention of tighnari(or cyno) reader gets caught by one of them, andd-

i’ll let u choose how it ends :)

Doing this with Tighnari, gender neutral reader.

-

When Tighnari heard about your suspicious activity when a new box of goods were delivered, he was the first to investigate you. To see what exactly you stole, when you did it, and any signs you were about to make another move towards the boxes. The forest rangers all grew wary of you, growing more reluctant to let you in their rooms solely because of your suspicious activity.

He started taking note of the stock numbers when he didn't spot any irregularities with the valuable items that were often delivered, and it's one night when he's counting the stock for medicines that he hears you again. He peaks out, making sure you don't see him, and he spots you looking around before reaching into the boxes of close to expired food. You checked the dates, calculating what would go off and what you could safely eat. After taking the closest to expiring food items, you look around once more before scampering back to your room, clearly preparing to make yourself a meal.

Tighnari got Cyno to give him some details about you that morning, and one fact about you was your poor upbringing. Your parents were not well off, and you were taught these habits of yours. Your parents out emphasis on the items that could go past their expiry date and still be safe to eat, so long as they pass your tests, and they taught you that these foods were usually that heavily discounted that nobody would bat an eye if they went missing.

So, Tighnari takes a walk to your room.

--

Hearing knocking on the door as you begin to slowly and quietly open the packaging for your bread, you look over in horror as you fear the worst. Someone spotted you stealing from the food, and the food wasn't entirely expired. Perhaps the shipment wasn't to get the expired goods away, but instead to use them for something entirely different. Slowly putting your bread away, you take a deep breath before approaching the door. You open the door, and your boss is right there.

"I saw you taking the food from that box." Tighnari explains, not looking mad at you in the slightest. "If you're running low on food, just come and get me. There's no need to risk your health because of old habits." He tuts. "Let me in, I've brought over my dinner as well as an extra serving for you."

You let him in, him pulling out his meals as you begin to recall where each food item is. Tighnari finds the products, wincing when he realises the food was going to expire the next day.

"You would be sick tomorrow morning with this." He teased, hitting the top of your head lightly with the stale baguette you took. "Perhaps you can use this as a sword instead of a food item." Tighnari shakes his head, placing the food items into a bag so he could take them back to the box in question.

"...You aren't mad at me for stealing food?" You ask, still concerned this was fake sympathy before he fired you for your lack of professionalism.

"At first, I was concerned when I saw you riffling through boxes. When I realised it was food, however, I was mainly frustrated at how willing you are to risk your health over asking me for a meal." Tighnari states matter-of-factly. "From now on, I'm going to be making food for you. At least until you know how to treat your body right."

"...Thanks.".

[nocanonhere]

Happy Wyll's Week! Day 1/7

-Nice Trick (SFW): Inspired by in-game dialog of Wyll remembering Duke Stelmane. Him talking about his little boyish crush was so adorable, he’s just so cute! Coupled with a baseline desire for adoration, and you just know fancy tricks and smooth poetry were in his arsenal. He will get a smile out of you! (Centered around my Tav, Aiya. Elf-Dragon Sorceress)-

Even though it aches, Wyll likes to ruminate on his past.

Retrospect didn’t always bring pleasant memories. But he still spent time thinking about his life at home, despite how he was made to leave it.

His earliest memory is one of him tumbling behind his father; anywhere from three to five years old. Ulder had looked behind him briefly, smirking at the barefoot boy pitter-pattering behind him, before turning back around and greeting their usual courier walking toward their arched entryway.

He smirks to himself then, sorting supplies by his and Gale’s tents while the latter, Aiya, Lae’zel, and Shadowheart were out gathering resources.

He remembers when he first began sword training. It hadn’t been with Ulder, not that first day. It had been with Theya. She was a high ranked Fist, often at the Ravengard estate for conversations Ulder refused to have on base; someone Ulder considered a family friend. She was always kind with Wyll, despite being well aware of his very obvious and juvenile crush. But she always took the time to speak with him, recounting her latest excursions with the organization while omitting the details not polite for a child to hear.

