#westley oneshot

[captainsophiestark]

The Reunion Scene

Westley x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2023!

Fandom: The Princess Bride

Day 10 Prompt: "It's alright, I'm here now."

Summary: Westley and his love reunite after she shoves him off a cliff, before realizing who he was of course.

Word Count: 1,070

Category: Fluff

A/N: I'm reading the Princess Bride novel and apparently "The Reunion Scene" in the book between Westley and Buttercup is a bit of a running gag (the wikipedia article can give a quick walk through for anyone curious), so I decided to write it! In the book, it's described as a three page scene, which is about the length of this. For anyone unaware of the wild lore behind the novel, I highly recommend a Wikipedia deep dive, it's very entertaining

Tagging @auroracalisto as my fellow Princess Bride fan :) Hope you're having an amazing first semester teaching!!

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I planted both hands against the chest of the man before me and shoved with all my strength, sending him careening over the cliff's edge. He'd killed my dearest love, and now returned to mock me, to dare imply I hadn't loved Westley. Whatever happened to me, I couldn't stand this man a minute longer. I shoved him of the cliff, listening to whatever he screamed as he tumbled to the ground below.

"As... you... wish..."

My heart stopped in my chest at the words of my love coming from the mouth of the Dread Pirate Roberts, tumbling down from the cliff I'd just shoved him off of. My Westley, alive, and falling. It couldn't be possible, but it was.

"Westley!" I cried, immediately rushing to follow him down the cliff. I tried to keep my feet under me, and I made it some of the way before gravity caught up to me and sent me tumbling, head over heels. I landed at the bottom, right next to Westley, who still wore his mask. Our eyes locked, and despite the lingering pain from my fall, I surged forward and ripped the mask from his face.

Staring back at me, by some miracle, was Westley. My farm boy. He looked different, older, stronger, and a little of the soft innocence had gone, but he was here. Not dead, like I'd thought him to be for the last three years. Alive, and now, with me.

"Oh, Westley!" My heart sang as I flung my arms around his neck. Without a second's hesitation, he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me to him. I moved to kiss him, but to my surprise, he pulled back.

"Won't your betrothed take issue with you kissing another man?"

"Humperdinck? Westley, I've already told you, I don't love him-"

"And yet you agreed to marry him. There was not a moment these past years I didn't think of you. But you agreed to give up on me, on love."

Now it was my turn to pull back a little. My brow furrowed, but Westley's expression didn't soften as his piercing blue-gray eyes surveyed me.

"Westley, I thought you dead," I said plainly, still a little shocked at his reaction. "Not a day has gone by that I didn't think of you, to mourn you. My heart was ripped out of my chest the day news came of your death, and I've had to live every day since dealing with the loss of my love.

"And besides that, Westley, I didn't seek the prince out. He found me, and proposed, since he was looking for a wife and found me beautiful. He knows and accepts that there's no love in our union, and he made it very clear that refusing a request from the crown prince would result in death. Death I would gladly accept, if I had ever thought there was any chance of you returning to me from the dead."

A cold fire lit behind Westley's eyes at my words, and when he spoke again, his voice was dangerously low and quiet.

"He's forcing you to marry him?"

I shrugged. "There are worse fates than being Queen, Westley. But none of that matters, not now that I know you live. Nothing matters at all anymore, Westley, so long as we are together."

He sighed, pulling me to him again, resting his forehead against mine. I brought my hand up to his chest, resting it there so I could feel his heartbeat and reassure myself that this was real. Westley was truly here.

"It's alright, I'm here now," he said, reading my mind as his hand came up to gently stroke my cheek. "My ship waits for us not far from here. It's not going to be easy for us... we'll have to go through the fire swamp..."

"We'll make it through," I said, running my hand through the hair at the base of his neck now. I smiled at him, all the love in my heart glowing through. "We'll make it through anything together."

"Then we haven't any time to waste. We must move quickly."

"Wait!"

Westley froze, halfway up from our position on the hill, but he sank back down at my outburst. His eyes never left mine once. His eyebrow quirked slightly in silent question, and I didn't wait to give him his answer.

I rushed forward, kissing Westley hard, like I'd wished for a chance to do every day for the past three years. He immediately returned the kiss, pulling me into his arms and holding me so close to his chest I could feel our hearts beating in sync.

There have been five kisses in the history of the world deemed so passionate, so perfect and full of love, above and beyond anything else that's ever happened. I was no expert on it, but in that moment, I knew this one blew every other kiss before it away.

Neither one of us wanted to pull away, but finally, Westley did. He kept staring into my eyes, gravity trying to pull us back to each other, but with a grimace of regret he leaned further back.

"We really need to keep moving. If we're to stay ahead of your pig fiancé, we have no time to waste."

"Just promise me a million more moments like this, for the rest of our lives."

Westley smiled. "As you wish."

I beamed as Westley pulled me to my feet, and the two of us began heading through the ravine we'd tumbled into and towards the Fire Swamp, hand in hand.

No doubt, the challenges ahead would be dire and terrible beyond imagining. But I knew confidently that we would survive them. My Westley was still in the world, and even better, he was with me. There was no other ending but for the two of us to be happily together.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury

[theteasetwrites]

Why do people think you may stop beginning? If the last episode was terrible you'd rewrite it somehow in your story.

Probably because my series follows the show so since it's over they think my series will end too, which is fair, but I still have a lot of oneshots to write, and I have just decided that I will for sure be writing a sequel to the series that will follow Daryl (and Reader...) in Paris.

I probably won't change the finale too much (even though I am kind of unhappy with it, so maybe I will tweak some things), but I will have to change it a bit to include Reader, Robin, and Westley.

[terry-perry]

I'm so happy you're doing requests! Can I request Ransom x Reader where they were doing a Bonnie and Clyde thing and Reader vows that vengeance will come after he gets arrested? It might be overdone, but I really like your writing and want to see what you do with this prompt. Thank you and Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas Nonnie!

Marta didn't know what got her to approach you after everyone saw your husband get taken away. It might have been her good nature getting the best of her once again. She had wanted to offer a form of condolence for breaking your family. Ransom was guilty of the whole thing, sure, but your sons didn't deserve to see their father in handcuffs. Your youngest son wailing in your arms while your 3-year-old held onto your leg was enough to get Marta to come over.

"Y/N," she walked towards you with much apprehension. The unreadable stare you threw at her in reaction didn't help matters. She may not expect you to be in the best mood, but she was still nervous about how you'd respond to her useless words. "I just want to say I'm sorry. It means nothing, but I do hope you'll get through this."

