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heauxzenji · 4 years

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Brainrot Kinktober - 10/1

nice guys finish last

Hate sex: Shigeru Yahaba x Fem!Reader

Warnings: oral sex (f. receiving), sex (protected), kinda unhealthy relationship? Lmfaoooo idk how to tag a hate fuck but that’s what it is... frat boys. frat au- frat boys always come with a warning.

Word Count: 1.7k

Brainrot Kinktober Mlist

Of all the people in your contemporary issues seminar, it was just your luck that you had to be paired with Shigeru Yahaba for your midterm project. He was the arrogant, know-it-all, frat boy type that you loathed. It wasn’t that you knew you’d get a bad grade, actually quite the opposite; you both had some of the highest marks in the class- no, it was the fact that you had to spend time with someone who had such an inflated ego, and made it a point to let everyone know that his dad was on the university board of trustees or that his fraternity won the greek wars the past 2 years in a row- Every. Time. He. Opened. His. mouth. But begrudgingly, you had to do this to pass.

After texting back and forth sporadically for a few days, you had agreed to meet and work on the paper in your dorm, as you told Yahaba there was no way in hell you were stepping foot into his frat’s house. You felt a lot better doing the assignment on your terms this way. He, however, decided to show up almost an hour late to the pre-arranged meeting time, only further fuelling your disdain.

“Sorry,” he said flatly, tossing his backpack down to the floor. “Our pledges had a mission that ran over time and as Pledge Master I-“

“I don’t care,” you cut him off. “Let’s just get this project over with, yeah?”

You both set up your laptops and sat in an uncomfortable silence. Every once in a while, one of you would mention the topic at hand for the project, discussing a detail or commenting on the formatting of the paper you had to co-author. But mostly, the air was riddled with a heaviness, a lingering tension that was as close to breaking as possible. It was about an hour and a half before he opened his mouth to actually make conversation- and of course, he chose to press the issue.

“You know… I never really knew what your whole deal was with me,” he chuckled. “You seem to be the only person on this campus that has it out for me…”

“I don’t have it out for you,” you replied. “I just simply don’t like you.” You went back to work, typing feverishly in an attempt to draw your silence back in.

“But… why?” His tone changed, almost to one of desperation. One that let you know that he wanted you to validate him. But you could never give him that satisfaction.

“Because trustfund boys like you are a waste of time, space, and energy!” You yelled. Yahaba’s eyes widened.

“Well at least I don’t think I’m better than everybody for being a loner without friends!” He yelled back.

“At least I don’t have to fucking pay for friends,” you spat. “I worked for everything I have, I worked hard to get here! You think you should just be able to get by because daddy’s money keeps the school afloat!”

Your faces were lingering mere inches from each other, anger boiling over into a sickening feeling of contempt- but also an overwhelming arousal? The feeling of those sinfully familiar butterflies welled up in your abdomen as you stared into his eyes.

It was in a fluid motion that his lips found yours, teeth feverishly tugging at your bottom lip to allow entrance to your mouth. Your head was spinning as you tried to comprehend your current position- but your senses were overriding thought. You melted into the kiss, allowing your jaw to fall open just enough for Yahaba to swipe his tongue against yours. You paused for a second, stopping to look him in the eyes again, seeing his now hooded with an entirely different story than the hateful narrative you had been writing for them the entire semester.

“If we’re going to do this,” you started, taking the time to take a deep inhale before you finished your sentence:

“If we’re going to do this, you better not fucking tell anyone- or you’re dead.”

“Scouts honor,” Yahaba replied, licking his lips and giving you a shit-eating grin. Even though you were thoroughly convinced he had never been a scout, you couldn’t be bothered to care. He kissed you once more, pushing you into the couch before starting to sloppily trail kisses down your jawline, neck, and collarbones. He placed both hands at your waist, pinning you to the surface below as he used his teeth to pull up your shirt, feathering more kisses down your torso. You watched him wistfully, mindlessly following his lead.