And she had insisted on using wooden swords; never mind how he whined. He had been eager to go over slashing techniques, finally convincing her to go over those with him after he had surprisingly and successfully demonstrated proficiency with parrying. Ulder had not let Wyll handle weapons just yet, but Wyll had eyes. He had watched his father and other Fist members practice many of times on base. Baguettes were shorter, lighter, and probably not a proper substitute for swords, but his days of running off with two of them to practice had paid off when the time came.

She agreed to show him the most basic of slashing techniques, stepping him through the arch little by little. For what looked like a basic swinging move, there was certainly a lot to remember. His stance, his squat, his eyes. His face also, because being open and predictable in combat was a negative.

He felt excited after that session, raring to try with the real thing. But once again, Theya laughed and said no. But that had not stopped him.

That night, he had snuck outside to the shed armory and picked a sword. He remembers the lurch in his chest, knowing he was doing something forbidden, but not faltering.

He took to the dummy outside and began to go through the motions of what he learned that day, breathing labored breaths and smiling through it.

He wasn’t picturing the dummy as anything other than what it was; just a practice target. Rather, he was imagining impressing his father; showing him what he accomplished in a few hours. And he certainly liked the thought of impressing Theya just as much. With this, he attempted a flourishing move with the blade. He was going to flip the blade at the handle with his right hand, and catch it mid air with his left. He saw it done at a festival once. It couldn’t be that hard.

And as it goes, he failed to get a grip on the blade, fumbling it and inevitably slicing open his right palm in the flurry.

He cried out, stunned at the line of red that formed before blood seeped down his hand.

Needless to say, Ulder had not been pleased. He hadn’t chided him too bad, but he had let him know unsupervised training would not be tolerated; not until Wyll was older and more experienced.

“What is the rush, Wyll?” he asked, beginning to wrap the injured palm.

Ulder had set him on a study table in his bedroom when Wyll came walking in, voice shaking. He quickly grabbed medical supplies and began tending to the wound.

“I want to be good at it,” Wyll said, eyes trained to the floor instead of his father.

“And you will be,” Ulder assured, voice even and unperturbed. “But there is no need to rush. This was your first day.”

Wyll swallowed, finally looking up to meet his father’s eyes once his hand was tightly wrapped.

“I want you and Theya to see that I’m good at it.”

Ulder stared for a moment, before blinking slowly and smiling gently.

“We know you will be,” he answered, stepping back and gesturing for Wyll to hop down.

He walked Wyll back to his bedroom, which was down the hall and around the right corner, and stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed while Wyll climbed back under the covers.

“Sorry, father,” he finally offered, feeling scrutinized with the man looking down at him.

Ulder sighed. “You just need to be careful. You’re young. You have plenty of time.”

Back in the moment, Wyll was satisfied with how his supplies were stocked in a small trunk he used for his personal items. He smiled at the memory, turning his right palm over and noticing the thin, white line of the scar left over.

Newer scars along with calluses had layered the evidence of his desperation. But his father was right. As he got older, his dexterity improved. By thirteen, he was comfortable writing and holding weapons with both hands.

Ulder had even walked him through how to perform the move. Wyll had explained to him how he tried to recreate it based on what he saw. Ulder corrected him and let him know.

“No need to flip the sword multiple times,” he said, standing off to the side while Wyll held a wooden sword. “Flip it once. Have your left arm raised halfway at your hip so you can be ready. When you catch the handle with your left, then you may flip the blade by the handle as many times as you like before resuming your base stance.”

It took him a few tries, but he was able to do it. He had always been a quick study. And Ulder had smiled. Theya had smiled too when he felt extra confident with the move and showed her (still with a wooden sword).

He heard Karlach greeting the venturing group as they returned back at the edge of camp.