Your expression had yet to change. Why would it change? Marta inherited millions, and all you got was an imprisoned husband and a lousy apology. Expectations should be as low as they could get.

Yet you did respond soon enough. You gave a sharp inhale, like you tried to withhold a cry, before coming forward with a hug. Saying that this gesture caught Marta off guard would be an understatement. She gasped and went on to release some shaky breaths as you held her in one arm. You were still holding your baby boy that had since calm down, so Marta was able to hear you whisper in her ear:

"You're not sorry. Not yet."

It was a risk to say such a thing to her with the cops having yet to leave, but she had a right to know. Ransom may have let his mouth get the better of him, but you will be sure to finish the job. Harlan was dead, but the money was still around. For now, you'll be the shocked and heartbroken wife that will try to get the best lawyers. However, you can't resist telling Marta that this was far from over.

Because even though your boys lost their father, they won't lose their home.

[themurphyzone]

PatB Oneshot: Every Rose Has Thorns and Petals

Summary: Brain’s plan is simple: create a Valentine card with a message that the world should adore him as their new ruler. But he needs extra help in coming up with a catchy message to rein in the consumers for the outer cover. And who better to help than the expert of all things amour?

AN: I decided to see if I could write a good Suavo. Enjoy! Warning for terribly cheesy flirting. I don’t typically write this genre XD

This borrows from the HC that Pinky can still do the Suavo persona.

Written for Valentine's Day/Suavo Sunday. I regret everything.

AO3 Link

At last, a new plan came to fruition! With Valentine’s Day looming upon them with its chocolate-coated fangs and sickly sweet aroma, people would be flocking to grocery stores everywhere to purchase giant teddy bears they could barely carry around and heart-shaped boxes of gourmet chocolate. But most lucrative of all, they would buy Valentine cards with the most obnoxious lovestruck messages that were far cheesier than Pinky’s cheesecake.

Everything clicked into place. The slightly larger than average dimensions of a Valentine’s card. Various red and pink hues for the envelopes. Colorful images with hearts, roses, and Pinky on the front cover (for Pinky met all of the scientific criteria that triggered one’s protective instincts). And on the inside, an image of Brain standing on the world in royal regalia with a message declaring that all the world shall adore him as their new leader.

But there was a single, glaring flaw to his otherwise brilliant plan.

He could not come up with a ridiculous phrase for the outside cover. It had to be eye-catching, humorous, or corny enough to grab a customer’s attention. He stared at the smiling picture of Pinky for several minutes, then gave in.

Pinky was the expert in all things ridiculous after all.

“Life is the road I wanna keep going! Love is a river and I wanna keep going ooonnnn!” Pinky sang along to his playlist, leading a Barbie doll in a tender waltz.

And it was best to interrupt before Pinky’s playlist reached My Heart Will Go On. That sappy 90s love ballad was on there. He was not striking the King of the World pose until he was actually king of the world, but that assertion hadn’t gotten through Pinky’s cotton-stuffed head yet.

Brain grabbed the prototype card and pencil, marching up to the windowsill where Pinky and Barbie danced under the evening sky. The sun lowered, the moon rose, and the first twinkling stars poked out, signifying the beginning of another night.

The phone was propped against a wall, and Brain smacked the image of Anastasia and Dmitri dancing to stop the song as he passed by. Pinky continued to hum, dipping Barbie low enough that her blonde hair touched the windowsill. His eyes were half-lidded, tail swishing to an invisible beat. Though there was no music, his rhythm was steady and his feet never missed a step.

It was mesmerizing. Pinky danced with all the grace of a professional ballerina.

He pricked his finger on a sharp point of the prototype card, and the poke brought Brain back to reality. Right. No distractions.

“Hiya, Brain! Zort!”

Dear Archimedes there were otherworldly blue eyes right in front of his face.  

Startled, Brain leapt back and swung his pencil defensively. There was a muffled narf as the eraser end went into Pinky’s mouth. Once the initial shock passed, Pinky giggled and nibbled on the eraser, several rubbery shavings poking out between his teeth.  

Brain took a deep breath, trying to calm his too-fast heartbeat.

“Quit slobbering on my erasers, Pinky,” Brain snapped. He removed his pencil from Pinky’s mouth, wrinkling his nose at the saliva-coated eraser. He tossed it aside, and the pencil skittered across the counter and onto the floor.

“But they taste so good!” Pinky licked his lips. “Especially with a pinch of dryer lint. That way you get fluff and chewiness in one single fantastic bite!”

Sometimes he truly worried for the state of Pinky’s digestive tract. For now, it was best to change the topic entirely. “As much as I’d love to debate the intricacies of your exotic cuisine, I require some of your eccentric expertise for my latest plan,” Brain said, setting the prototype card on the counter.

Pinky’s tail and ears perked up. A predictable reaction, but reliable all the same.

While Pinky put Barbie away, Brain retrieved a new pencil. There were few writing utensils that weren’t chewed up by a bored employee or Pinky for fun, and it wouldn’t be long before Brain would have to acquire more.

“I gotta help Brain now, Barbie. Thanks for sharing a dance with me! Those ballroom dance classes are really paying off!” Pinky chirped, waving to the inanimate Barbie, who now sat in a pink plastic convertible next to a shirtless Ken doll. He peeked inside the card and clasped his hands together, holding them against his cheek dreamily. “Awww, Brain! This is gonna be so romantic!”

“The very atmosphere I intend to create with these mass-produced cards, Pinky,” Brain replied. “However, while I have all the elements of your typical Valentine card alongside an additional message that will aid us in our conquest, I haven’t worked out one essential component yet.”

He closed the card and tapped the empty speech bubble next to Pinky’s image.

Pinky tilted his head. “You haven’t figured out how to make single people buy your cards yet?”

Drat. He hadn’t considered those outliers.

“Then we’ll just have to infiltrate the postal service,” Brain said, mentally congratulating himself on correcting that error quickly. “But before we implement the plan, I need a Valentine phrase for this speech bubble. A saying that will entice the average infatuated consumer and hook them into purchasing my cards alone. And since you lean heavily toward the sentimental and saccharine…well, this is where I require your assistance.”

“The sentimental and the saccharine?” Pinky echoed. “I don’t think I’ve heard of that soap opera, Brain. What channel is it on?”

Brain opened his notebook and found an empty page, poised to jot down Pinky’s suggestions. “The real life channel. Don’t be concerned about missing it, Pinky. It’s on 24/7 all year long. But I digress. The sooner I find a phrase, the sooner we’ll have the world!”