You began to kick off your leggings, wriggling them down your thighs while Yahaba had removed his shirt. He found his way back to your mouth, placing sloppy open-mouthed kisses to it as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your slowly dampening underwear, tossing them to the floor. He ran a finger up your now glistening slit- the sudden sensation of which earned a gasp of surprise from you. Examining his finger, he slowly licked your arousal from it.

“Delicious,” he smirked, positioning his head and body in between your legs, his own feet dangling from the couch. He looked up at you one last time.

“I hope you’re ready for this....” he teased. He wasted no time, flattening his tongue against your core. You inhaled sharply, one hand finding his hair and the other palming one of your now exposed breasts. You rolled your nipple between your fingers as he went to work, lapping at your folds with an almost sinfully slow pace.

“Fuck I need- MORE!” You could barely get the last word out when you were jolted by the feeling of suction his mouth had made on your clit. Slowly, Yahaba had slid a finger at your slit, slowly pushing it within your plush walls, several soft moans escaping your lips. He curled his finger inside of you once or twice before lazily slipping another in, making sure to keep the pressure also building around your clit, rapidly darting his tongue against it.

He released you from his mouth with a pop, fingers still pumping away. He was motivated by the moans you were so desperately holding back- he wasn’t supposed to be making you feel this good. You hated him, you hated what he stood for- why give him the satisfaction of having you come undone at his touch?

“Come on, y/n,” he coaxed. “I know you’re a raging fucking bitch- but can you sound real pretty for me? Let me hear how pretty you sound, tell me how good my fingers feel inside your pretty little hole...”

“Hmmmph~ fuck,” you whined. He quickened his pace. “It feels so- mmmm- so good.”

“Good girl.” His mouth found its way to your clit once again as he removed his fingers from your cunt, bringing them to your lips. You quickly opened your mouth for them, tasting your essence and humming as you wrapped your lips around them. Your eyes fluttered closed as you could feel the knot in your abdomen slowly starting to rip.

“I’m going to c-“ you choked out a half sentence, stopping as you felt your climax ripped away from you as Yahaba removed his mouth from the bundle of nerves, leaving your spasming pussy desperate for attention.

“No you’re not,” he growled. He tore his joggers from his body, boxers following immediately after. Spitting into his hand, he stroked his already hardened cock; looking at you lustfully. He used his free hand to reach into the pocket of his joggers, pulling out his wallet, followed by a condom.

“I’m always prepared,” he winked. As much as you wanted to smack the smug look off of his face, you knew that he would be able to scratch the growing itch you had. You just wish he wasn’t able to talk through it.

“Shut up,” you retorted. “Just fuck me before I change my mind.” You swivelled your hips in anticipation, watching him prepare himself. He lined himself up with your core, sliding himself against your opening.

“Shiiiit,” he hissed, slowly sinking into you. Your head flew back as the feeling of fullness overtook your lower half. Yahaba started moving at an even pace, snapping his hips against you with each thrust. You threw your arm around his side, coaxing him to move a little faster.

“For someone who can’t stand me, you sure are needy,” Yahaba laughed, continuing to pull himself in and out of you at a teasingly slow rate.

“I said shut up and fuck me- that’s all you need to be doing,” you commanded.

He bent down even closer to you, bucking himself into you deeply, attaching his tongue to the sweet spot just below your ear and sinking his teeth into the soft flesh. He started pounding away at your pussy, satiated by the stream of curses and needy moans spilling from your lips. Your nails absentmindedly dug into his back, clawing at him to make sure you could feel every inch of him dragging through your soaking wet walls. The familiar knot in the bottom of your stomach was building itself up yet again, only made larger by Yahaba pressing his hand against your abdomen to deliver more quick and hard thrusts, hitting at just the perfect angle to cause you to snap.

“Fuckfuckfuck I’m- oh my god- I’m cumming!” You choked out as your vision went blurred. Yahaba didn’t let up, continuing to thrust as you rode out the high, your walls spasming around him. Once you went limp, he pulled out, hair still perfectly coiffed and sticking to his forehead from the sweat. He began to dress himself again as you lay sprawled on the couch, your body beginning to prickle with sensation again.