“Find anything worth a damn?” she asked.

Gale nodded. “A few magical items I may use for my current condition. But mostly, wares that will most likely be sold unless anyone here can make use of them.”

Lae’zel set the sack near the campfire and walked off. Looting didn’t exactly seem like her thing, and Wyll could see the visible annoyance start to roll off her now that she was no longer being used as a pack mule.

He looked at Aiya then, as she sat on a makeshift log bench while beginning to go through the bag.

“First things first,” she started, pulling out a jar and holding it above her head to catch the attention of the man a few feet away. “Halsin, this is for you.”

It was a jar of honey, well preserved. The older man walked forward and accepted it gladly.

“Many thanks, Aiya.”

She continued to rummage, but still responded. “Thank Gale. He found it in a basement pantry,” she mumbled. “Among other things.”

She pulled out a weapon then. A slim blade, golden handle on the end.

“Wyll,” she said, looking up. “Can you make any use of this?”

He walked forward and accepted the sword from her. She had stopped for a moment, looking up at him as he examined the find.

“Hm,” he began. Then he smirked. He knew a great way to test its balance.

He tossed it in the air; one flip, then swung his left hand as it fell back to chest level, managing to swing it three times in his hand before bringing it down to his side.

“Balanced,” he answered, lifting it back up and holding it at eye level to observe the quality of the metal. “Light. In good condition.”

He looked down at her. “I can certainly take it off your hands.”

She smiled at him gently. “Nice little trick,” she nodded, and Wyll recognized it was only partly sarcastic, yet it still made something in his chest bloom. “Glad it will work for you.”

“Thank you,” he answered gently.

“How many times did it take you hurting yourself to get that one down?” She asked. Wyll laughed.

“You know, I was just thinking about that earlier. The times I snuck off to father’s armory and practiced flips and fancy deflects on dummies and barrels of hay. I have plenty of scars to attest to that.”

She smirked at him. “And how many noble ladies have you done that in front of?”

He inhaled in disbelief and huffed out another laugh. “I see I’ve been had.”

“Exactly,” she said, then starting pulling more items out of the bag. Wyll watched her for a moment, then asked if she needed any help splitting and sorting items. She denied, but thanked him for the offer.

Dinner was the same sort of chaos it normally was, considering the type of group they were. And it was decided they’d all pick up and move tomorrow. The team today had efficiently searched the area for any supplies that could be worth anything, so it was time to move on.

As Wyll lay in his bedroll that night, he let his mind wander again.

“And you think this will impress the young ladies?” Ulder had asked, mirth in his voice.

Wyll smiled wide. “I know it will.”

[nerdieforpedro]

Day Fifteen - Blooming

My blog overall is 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 665

Warnings: Pero being soft (Pedro characters are soft in the month of March), salad and bread jokes, maybe innuendo

Notes: I had to write about Pero in a bath for @yourcoolauntie @tinytinymenace @avastrasposts @linzels-blog and @morallyinept because we’re in the Pero pit together. 💕 Especially after being inspired by @iamskyereads beautiful series. 🤗

Main Masterlist / March Spring Prompts 2024 / Writing Challenge

Away from his amor (love), Pero contemplates many things. He is gone from home earning coin to take back home. It’s something he’s done since he was able to hold a sword without falling under its weight. Sacrificing his body most often, on occasion his mind with what he’s asked to do to people and for those who pay him.

Now that he has an anchor, someone to bring his coins back to, he no longer frequents the brothels he used to, he instead has found a different indulgence. Something that not even his vida (life) knows about. No, maybe you do a little, especially when he came home the last time and he asked you to add different salts and oils to his first bath at home. A special one to not only welcome him home but to soak away the road. Your eyes had questions that you didn’t ask, setting up the bath for your husband who’d been away.

Pero has asked the bath girl to leave him the soap, oils and such after the first time he took such a bath and after washing himself, pleased with how he smelled, he slipped off the bed after sitting down to finish drying. Never again would he let someone else save for you mix his bath.