Pinky tapped his foot in thought, the tip of his tongue poking out like he truly believed protruding tongues had the power to magically grant ideas. For all Brain knew, Pinky probably believed that.

Then Pinky snapped his fingers. “I got it! How ‘bout ‘be mine, valentine’?”

“Too cliché,” Brain muttered. A million Valentine cards would already have similar phrasing. They didn’t have time to seize control of a greeting card factory. “Not unique enough.”

Although the valentine bit wasn’t particularly directed toward him, his grip on the pencil slackened, the tip leaving a graphite smudge along the margins. He quickly turned the pencil around and erased it, hoping Pinky didn’t catch onto his brief moment of inattention.  

Fortunately, Pinky didn’t notice. “Alrighty then. Hmmm…you’re the sour cream to my cheese-slathered potato?”

“…I’ll save it for a last resort.”

Well, he asked for unique. But sour cream didn’t particularly invoke strong Valentine feelings. Idioms that involved sweet foods with enough sugar to induce diabetes in an elephant would be better, and he made a quick note to the side.

“I turtle-y adore you?” Pinky suggested, his blue eyes sparkling accordingly.

Brain felt a light blush settling over his cheeks, and he rubbed his fur to rid himself of the mortifying feeling. “Doesn’t match your picture. And no animal puns unless they involve mice.”

Pinky rubbed his chin, not one to be easily deterred. “There’s gotta be some good ones on the Internet.”

“Don’t trouble yourself, Pinky,” Brain sighed. He sat cross-legged on the counter, massaging his forehead to intercept any headaches before they began. “Figured we should’ve gone with the photobooth plan. It’s your fault for influencing my subconscious with your caterwauling over The Princess Bride’s movie adaptation.”

“Troz! I’ll have you know Princess Buttercup and Westley have great chemistry!” Pinky pouted.

Brain rolled his eyes. “Please. They’re about as compatible as two noble gases.”

Pinky went quiet after that. Whether he’d gone off into the imaginary world of talking cheeses or taken unusually great offense on the lead couple’s behalf, Brain wasn’t sure. But the silence obliged, and Brain took the opportunity to ponder their next course of action.

Take a risk and use one of Pinky’s earlier suggestions? Scrap the plan entirely and pull one from storage? Seek a second opinion?  

Then Pinky gasped, his tail pointing high in the air like an inverted exclamation point.

“Brain, are you pondering what I’m pondering?” Pinky asked, gripping Brain’s shoulders in excitement.

Brain leaned back, supporting himself on the palms of his hands. “We break out the Feldman disguises and ask Mr. Sultana for his opinion on what a hypothetical Valentine card should say?”

“I’m sure he’s got a bunch of good ones, but that’s not it,” Pinky said. “Actually, I oughta slip into something more…in-character. I’ll be right back!”

Pinky skipped away, humming as he went over to his dress-up box in the corner of their cage. He pulled a divider around himself so that all Brain could see was a shadowy silhouette rummaging through clothing and accessories.

Brain continued to ponder, though no feasible ideas were coming to him. He closed his eyes, shutting out all visual forms of distraction. He listened to Pinky dressing in the cage, but it was more white noise than a true hindrance.

Five minutes later, he still had nothing. But there was something…different.

A tantalizing scent. Not overly sharp, though just light enough that he couldn’t identify it with confidence. And he wanted to know more.

It wasn’t fruit or soap. Nor was it vanilla, like the scented candles Pinky loved so much.

Something smooth snaked its way under his nose, brushing the fur above his lips. The scent was closer now. His nose twitched.

“ACHOO!”

Startled by the force of his sudden sneeze, Brain’s eyes flew open. He rubbed his nose to wipe off the lingering sensation, staring down at Pinky’s long tail, which sat unassumingly in his lap. The tip was wrapped around the stem of a small red rose.

The tail lifted, rubbing against the fur under Brain’s chin. Brain felt his cheeks heat up again, and he quickly batted the offending appendage away.

“Pinky, you’re not helping my state of-“ Brain began, ready to launch into a verbal tirade on how he needed to think and if Pinky wasn’t going to help then he could make like a mitotic cell and split…and then he saw a very familiar, perhaps all too-familiar, lavender tuxedo with an overstuffed dark purple…something underneath.

He couldn’t tell if it was a shirt, vest, or pincushion. A gold button glinted in the middle of Pinky’s chest.

Gulping, Brain knew the mysterious article of clothing was the least of his concerns. He forced himself to look up, gaze raking past the slender neck and toward half-lidded, coy blue eyes. A sophisticated mustache poked out from each side of Pinky’s muzzle. And he was genteel, charismatic…

Suave.  

Pinky’s ability to play a character to perfection never ceased to astound him. He still remembered? Brain had long destroyed the Personalitron and its blueprints, deeming them unnecessary and cumbersome.

“Pardonnez-moi, you with the giant head and marshmallow body are seeking the passionate advice of I, the great Pinky…Suavvvo-“ he drawled every syllable with that odd French accent, r’s rolling off his tongue like smooth butter “-for your…ah, Saint Valentine card, no?”  

Fu—choose your words wisely—I mean, dear name of a historical contributor to the scientific or mathematical field who I can’t identify properly at this time.

“I fail to see how playing dress-up is going to help with this conundrum, Pinky Suavo.” Brain stood up and crossed his arms. He wasn’t about to let the Suavo persona sway him. He was the Brain, and he bowed to no one.

Exert control over the situation. Yes. That’s what he needed.

Suavo plucked the rose from his tail between two practiced fingers, inhaling its scent deeply. Where did he even get that rose from? The lab wasn’t growing flora for any reason, nor did any scientist have the green thumb to care for anything so fragile.

“Oh, but love is always…how did you say, a conundrum, is it not?” he purred, and Brain scowled. But Suavo was unperturbed. “One may pluck the petals from a pretty flower and ask if one loves or loves not, yet how will one know if they ask the flower and not the lover? Oh, I do not know.”

His voice dipped into a lower, softer register, and a strange sensation traveled up Brain’s spine. Though the riddle seemed directed at him, he wasn’t in the mood to unravel any cryptic meanings.

Just like before, Suavo’s magnetism was…hypnotizing. Like he had no choice but to do what Pinky Suavo said. And wasn’t that ironic? He, the Brain, as the hapless follower instead of the commanding leader.