“Wait,” you paused. “You didn-”

“Nah,” he threw his shirt back on. He hadn’t finished himself. You were a little hurt- did he think you were trash?

“I wanted to prove to you that even if you hate me, I’m a pretty good guy… a good guy would never let you go unfinished.”

The hurt you had felt turned into the contempt you knew instinctively.

“Fuck you,” you huffed, pulling your t-shirt back over your own head.

“You just did,” he smirked.

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darkorderaf · 3 years

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your writing has inspired me to want to start writing again! but work is a pain right now SO I shall roll up with another Evil Uno request. maybe a lil spooky take on the ‘someone almost dying and it finally clicks for them?’ supernatural shenanigans almost going wrong? always down for smut but ur instincts are impeccable so whether you feel like going there is obvs up to you!

OOOOH WHAT AN IDEA. I’m obsessed. I sort of took this one and ran with it, it might be a little weird and experimental lol, so I hope you like it. When I tell you that this one had me busting open my symphonic metal playlists...I’m also so honored and humbled that my writing has inspired you, sincerely. Me, along with everyone else, would LOVE to read your writing. And that goes for everyone who’s thinking about writing. Do the thing! <3

Pairing: Evil Uno x OFC. Prompts: Your lover almost dies and that’s when it clicks for you. Rating: M. Warnings/Content: Angst and smut. A little blood and spooky stuff. Word Count: 2,683.

(I don’t own gif; credit to allelitewrestlings!)

The first hour they met, it was within a shroud of smoke upon a floor speckled with crimson. The thick smell of brimstone burned the sensitive skin of the human’s nostrils. Eight figures watched as the form in the center of their summoning circle slowly unfurled. Her eyes flicked between the bodies. Her body felt tired, as though she had been strung along an endless journey. Her naked thighs trembled as she made to stand.

“Holy shit, it worked.”

Her eyes darted to the side and the man she looked at froze. He was short, stocky. Apparently named Silver from what she could make out from the man beside him. The pair eyed her warily. Her head throbbed and she held her hand up against the harsh light of the moon overhead. The air here felt so heavy. Footsteps shuffled behind her and she turned again. The sudden movement was too much for her weak legs and she nearly collapsed.

Strong arms caught her before she could. She tried to make sense of the masked face that hovered over hers. It looked garish, skeletal, but the eyes...His eyes were dark and warm. Full of that human concern she was familiar with. He pulled a sheet around her and took a few steps away. She gathered herself in the blanket and took a deep breath.

“Why am I here?”

The man crouched down in front of her.

“We need your help,” he said. His voice was soft and low. Gentle. Funny considering what was required to summon someone like her. “We’re...attempting something but it’s in a language we don’t understand. It’s not a human one.”

She snorted in amusement.

“So you summoned something inhuman to help you,” she said as she eyed the eight again. “And they say humans lack ingenuity.”

She made to stand and when she stumbled, he was there to help her again. Her attempt to growl at him was weak and she settled for a glare.

“What do you want from me?”

“Your wisdom, that’s why we called you here,” he answered. She didn’t doubt him. This was not a man that would lie. “Teach us what to do, that’s all we ask.”

She grinned, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. Her head lolled back against his arm as she looked up at him.

“Oh, is that what you think I am? A creature of wisdom?”

Her hand loosely curled around the collar of his vest and pulled him close. Just before she nodded off, she hissed.

“Bless your soul.”

---

She was reluctant to teach them, let alone speak, those first few days. They had forcefully summoned her there, she didn’t owe them anything and said as much. She wandered the halls of their Keep. It felt familiar to her but she couldn’t place it. Each night, the strange masked man sat with her and asked her questions. Even if she didn’t answer, he was patient with her. She never wanted for anything. Food with sunup and sundown, clean water to bathe in. Evil Uno, as she came to learn he was called, was well-versed in the history of the world she came from and all its layers. It was oddly endearing.