Months came and went, he arrived home and stopped into the blacksmith’s to check on an order he’d put a down payment on. The blacksmith had nerve to act like he didn’t know what the mercenary spoke of. Pero reminded the blacksmith of not only who he was but that the artisan’s wife had been seen with the baker putting some olive oil on his baguette and he might want to finish orders timely so she has a reason to stay home.

Pero was able to finally get his order. He’s carrying it home with his well earned coin to you. He sets it out back and spies you collecting laundry from the clothesline. His hands wrap around your waist as he coos in your ear, “Buenos tardes mi vida (good afternoon my life). You look even more beautiful than last time.” Your body had stiffened at first touch, but relaxed when you heard his voice.

“Bienvenido! Estuvo fuera mucho tiempo, mi esposo (Welcome, You’ve been away for too long my husband).” Your hand reached over your shoulder and ran through his matted hair, his lips gracing your neck with their warmth. “I shall ready your bath. Remove your armor and wait inside, I’ll fix you something to eat before I start.” Pero mumbles in agreement but spins you around to face the large steel tub he’s brought home.

“We’ll eat together cariño (dear), then bathe together. I’d rather be skin to skin with you the entire afternoon and evening. Also the sunrise too.” Your head spins at the thought, the both of you would be freezing should that happen. You appreciate what he means as it’s the same thing you want now that he’s home and will be for the next while.

“I’ll have the bath smell like the field of wildflowers we said our vows in with the priest from two villages over. Plus the salts for your joints, you don’t have any do you?” Ever concerned since the one time Pero had gotten in and hissed from salt getting in a scrape he had on his thigh, you’d been cautious about putting more of the salts in his bath.

“No, none this time. Whatever you want to put in the bath is fine as long as you’re in there with me querida (sweetheart).” He grinned while releasing you and picking up two pails to help you fill and heat the water needed for the bath. It would take longer than usual and Tovar didn’t hear one complaint from you, in fact you sounded excited. He wouldn’t use the word even upon threat of death, but his love for you blooms anew every time he returns home.

[genji-bugboy]

Any headcanons about glass Joe?

(And draw tempered glass (Joe x bull) RAAAAH nah I’m kidding dont)

Oooo yes the Almighty Baguette Baby Boi

Also here is some food for all ye Tempered Glass fanatics out there

v

Now for the headcanons of this French lad

v

:was born a natural blonde but dyed his hair 83827s7 times so now it’s severely damaged (dead completely)

:Has freckles but is insecure so he uses concealer over them

:once found a whole samurai sword in his baguette

:He uses the French flag as bedsheets and towel for getting out of the shower

:Has a fluffy white cat named Marie

:scared of rodents (Aran)

:Had a huge Pokemon hyper fixation during his childhood (it’s still there)

:He goes to Bath & Body works regularly

:Ate glass as a child (hence his name Glass Joe)

[dresshistorynerd]

Hello!! Your blog has been a delight to browse through. I have a question, it may seem obvious but I'm just making sure- with codpieces, did the "cods" actually go inside the little pouch, or did the codpieces sort of just go over where they were located and people's "cods" were tucked back somewhere else? I assume the former, but the construction of some of the ones I've seen in portraits (very upturned) looks like it'd be uncomfortable.

Semi-related question, I've got a couple of characters that, for one reason or another, wear codpieces without being in possession of a "cod". Would that influence how it would lay on the body in any way? Would it be wildly inaccurate to suggest theirs were stuffed with cotton or something?

Again, your blog is very cool and I appreciate finding another historical clothing enjoyer :]

Thank you! :) It makes me happy to hear you've enjoyed this blog!

I'm not sure if you've already seen my post about the construction of the joined hose in which I also touch on the origins of the codpiece. Shortly the early cod pieces in late 15th century were invented to cover the genital area comfortably, when the hose were relatively stiff and very skintight.