Suavo appeared oblivious to Brain’s internal dilemma. He simply set the rose back into his tail and twirled one curled end of the mustache around his finger, humming a dreamy, sentimental song to himself. He was waiting on Brain in the most irritating fashion possible.

But if he wanted this plan to work, he’d just have to tolerate Pinky’s attempt at resolving his predicament.

“Pinky Suavo,” Brain sighed, forcing all his pride back. Suavo turned to him, his eyes still in that odd half-lidded position. “Is that overstuffed pincushion actually giving you ideas for the card?”

“Of course, mon ami.” Suavo slicked his ears and fur tuft back with a smooth, graceful stroke of his hand. “For it is he, who is I, who is the connoisseur of…ammooooouuuur.”

Brain grabbed his notepad and pencil, his stomach doing odd backflips like butterflies had somehow burrowed their way into his flesh and laid eggs there. He was not paying attention to Suavo’s hand movements. No, the eye was just naturally drawn to movement. That’s how it worked.

Besides, he was looking at the same being who once managed to get all his fingers and tail tangled up in a complicated cat’s cradle.

Suavo clicked his tongue, deftly plucking the items out of Brain’s grip. “No, no, you silly mouse. You cannot experience amour through pen and paper alone. You must feel it, see it, hear it. For it is everywhere and anywhere you search…if only you would use those big ears of yours.”

Brain gritted his teeth and jumped for his supplies, but Suavo simply held them out of reach with one long arm. All Brain could manage was a tiny hop. It wasn’t getting him anywhere.

So he took a deep breath and forced himself to relax.

“I’m listening, Pinky Suavo,” Brain said, hoping he sounded at least a little cordial. “I believe the colloquial is, I’m all ears?”

A pleased smile flitted across Suavo’s face, his arm lowering.

Perfect.

Then Brain threw himself forward, digging his hands and feet into Suavo’s clothing and hauling himself towards the notepad and pencil. Fortunately, it wasn’t hard to grip. Suavo stumbled a bit, but he refused to yield. Brain grabbed a fabric fold on Suavo’s right shoulder. He was so close-

-and a red nose pushed into his own. Warm, mint-scented breath tickled the fur on his face.

“You know, it is more, ah, polite to take a mouse to dinner before you begin climbing him, is it not?” Suavo crooned.

Brain’s ears flopped against his back, a warm sensation sweeping through his body. His clammy paws lost their grip on Suavo’s clothing, and he would’ve fallen entirely if Suavo’s free arm hadn’t wrapped around his waist and secured him with a strong yet gentle grip.

In hindsight, perhaps his attempt at reclaiming his belongings was ill-thought out.

Perhaps it was for the best that the arm was covered by fabric, but at the same time, some irrational thought of wanting Pinky’s fur against his own wormed its way into his mind.  

Suavo set the notepad and pen down with care, dipping Brain in the process. Brain clutched the fabric tightly, but it was unnecessary. Suavo’s embrace was strong enough to prevent him from landing on his head. Then Suavo straightened up, once again plucking the rose from his tail and holding it next to Brain.  

“Oh, now this is…magnifique,” Suavo murmured, his eyes darting from the rose to Brain’s face. Though Brain tried to maintain eye contact to make his displeasure known, his resolve was quickly crumbling away. Surely it was the close proximity, the thumb stroking his fur, that was picking apart all rational thought and leaving some hormone-driven creature behind?

“What?” Brain asked, and he inwardly cringed. His voice wasn’t working properly. He’d meant to sound more demanding than that pathetic excuse of a question.

“Your eyes, mon ami, are just a few shades lighter this rose,” Suavo said. Brain stared at him in disbelief. Comparing eyes to flowers, or worse, gemstones, was just ridiculous.

And your comparison of Pinky’s aesthetically pleasing eyes to the wild blue yonder above isn’t?

Brain ignored the contemptuous voice. That was completely different. The sky was neither a flower nor a gemstone, and therefore it wasn’t off-limits. Besides, it was a thought for him and him alone. It’s not like anyone else was going to hear it.

“You are but a deer mouse in the headlights. Yet there is no need to hide under a thorny layer,” Suavo hummed, tilting his head curiously. Deliberately. How strange. Even the slightest movement was mesmerizing. His fingers traveled up the flower stem, until his hand rested underneath the petals, supporting the tiny rose in the palm of his hand. “A rosebush may scratch and prick, yet the great Pinky Suavo cannot be swayed. For there’s a pretty bloom hidden in the darkness, and he is who moi shall…shall…NARF!”

Shocked by the return of the nonsensical exclamation, Brain lost his hold on Pinky Suavo’s clothing. He fell onto the counter surface with a pained groan. The hard material wasn’t doing wonders for the bends in his tail.

Something fluttered against his nose, causing Brain to sneeze again. He removed the offending object, and found himself staring down at the rose he’d been teased with. If he ignored the heavy-handed rose imagery Suavo kept spouting, it was rather adequate for a specimen.

“Narf! Zort! Poit! Egad!” Pinky laughed uncontrollably between his usual tics, uttering them at such a fast rate that they started to blend together like a tongue twister. “Ooh, I haven’t—troz! Haven’t said narf in a long time! But it’s poit—it’s okay cause you needed my help!”

Idiot.

Brain sighed and pushed himself to a standing position, then placed the rose on his notepad so Pinky could reclaim it later.

Now that he thought about it, Pinky hadn’t said any of his favorite syllables in his Suavo persona. Of course, they’d been replaced by stupid love poetry and gratuitous French, but the narfs and poits and zorts were rather refreshing.

Odd. He never thought he’d actually miss Pinky’s…unique diction.

“Pinky, were you actively suppressing your usual speech patterns in your strange form of assistance?” Brain asked. He couldn’t help his curiosity.

“Zort! Oh Brain, I’m not nearly as good as suppressing things like you are!” Pinky’s chortles continued as Brain grabbed his wrist and led him straight to the water bottle in their cage. “Besides—narf! Besides, I had to stay in character!”

“Remind me to never have you play a villain for any future plans revolving around cinema,” Brain grumbled.

Pinky’s tail happily flicked against Brain’s own. Though the imbecile was just swishing it around mindlessly, the brief physical contact suddenly brought back that very odd, warm sensation.

Curse this heightened sensitivity! It’s only a principle of thermodynamics and heat transfer!  

“Brain, are you okay? Poit,” Pinky asked as Brain made him sit down in front of the water bottle. “You’re all woozy and whirlywindy. And white and red all over like a newspaper!”