He asked her her opinion on things. Asked her questions she hadn’t been asked in so long. She hadn’t realized how desperate she was for conversation until he sat beside her and addressed her like an equal, not someone they simply summoned for their gain. Slowly, her answers lengthened from two words to ten to whole monologues. It was after an impassioned rant on the nine layers that she saw him smile. She smiled too.

“I like you,” she said. Evil Uno and Anna Jay were barely through the door to her room when she was on her feet. It broke the silence of the seventh day and the two members of the Dark Order glanced between each other. “Tell me what you want me to teach you and I will consider it.”

“Really?”

It was Anna that spoke and the demon nodded as she brushed past them.

“Yes. Where is your library?”

Uno was quick to fall in step beside her.

“My tongue is a difficult one to teach,” she said as she assessed him through a sideways glance. A smirk formed. “Don’t worry if you get frustrated, it’s only natural. Are you prepared?”

His eyes locked with hers and she couldn’t help the way her smirk grew. Her eyes fell to the way his smirk reflected hers. It was true. She did like this mortal man and the way he looked at her. Not with heat like most mortals but with understanding. Respect.

“I’ll have a good teacher.”

---

She went silent once he told her what exactly he wanted to do. Damn him. Damn him for drawing her in near and springing this upon her. Damn her for caring about it.

“No,” she said. She shook her head and slammed the ancient book closed. The chair scraped loudly against the stone as she stood. “I won’t teach you this.”

She made to move away and then his hands were on her shoulders, his grip a shaky thing that worried her. The demon eyed him warily.

“Please,” he begged. “Please. This is something that I need to do.”

Her eyes burned when she looked at him, his eyes so fierce yet so full of unknown sadness. What was it?

“Tell me,” she said. Her voice lost that indignant nature, tempered to something soft and almost human. “Tell me why you would want to do something so humanly reckless.”

For a brief moment, his thumbs traced the lines of her shoulders. His hands fell to his sides and he sat down heavily in the library chair. The man leaned forward and rested his face in his hands.

“I’ve…” He paused. Sat back up and straightened himself out. “Every day passes and I see the way they look at me. I remember the way they used to. I’m their leader and I’ve failed them. If I do this…” He touched the book on the table and looked at her. “If I do this, I can be the leader they deserve. I can be someone they’re proud of and we won’t ever be lost again.”

“You do not need that to be a leader,” she spat. When did human affairs get her so incensed? “You can do that of your own volition.”

“I wish that were true,” he said. “I wish that were how it was but it isn't. Please, help me do this.”

“It will kill you,” she finally said. “Or if, if it doesn’t, you will pray that it had.”

His eyes didn’t stray from hers. Damn his conviction. Damn this mortal man.

“I will teach you the words,” she said, devoid of emotion as she willed herself to set it aside. “Then the rest is up to you. I will wash my hands of this.”

“I understand,” he said. He reached out to her again and this time, his hand cradled her firewarm cheek and she allowed it. “Thank you. I mean it. Thank you.”

At that, she shook her head and moved away from his touch. She would not allow herself to grow to like it. Not when the future was being erased with every minute and her black heart couldn’t bear it.

---

Uno was a quick study and she would have been impressed if it didn’t infuriate her. She had hoped to prolong the inevitable, hoped to prolong this foolish endeavor. Even as she broke the spell into smaller and smaller parts, he picked it up quickly. Within two weeks, he was ready.

The smell of incense burned through the halls of The Keep and stirred her out of her sleep. It was the incense that she had told him he needed. They had stayed up late studying and when he had dozed off at the table in her room, she took him to her bed. She had meant to keep vigil but she too needed rest. He must have known. Clever Uno.

The smell led her to the same room that the Dark Order had summoned her into. Before she opened the door, her nose was thick with the smell of blood. He was close to completing it. She threw her body against the door three times before it finally broke apart. Inside, a great chasm consumed the center of the room. Inhuman arms tried to crawl out, tried to snatch at Uno to draw him inside.

“S-Stay back,” Uno gasped out, the man on his knees and the purple of his clothes dark with blood. Five and Ten had almost broken the lines. “I can do it. I can do this.”