Looking at the early codpieces, which were basically just a small piece of fabric tied on on the crotch it does make a lot of sense, clearly the it held the genitals inside it. Like in this 1470s painting.

The men's fashion where they didn't wear hems and only very tight hose was mainly used by young fashionable men, who were not nobles, so soldiers, musicians, Venetian gondoliers etc. At the time valuables were generally tied to the belt in pouches, and especially when it comes to soldiers, who would also have knives and swords hanging on their hips, not having a protective layer of a skirt left their genitals quite vulnerable to hanging objects. Which is probably why they started padding their codpieces. The codpiece started to be made from two pieces of fabric making it more shapely and less flat, but it wasn't yet very extreme. There is padding but it's still easy to see how it would hold the genitals.

In 16th century it very quickly though turned very extreme. It became huge, what the French called appropriately a baguette. It was heavily padded, even boned to keep the shape.

There's not much if any codpieces left from the time, so it's hard to say how they were specifically constructed. To me it seems quite probable, that they were still functionally the same as the earlier codpieces with a little pouch for the genitals and the rest being padding. There's a pretty interesting theory though about these extreme codpieces. At the time there was a big syphilis epidemic in Europe and they put all kinds of herbs and remedies on the genitals and wrapped the penis in bandages with the remedies. So the theory suggests that these baguettes may have been developed to hold and protect bandaged genitals, protect the fashion fabrics from the staining remedies and also obscure that someone had the very stigmatized infection by making a very padded penis a fashion. There's a really interesting paper about it, which also goes into detail about the codpiece.

So the genitals were held inside the codpiece one way or another. And to answer the other question, padding the codpieces was already standard practice so padding it a little bit more if one didn't have outward genitals like that is very believable to me. In fact, people would even hide some valuables inside their very large and padded codpieces. Even in the earliest codpieces made from flat fabric you could easily add a little extra stuffing to the under-breeches or the chemise tucked in to the hose. Though I'd doubt they'd use cotton as padding, since cotton wasn't readily available at the time in Europe. (It was all imported from Asia, since it didn't grow in Europe and Europeans didn't know how to weave cotton, so it was used on very specific purposes, like lining doublets.) More likely wool, linen or horsehair.

[razorblade180]

... I don't know why, but I'm wondering if anyone in Fontaine got some really stale bread and began dueling with them.

As in, so stale they're practically stone.

The fact that the 'fish' weapons are literal fish claymore, bow, and an empty pipe with valves doesn't help the idea going away.

Think we'll end up getting a literal 'baguette sword'?

So I’m under contract to now mention this scene from RWBY if you are not aware somehow. I know must also tell you to watch the show. I don’t make the rules, I just follow them.

As for your question, no. They gave us a metal pipe, which is funny in its own way

[tammulberry]

Sweet Beginnings: Marichat AU (Mulberry Conundrum)

SYNOPSIS: After graduating high school, Marinette inherited the bakery of Tom & Sabine. While business was booming and life was peaceful, all that changed when a mysterious man in a gaudy outfit by the name of Cat Noir makes her try to weaponize bread.

RATING: PM for Passionfruit Macarons

Copyright © 2024 by T.A.M. Mulberry

A Cat With Sunglasses?

Working in a bakery was a feast for the senses. The smell of fresh pastries, delicious bread and sweets. The elegant yet simple designs that surrounded the place. The taste of home. Marinette was content, to say the least.

After graduating from high school, she was set to inherit her parents' famous bakery. Some would say it's the best one in Paris. Tom and Sabine's Boulangerie-Patisserie.

What more could Marinette want? She certainly didn't want anything to change.

Until it ... did.

See, there was a certain customer that always showed up at a specific hour and a specific day. Friday at 7pm when the bakery is about to close.

***

As Marinette was cleaning up and saying goodbye to the last few customers, she heard the bell on top of the door ring.