“I’m f-fine,” Brain said. He was absolutely not relying on Pinky for balance. “Just drink, Pinky. And take off those silly clothes when you’re done.”

Pinky stared, not comprehending anything Brain said, but that was normal for him. Then he started to laugh, and only then did Brain realize he needed to watch his word choice, especially around a certain someone, because of course his fluff-filled mind would misconstrue it.

“Not like that!” Brain spat.

Pinky tipped onto his back, legs kicking upwards as his high-pitched laughter continued to assault Brain’s ears.

For the sake of his own sanity, he left Pinky to his own devices and stormed over to the nearest sink. He pushed on the tap for cold water until he’d created his own miniature waterfall, then hopped right in. He welcomed the cascade over his body.

As long as it pushed his homeostasis in the opposite direction, he was fine with resembling a drowned rat for now.

o-o-o-o-o

The plan failed before it ever took off. Brain had been so distracted that he’d failed to notice the lab was completely out of colored ink, rendering the copy machines completely useless.

He’d gone with the ‘you’re the sour cream to my potatoes’ message for the front cover, formatting it into the speech bubble in an elegant cursive font. Though it wasn’t conventional by any means, he simply considered it again since no other suggestions were forthcoming.

But at the same time, part of him wasn’t keen on allowing the masses to lay eyes on the Valentine card.

It seemed special. Unexplainably so.

“Brain?” Pinky called. His verbal tics had long gone back to their normal frequency. “Aren’t we taking over the world tonight?”

Brain shook his head, relieved that he finally had control over his body again. “Not tonight, Pinky. I’m afraid I’ve been prematurely thwarted by the lack of inventory in this lab.”

“Oh, you don’t have to be afraid, Brain,” Pinky said. Gone were Suavo’s clothing and mustache, and Pinky’s lean, muscular arms were on full display as he folded them across his chest. “I’ll protect you from Tory.”

It was an unnecessary gesture, but Brain couldn’t help but be touched by the admission all the same. Brain made a show of carefully placing the card into storage, just so he could distract himself momentarily.  

When he finished his task, he found Pinky holding an elegant paper rose, crafted meticulously with purple tissue paper. A light blush settled over Brain’s cheeks as he accepted the gift from Pinky, whose blue eyes shone brightly as Brain ran his fingers over the soft petals.

“Thank you, Pinky,” Brain said gratefully, and he resisted the urge to rush off immediately and place the paper rose with his globe keychain, another gift from his dearest friend.

“You’re welcome!” Pinky smiled, and Brain’s heart beat faster. Then Pinky’s gaze flicked to the TV screen, and Brain figured he was about to be roped into watching a cheesy love story unfold. “Brain, can we watch Beauty and the Beast please? With those special Valentine M&M’s and chocolate-coated popcorn? I saw a whole bunch in the kitchen! Narf!”  

Well…he could’ve suggested worse. At least this one was tolerable.

And it’s been a while since they’d watched a movie together.  

“Get everything set up, Pinky,” Brain ordered. “I’ll join you when I’m finished with my own tasks.”

Pinky saluted and scampered into the kitchen, grabbing the rose he’d held in his Suavo persona along the way. He sang at the top of his lungs, though he’d forgotten most of the actual words and replaced them with a series of narfs and portmanteaus. Once Pinky was sufficiently distracted, Brain moved his notepad and pen over to the TV, then laid the paper rose over it.

He heard the crinkle of a bag followed by the sound of M&M’s being poured into a bowl. Pinky would be back any minute.

Brain knocked his head against the side of a wall.

Calm yourself. Pinky believes pebbles are precious gifts. You’ll be fine. Probably.

Slowly, he approached the drawer where he’d kept his hidden present. Sifting through several sheets of paper covered with complex formulas he’d deliberately placed in there to ward off Pinky, he found the sunflower pen he’d carefully hidden towards the back.

It wasn’t exactly…traditional for a Valentine’s gift. Simple blue ink with a green body and tipped with a bright yellow sunflower.

But it was bright. And colorful. Like Pinky.

More importantly, it was practical.

Brain’s ears twitched, and he heard the whirring of the VCR as Pinky popped in the movie. Brain debated leaving the pen and presenting it after the movie, but he didn’t want to procrastinate either. Otherwise it would be impossible to enjoy their activity.

Well, he could just drop it in Pinky’s lap. And snatch up some popcorn so his actions wouldn’t be too conspicuous. He climbed out of the drawer, holding the pen behind his back.

A preview for The Little Mermaid began to play. Pinky was enraptured by the animated marine animals. He seemed so happy.

Maybe he should reconsider. Valentine items would be discounted next week. He could just hold off and give a belated…what was he thinking? Valentine’s was just another day to turn profit!

The paper rose was sitting right there. No…Valentine’s meant something to Pinky. Like Christmas.

“Goody, you’re back, Brain!” Pinky cheered, stuffing two pink M&M’s into his mouth. The large bowl beside him was overflowing with chocolate. “It’s not raining inside, but I love your parasol! Where’d you buy it?”

A parasol?

He glanced up at the sunflower. Oh. So there was a resemblance to a parasol, he supposed. If one viewed it at a certain angle, that is.

“It’s a pen. Not a parasol. Take it,” Brain said, holding out the sunflower pen.

Pinky didn’t take it.

Instead, he made a joyful noise and crushed Brain with a flying embrace. Brain dropped the pen in surprise as Pinky’s entire body curled around him, feet off the ground. Brain had to support all his weight, Pinky’s warm fur brushing against his own.

“I love it! Loveitloveitloveit! Thanks, Brain!” Pinky squealed, happy tears forming at the corners of his eyes. “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

“You’re welcome, Pinky,” Brain murmured as Pinky nuzzled his cheek. “Now get off. I require my lungs. And heart. And my digestive system.”

Pinky didn’t get off until the Disney fanfare to herald the beginning of the movie began to play. Then he quieted down immediately, rolling the sunflower pen so that it rested across his lap.

“…happy Valentine’s Day,” Brain whispered, nibbling on a red M&M.

Pinky smiled back, teeth flecked with bits of chocolate. He shushed Brain, not wanting him to interrupt the opening narration.

As the enchanted rose appeared onscreen, Brain stroked the soft tissue paper of Pinky’s beautiful creation. Then he set it aside and reached for some popcorn.

His world was here. And there was nothing more he wanted.

Fun fact: the original name for this fic was going to be Suavo Valentino, but the current title was a last minute change cause somehow I just wrote a lot about roses.