Anna looked at her with tear-filled eyes and she did her best to rid her eyes of her own. With long strides, she crossed the room and threw herself to the ground between Uno and the chasm. The creature inside paused, as though it sensed one of its own. She hoped, a strange thing, that it would be enough. Uno’s heartbeat was weak behind her. The panic in her chest made her speak faster, the old and buried language alive and loud in the room. She continued to chant, to strain every muscle in her body to keep it back. To keep it away from him.

Her ears bled with the intensity of the creature’s screams and it’s claws reached out at her, scratching her arms. She didn’t flinch. The creature’s arms began to shorten, the chasm began to close. With one last infuriated shout, the chasm slammed shut and severed the creature’s arm.

With a great sob, it vanished.

The room went deathly quiet, save for her heavy breathing and the constricted sobs of the Dark Order around her. The thud behind her whipped her around and she was on her knees, Uno’s masked face cradled in her hands.

“If you die on me, mortal man, I will haunt you,” she said, voice choked with emotion. She muttered the old language under her breath as she held his face. “I will never leave you alone, do you understand? I will find you, do you understand? I will find you.”

---

Uno finally stirred two days later and she was by his side, her intense eyes on him. He thought he would be endlessly tired but he felt...awake. More awake than he had been. Just as he was about to ask,

“What did I tell you?”

“That it would kill me,” he said. “But it didn’t, did it?”

She looked at him, her jaw momentarily dropped. Then she began to laugh, a hand over her mouth. Tears welled in her eyes and he reached for her.

“It did not,” she conceded. “You’re welcome.”

“What did you do?”

“Stopped you.”

“No, that’s not...All you did, is it? I feel fine. I shouldn’t feel fine, should I?”

She had looked ethereal before, an otherworldly glow to her skin. Her eyes. It was still there but not as vibrant.

“You did something stupid,” she said. She climbed up onto the bed and sat beside his legs. “It only felt right that I should match you in stupidity. I’m never doing it again, it’s terribly human.”

His dark eyes fell on her and roved over her with suspicion. He reached out to her and she took his hand. Slowly, he led her to straddle his lap as he sat up. Her hand stroked his masked cheek.

“You never asked what I was,” she murmured. “Why?”

“It didn’t matter,” he said with a shake of his head. “I trusted you. I do trust you.”

“Bold of you,” she hummed. Her nails trailed along the pulse in his neck. “Trusting a demon.”

“You saved my life,” he said, full of that earnest nature that she adored so much. “I’ll trust you as long as I live.”

“Ask me,” she breathed. She leaned into him, cupped his face in her hands. “Ask me what I am.”

His hands went to her waist and she could feel him swallow.

“What are you?”

“A demon,” she said, an amused lilt to her voice. His hands squeezed her and she smiled at him. Her hands trailed down his chest and slowly undid the zipper of his soft vest. “Yours. So often, when humans speak of love, they speak of the love of angels as though it’s so pure. As if it’s the only love. It’s foolish.”

She tutted and caressed his face again. His hands trailed under the loose shirt she wore and caressed her heated skin.

“I burn for you,” she said. Her confident tone wavered as she looked at him. “And I do not want to be without you, my unexpected love. I think I would go cold. Can I show you? Can I be with you?”

Uno nodded and rose with her as she captured his mouth with her own. She ripped the sheets from him and made quick work of his clothing. The frantic energy they created stripped them to stand on equal grounds. Her mouth laved kisses along the flesh of his chest and when she took him into her mouth, his hips nearly shot off the bed.

Her hands held him down as her tongue traced the throbbing vein that ran the entirety of his length. She didn’t mind the way his hands pulled and pushed at her hair, her head. His choked moans coaxed a grin out of her and when he came with a ragged shout down her throat, she swallowed him whole. She trailed back up to kiss his neck, gently biting the meat of his shoulder. His hand slid down her torso and settled in the junction of her slick thighs. He surprised her by flipping them and settling her back against the bed. The lights went dark and she gasped when she felt his tongue trace up her wet slit, curl around her sensitive bud.