"Welcome to the best boulangerie-patisserie in Paris!" Marinette greeted in her best customer service voice. "How may I help you...?"

She turned around to see a tall man. Now, Marinette wasn't normally intimidated by tall men but whatever she was looking at right now was enough for her to go into full panic mode.

Bright orange board shorts. Green patterned socks. Sandals. An oversized black hoodie with cat ears. A facemask. Perhaps the worst one of all... huge sunglasses at 7 in evening.

If he showed up this late at night with an outfit as ugly as that then it meant that he most definitely had some ulterior motives. Ulterior motives that Marinette absolutely didn't want to know.

So she screamed and the man mirrored her.

"W-wait a minute, I just wanna—!"

"I HAVE A STALE BAGUETTE AND I'M NOT AFRAID TO USE IT!" Marinette swung it around like a sword before throwing it at him. The man dodged it smoothly. A little too smoothly that Marinette didn't know if she was frightened or annoyed that he wasn't scramming. It hit the door of the bakery with a loud thud before it fell down and left a mess on the floor.

"Whoa! Marinette! Chill out!" The man tried to calm her, but the adrenaline made her ears ring.

"How do you know my name? Are you stalking the bakery?" She interrogated him further as she grabbed him by the collar of his hoodie.

He stepped away from her and laughed. He laughed.

"You have a name tag, ma'am!" The man continued to laugh and all Marinette could do was stare up at him, confused, embarrassed and oddly charmed by his laugh.

Shut up, self. You almost hit the guy with a baguette.

"Anyways, I'm sorry if I frightened you," he cleared his throat. "I'd prefer if we start over."

The man bowed down like a theater act and Marinette, whose head already managed to cool down was taken aback.

"Good evening, I go by many names but everyone else calls me, Cat Noir."

Marinette tried to stifle a laugh. That sounded so ridiculous.

"I'm Marinette," she said with a warm smile. "I'm sorry for trying to hit you with the baguette earlier. When they're stale, they can be... well, I— uh. I'm sorry in general."

"Hey, it's no big deal," the man said, holding out a palm.

"Well, since you walked in here..." Marinette started. "You probably want to buy something."

"Right. Yeah," he looked at the selection that was still available. "Do you guys still have passionfruit macarons?"

Marinette's face lit up. "Of course! Macarons are one of our bestsellers but the passionfruit macarons aren't as famous as our other flavors."

"Guess, I'll be coming here from now on then," he chuckled lowly and Marinette's face flushed. "I'll be taking your entire stock by the way."

Marinette looked at him incredulously. "Our entire stock is enough for a big family. Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I can pay for it," he fished out a wallet that looked expensive. Especially compared to the outfit he was wearing. He fished out 60 euros and offered it to her. "Consider it an apology for nearly scaring you to death."

The blue haired girl nodded and opened a box to place the macarons in. She felt awkward and embarrassed ... yet intrigued? While she didn't want to assume anything, there was something so strangely familiar about the guy, ugly clothes and all.

"So... Cat Noir? People call you that like a stage name?" Marinette questioned, in an attempt to make small talk. "What do you do?

"Well, I ... uh..." he said as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I do charity. And I chose to be a black cat."

"Is that so?" Marinette replied, not completely convinced. He looked like a mixed bag of traits. Smooth, confident, awkward and warm. She couldn't deny that it made the peaceful yet monotonous day a lot more interesting.

She realized she was already done with the box of macarons and handed it to him. Marinette almost wanted to ask him more questions but she hesitated. "Thank you for coming to the bakery."

"Thanks," his facemask prevented her from seeing his face but she could tell he was smiling. "I'll make sure to come back, Princess."

"Princess?" She repeated, her face flushed."

"Yeah," Cat Noir started. "Cuz you're sweet like one."

Okay, that was the cue to call Alya because she might actually faint on the spot.

He snickered mischievously and opened the door. "What? Cat got your tongue?"

END.