Another change: The Princess Bride bit was originally a dig at High School Musical and how Disney Channel has bad romance in general, but since that was mid 2000s I changed it so this story could reasonably fit in the 90s.

Suavo’s lines...were interesting. I couldn’t stop laughing at how dumb some of them were though.

Brain’s got it bad here. Save him.

Are the roses corny? Yes. Do I care? Not really. Maybe. Possibly.

[punk-of-the-opera]

Phantom x Male Reader(or just like they/them masc reader) you both are very new to the relationship, just starting to get used to actually like, touching each other and gently holding one another, fluff stuff yknow? ok thank u bye-

Aight I’m gonna TREAT MYSELF with this one. What a lovely suggestion. I’m going to go ahead and make Erik the more dominant and leading one (but still equally an idiot, don’t worry) here because I’m feeling especially soft right now, I hope that’s okay!

Ahem *clears throat*

“Hey, you were so good tonight!” one of your fellow tenors said after your performance.

“Oh, you think so?” you said, beaming with some confidence after successfully singing your first solo.

You and the other tenor boys headed back to the dressing room. Upon arriving back at your dresser to change, you see a single read rose placed in front of the mirror. You blush to yourself, realizing Erik was pleased with your performance.

As soon as all the other boys left, the mirror in the wall opened to reveal the familiar masked teacher. Grabbing the rose, you approach him slowly. He puts his hand out and you take it as he leads you through many corridors towards the lair.

The walk was silent, filled with mixed tension as you thought and rethought your performance that evening.

What if I wasn’t good enough? What if he hated it? Jesus Christ he’s probably mad at me and that’s why he’s not talking.

Your hand trembles still holding his, he glances back at you, giving your hand a tight squeeze of reassurance before finally entering the lair.

Sitting in silence, he slowly started to speak.

“You...were...amazing.” he said with a warm smile, grabbing your waist and pulling you in close. Your eyes met his, you seemed to get absolutely lost in the greens and blues, as he seemed to get lost in your eyes as well. The tension seemed to last forever, neither sure what to do. Until suddenly he leaned in towards you.

You threw your arms around his shoulders, feeling his sweet, soft lips against yours. Pulling away, you look down shyly at your feet.

“You, you really think so?” You ask, needing the reassurance. He puts his hand under your chin, tilting it up to face him.

“I know so,” he said, pulling you in for another kiss. This time your face in his hands, your arms around his shoulders. Lost in the feeling of warmth and love.

As the kiss ended, you traced around the edge of his mask with your fingers. Erik winced slightly at your touch, but let you take it off because he knew you not be afraid.

Lifting the mask off of his face, Erik stood with tears in his eyes, afraid of your reaction to his deformity.

This time it was your turn to comfort him. Looking at him with only love and compassion, you took his face in your hands and pulled him in to kiss. At this gesture, you felt his arms come around your waist in a tight embrace. While kissing, you felt his lips curl up into a smile.

As you both pulled again yet again, he offers his hand to you. When you take his hand, he bows and kisses it softly, blushing a little himself. He led you slowly to his bed (not smut, don’t worry) where you both fell back onto the soft blankets in exhaustion from the day’s events.

You turn to face him, giving him one peck on the lips before laying your head on his chest. You feel him kiss the top of your head softly, embracing you in his arms. There, you fell asleep in his embrace to the calm rhythm of his heartbeat.

The end! I hope that was okay, I’ve never actually written a oneshot before so I hope that was good enough for ya lol. Feel free to request more for me to do when I get home from work tomorrow!

-Westley

[softbiker]

Steve Rogers Oneshot

Warnings: none

Word count: ~1k

A/N: This one goes out to @barnesrogersvstheworld who needs some Steve to feel better. I hope you like it! Also, never written Steve before so, let me know what you guys think!!

“This is it, this is the end,” she groans, flopping an arm over her face.

Steve rolls his eyes.

“Remember me as I was, Stevie.” With a sigh, she shuffles further into the pillows on her couch. A few used tissues fall into the floor as she moves around. “You can move on, but not too fast, okay? I mean, definitely pine over me for a couple of years first-” she breaks off into a fit of sneezes. Steve hands her the box of Kleenex next to the couch, grimaces sweetly as she empties her nose into one.

“So when exactly will it be appropriate for me to start dating again?” He raises a dark eyebrow at her and tries to keep from laughing as her face settles into a pout.

“On second thought, never. You’d better be mourning me until the day you die, Rogers. Otherwise I’ll haunt your ass.” Her words would be funnier if her voice weren’t congested and hoarse - she sounds so small, just pathetic enough to render her sass harmlessly amusing.

“Duly noted, sweetheart,” he smiles.

She’s been laid up with a cold for two days now, though it was ramping up for a while - her sniffles and sneezes coming more frequently, with a fever following until Dr. Banner had finally put his foot down. With Steve for company and an expansive array of DVD’s, her recovery should feel more like a vacation. Could be more fun. Would be an opportunity to make out with her very handsome boyfriend. But Captain Wet Blanket was taking her recovery very seriously. So seriously that all her attempts to seduce him had failed, in spite of her complete irresistibility with snot running down her nose. Netflix and chill was cancelled until further notice. He barely even kissed her at all, Mr. Can’t Get Sick wouldn’t kiss her and wasn’t that just mean, Steve?

So she is now taking her own illness very seriously, taking every opportunity to inform Nurse Rogers that this may very well be the end, and maybe he should take his chance to tell her he loves her and a kiss would be nice before she dies.

Steve nods - very sympathetic, excellent bedside manner - and pops in her favorite sick day movie, ‘The Princess Bride’. He’s watched it with her before, a few times, when she was taken off of missions for a broken rib or a fractured wrist. He likes the simplicity of the fairy tale, the nonsense of it, the sweetness of Westley and Buttercup’s love story. She stretches her feet across his lap as they watch, and he massages her ankles, hands working slightly up her calves. As always, his touch makes her melt, and he watches as she relaxes completely in her little blanket nest until she falls asleep.

They’re in the Pit of Despair when she wakes up.

“Oh no - whatimiss?” she hums, frowning.

“You’ve seen this movie a couple hundred times, darlin.”

“I know, but tell me anyway.”

Steve sighs - world-weary, so put-upon - but he reaches for the remote and pauses the movie anyway, giving a full report of the first half of the film. More tissues come out of the box, and she reaches for her glass of water on the coffee table, throat tight and a little sore.

“...and now Humperdink has Westley in the Pit of Despair, and he’s going to - well, I guess we’ll get to that part,” Steve finishes, patting her knee. “Do you need anymore water? Bathroom break?”

“Mmmm no, but I’m hungry.” She bats her eyes a little, poking out her bottom lip.

“Hungry is good, probably means your fever is breaking.” Steve leans over, placing the back of his hand against her clammy forehead, a frown tugging down the corners of his mouth.

“Yep, probably, so what are you gonna make me?”

“You need to keep up your fluid intake, that’s what Bruce said.” He’s already getting up from the couch. “I’ll heat you up some of that soup, Bucky made yesterday-” Her nose wrinkles.

“No, not that, I had that for three meals in a row yesterday.”

“And you’re doing much better, so I think it’s safe to say the Romanian magic soup did it’s job.”

“Can’t we eat something else? I mean, aren’t you hungry too? Let’s have something we both like. More efficient.”

He sees right through her. Those All-American baby blues are like an x-ray machine, and their light passes all the way through meat and marrow, probably to the overstuffed couch underneath. Steve Rogers is practically a contortionist with the way he’s wrapped all 240 lbs of supersoldier around her little finger, and he feels himself bending, stretching, giving. Always gives her what she wants.

Another sigh.

“What did you have in mind?”

30 minutes later, they’re swaddled in her blankets again, with a feast from that Japanese place laid out in front of them. Steve has already finished one plate of sushi, and has moved on to an assortment of California rolls, spicy tuna, and shrimp. He’s gotten quite good at using the chopsticks she got for him, not that he’s bragging about it. Nothing as rich as sushi for her - Patient Care Tech Rogers wouldn’t budge on that point - but she scoops steaming rice and chicken into her mouth with a happy little hum.

“Isn’t this so much better than Bucky’s homeland soup?” Her smile is smug around those chipmunk cheeks, tired eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Mm. Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Well, it’s not from Russia with love, so-”

“Oh my god,” she nearly chokes on the rice. “I can’t believe you’re making puns in my time of need, get out of my house-”

He elbows her through the layers of blankets, and she’s laughing and moaning, rice threatening to spill. She sniffles and snuffs through her laugh, shuffling closer to him on the couch, in spite of his very bad jokes.

Still won’t kiss her though.

[damereydaily2020]

Romance is in the air on this fine Friday!


We hope this Incredibly Romantic quote from The Princess Bride ensnares your soul and bewitches your senses with the ease of Cary Elwes circa 1987 (and always).


Want to write a drabble? A oneshot? A ficlet? Did you want to create a moodboard or set up a playlist or make some fab, loving art for our favorite duo? Well, as Westley would say: “As you wish.” We’ll be here to adore it, and you!


As always, there are only a few rules:


*Poe Dameron/Rey Skywalker MUST BE THE PRIMARY AND ENDGAME SHIP OF YOUR WORKS FOR THIS COMMUNITY.

Tag #damereydaily2020 and we will reblog FICS OR ART THAT FILL OUR PROMPTS onto this blog and add them to the DAMEREY DAILY 2020 collection on AO3! Do not tag us in fics or art that are not related to our prompts, please.

Please include which prompt your fill is for in the SUMMARY or DESCRIPTION of your fill so that we can tag it appropriately.

Have fun!

[scruffylookingpiratecaptain]

Chaotic Perfection

(Just a little Scarlet Vision canon divergence oneshot that popped into my head. Set sometime during CACW before all of the fighting goes down.)

There was a palpable loneliness to the Avengers Facility when everyone had either left or gone to bed. Wanda wrapped her arms around herself as she wandered the halls, not tired enough to sleep and not feeling like sitting up in her bed doing nothing. 

Her feet took her to the family room, the coziest area of the whole place, and she smiled when she saw Vision exactly where she knew he’d be - sitting in the corner armchair, his brow furrowed as he read a book. He could easily download the book’s contents directly into his mind, but he’d told her once that holding a physical book in his hands and reading it made him feel more human.

“Hey, Vis,” she called out softly, not wanting to disturb him, but also desperate for some company.

He lifted his gaze to her and immediately put his book away. “Wanda. You’re up late.”

She gave a little shrug and stepped closer. “Some nights I just can’t sleep,” she sighed softly. Vision had learned enough about her to know just by that little sigh that she didn’t want to talk about it. “Want to watch a movie?” She pointed to the large TV behind her.

A soft smile pulled at the corners of Vision’s lips. “That would be enjoyable.”

She stepped closer and sat down on one of the arms of his chair. “What are you in the mood for? Disney? Action?”

“I am content to watch whatever you’re in the mood for.”

Wanda rolled her eyes and nudged his shoulder. “You know, sometimes people ask you what you’re in the mood for because they can’t decide on something themselves.”

Vision’s brow scrunched up, processing what he’d been told. Wanda was always straightforward when she talked to him, and he valued the insight into humanity he gained from her.

“Where’s that list Sam gave you?” she asked, breaking him from his thoughts.

“Oh, right here,” he said, pulling a carefully folded piece of paper from his pants pocket.

Wanda smiled and snatched the list from his fingers, opening it up, the black of her nails contrasting with the white paper. Her eyes scanned the page and she frowned. “You haven’t watched The Princess Bride yet?”

“Sam told me it should be saved for a special occasion.”

“Well, I declare this occasion special.” She passed the list back to Vision and hopped up from the armrest. “It’s one of my favorites. You’ll like it.” She walked over to the wall of movies that Tony had set up for everyone. He’d gone digital, he’d told them, and therefore wouldn’t miss any of his DVDs. Wanda skimmed her fingers along the cases, rings glinting in the low light as she searched for the right movie.

Vision tilted his head, watching her as she moved across the room, her skirt swishing around her thighs. She put the movie in and then settled down on the couch. Turning, she frowned at Vision. “You can’t see from over there. Sit by me.” She patted the cushion next to her. Vision didn’t bother insisting that he could see perfectly adequately. Instead he simply got up and sat beside her.

She smiled and curled her legs up onto the couch, leaning against him a little as the movie started. After a bit, Wanda took Vision’s hand in hers, absentmindedly playing with his fingers. He wondered if she even realized she was doing it. He wasn’t going to ask though, lest she stop. And he found himself enjoying the warmth of her fingers paired with the coolness of her many rings. He didn’t know why she chose to adorn her hands with so many accoutrements, but he decided he liked it.

Some time between the fire swamps and Miracle Max, Wanda fell asleep, head resting on Vision’s shoulder, his hand still held in hers. He didn’t want to disturb her, so he stayed perfectly still until the movie was over. Then he scooped her gently into his arms and carried her to her room. She was so light in his arms, and yet there was a weight of the responsibility of carrying something so precious that he felt deep in his chest.

Once in her room, he laid her softly down in her bed and pulled her covers up around her. His hand lingered on her side and he felt inexplicably tempted to find out what her lips would feel like against his. But he refrained from acting on such feelings. He would never betray her trust in that way.

He watched her for a moment more, soothed by the steady rhythm of her quiet breathing, before turning to walk out of the room. Just as he was about to phase through her door, he heard a faint rustling of blankets.

“Vis?” she mumbled and he turned at her voice. “Did I fall asleep?”

He smiled softly. “You did. I’m sorry if I woke you.”

She shook her head and sat up. “Don’t worry about it,” she told him as she ran her fingers through her hair.

“I should let you get some proper rest,” he murmured, about to turn back around.

“Wait. I’m awake now.” She pouted a little. “And you’re good company.”

“Wanda ... “

“Stay.”

Her hair was a mane of messy curls, her eyeliner was smudged around her eyes, and her oversized sweater had fallen off of one of her shoulders. And she was the most beautiful thing Vision had ever seen. Chaotic perfection. He swallowed thickly and thought of Westley in the movie and how he had happily done whatever Buttercup had asked of him.

“As you wish,” he finally answered.

Wanda giggled and Vision mentally declared that his favorite sound. “Like in the movie.”

He gave a single nod. “Exactly like in the movie.” He walked over to her bed and sat on the edge of it.

Wanda’s eyes widened slightly and her lips parted as the realization of what he was saying struck her. “You mean ... exactly, exactly like in the movie?”

He nodded again and a wide grin broke across Wanda’s face. She reached her hands out and tenderly cupped his face like he was the most valuable thing in the universe. “I love you too,” she whispered before leaning in and kissing him softly.

Vision was glad he hadn’t kissed her in her sleep. This was much, much better.

[terry-perry]

can there dad!ransom being like an anti-version of himself like when it comes to disciplining his kids?

Ooh that sounds like an interesting concept...

“Dad, come on! It was just a little party. You can’t tell us that you never had parties when you were younger.”

“It doesn’t matter what I did then. What matters now is how you two managed to let things get out of control while your mother and I were gone.”

You continued to be on standby as Ransom continued to scold your two sulking kids. You’d been married for almost 20 years now, and it still amazed you every now and again how much he’s changed from the playboy you once knew.

“Now, it’s one thing to throw a party without our permission. That was almost expected. But I also expected you guys to be more responsible.”

“But it wasn’t our fault!” Your eldest, Sebastian, argued. “We weren’t the ones that broke everything!”

“Yeah, and we weren’t the ones that invited the extra people,” your other son, Westley, added.

“Doesn’t matter who did it. This is your house. You should’ve been more on top of everything.” 

The boys just carried on looking ashamed as Ransom sighed heavily. He hated being that parent who had to be strict and  set rules. But they left him no choice. Especially if he wanted to do whatever it took to keep them from being the mess he used to be. 

“You are both grounded for a month!”

“But Dad!”

“Mom!” Sebastian looked over to you with a pleading look. But all you did was just shake your head. Ransom was being more than fair with this sentence. Plus, he was mad enough for the both of you.

“I don’t want to hear it,” he said. “You’re grounded, period. No electronic devices, no using the cars, no dates or friends. It’ll be straight to school and back. And fixing up the house will be coming out both of your allowances. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir...”

“Good. Now finish cleaning up, and then go straight to bed.”

There was some more scoffing and rolling of the eyes, but they did as they were told. As much of an asshole as Ransom could be, he’s shown that it’s now for certain situations. Your teenage boys certainly thought so.

[punk-of-the-opera]

give me 'x reader' oneshots to make pretty please.

I'm not feeling well and ya boy needs to write himself a gay (or straight, I don't judge) distraction.

Just specify character, reader gender, and scenario if you have one in mind.

Thanks uwu

-Westley

(It doesn't have to be Phantom lol, it can be Les Mis or whatever too, just make sure it's someone I know somewhat well s'il vous plaît)

[punk-of-the-opera]

heyy so uhh,,, fic request if you want 👉👈: firmin x andre fluff, prompt is they are trying to work but andre keeps getting distracted by firmin

please forgive me I’ve never written Firmin x Andre stuff and I’m very not used to it.

The door to the office slammed shut as Andre it shut, hands full of paperwork.

“Late,” is all Firmin said, not even looking up from his work.

“Oh be quiet,” Andre responded, sitting down at the desk beside Firmin, who was writing frivolous letters to papers about this “opera ghost” ordeal.

Andre got straight to his work, scribbling down notes about sheet music orders, payments, casting, advertising, the whole nine yards for a manager of the most famous opera house in Paris. Getting a little lost in thought, his gaze drifted up to Firmin. So determined and focused on his work, Andre admired that about him, a lot.

“Earth to Andre, get back to work!” Firmin waved his hand across Andre’s field of vision, snapping his fingers a few times just for effect.

“I- uhm, sorry, you’re right,” Andre turned back to his work, sneaking the occasional glance at the intensely focused Firmin.

“Andre, I can feel you staring at me” 

“I was not!” Andre responded, with fake shock in his voice.

“You’re voice is always higher when you lie, Andre.” Firmin said sternly. Despite his angry tone, a slight smile played on his lips.

“It’s just that, well I don’t know,” Andre stuttered, flustered. “you just look so, well you know!”

“What is it Andre?” a devious smirk on his face. Firmin liked to make Andre flustered, forcing him to say what’s on his mind.

“You just look cute today all focused and determined. Okay?” Andre spewed out quickly, blushing furiously as Firmin looked on.

Firmin chuckled, sliding closer to Andre. Firmin put his hand under Andre’s chin, tilting his gaze to face his own.

“Why thank you, Andre.” Firmin said, giving him a soft and tender kiss on the lips.

“Now get back to work, Andre” 

“Fine!”

I hope this was okay! I’m glad you gave me an idea for a scene or else honestly I would have no idea what to write since this is my first time writing Firmin x Andre stuff.

Still taking oneshot requests! Will finish the others in the morning (well I mean it’s already 5am but you know what I mean, when I wake up)

-West/Westley

[punk-of-the-opera]

aight I'm going to work for 6 hours. Be nice and put stuff in my ask box thingy pwease? Oneshot requests, questions, random shit, anything!

please, I crave content after slaving away at a grill for 6 hours.