Perhaps her tongue had not been that difficult to learn.

Uno had her toes curling and her lungs heaving by the time she came. He certainly was a quick study. His mouth found hers and she was surprised to feel that he had foregone his mask. His hands kneaded her breasts and she felt him hard once more against her. Her thighs wrapped around his hips and he grunted as he teased her with the head of his cock.

“Lover, please,” she begged. Hells, how she wanted him. It was torture and paradise to burn so heavily with lust. “I want you, I want you.”

His initial thrust into her was slow and then his impatience got the better of him. Old, wicked words flowed from her mouth into his ear and urged him on. He repaid her in kind, French heavy on his tongue as he bucked into her. Squeezed her flesh and marked her skin with his lips, with his teeth. He panted into her pulse and she felt the way his hips stuttered, the way he pulsed inside her. He hefted her hips up higher and ground down deeper into her. The sudden sensation against her clit had her arms tightening around him, her thighs locking around him. Her nails raked down his sweaty back and gripped the muscle of his ass.

They came together with an unholy shout, their mouths locked together as their hips waxed and waned against one another before gradually coming to rest. The room remained dark as she gathered him against her chest and he slid out of her. He rested his forehead between her breasts and breathed hard.

“I…” She suddenly said, her nerves gathered in her throat. “I would like to stay with you. I don’t want to go back.”

He answered her with a kiss and lingered there.

“Then stay,” Uno said. “Be a part of us or just be a part of me, it’s your choice. I want you here, however you want to be.”

She smiled at that.

“Of course, lover.”

#evil uno imagine #evil uno fic #evil uno fanfiction #evil uno smut #aew imagine #aew fic #aew fanfiction #aew smut #dark order imagine

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babblable · 3 years

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MORE QUESTIONS FOR UR BABEYS

Void Cat 16, Jackie 22, Staniel 26, Gibbs 36, Pekkit 47,

And EVERYONE 41 because I am curious :)

16. Void Cat collects music boxes, even broken ones. Each one has such a unique and sweet melody. The broken ones they try to fix, but they're just a dumb cat... how can they fix something so fragile without breaking it more...

22. Ajaxx likes many insults, but rarely uses them, it seems. Perhaps their favorite insults are the ones that are vague... Like when they describe Mar as "Certainly a person that exists within the same vicinity."

26. Staniel is a funny one, to be sure! He's prone to bouncing around and shaking his tail feathers when happy or excited. Stan is a pecking DORK.

36. Bc of how long he's been living, he should be good at many things. Keyword is SHOULD. Unfortunately he 's lost a lot of things over time as well. But one of the things that sticks, no matter how much time passes him by, is his singing, his dancing, his flute playing and his drawing. These are things he's done since day one. Things he's held onto stubbornly, from his very CORE, since day one. Even if he doesn't believe they have the same effect they used to have, he still does them and he can still do them just as well. His imagination will never die.

47. To be quite fair, Pekkit is aware of what is actually considered "black tie apparel" and for many different centuries too! He's old.

that being said, he's also a 9 FOOT TALL HAUSEN DRUID BIRD. Good luck getting any clothes to actually fit him. At most he'd be able to wear the black tie and call it a day.

41!

Ajaxx: Ajaxx is just babey your honor. Romance and Attraction aren't things on their mind.

Staniel: Aro/Ace??? Honestly, Staniel isn't too sure. Romance doesn't really interest him and attraction isn't something he's ever felt, not that he really thinks about it often anyways. He is in a QPR with Coil and Coils Boyfriend, but it's more so a deeper sort of friendship connection on his part than anything. Tbh his mind is off in the clouds, too busy trying to find the light he's been looking for in his career to actually think about his sexuality.

Gibbs: Strictly Aro/Ace and Very Much So Married, thanking you! He married someone ONCE with the understanding that they were the best of friends(a platonic marriage) and he'll happily claim to still be married to her, even if he's not seen her in centuries..

Pekkit: Gay. Oh my god he's so fucking gay. However, he isn't necessarily in the market, either. He's old and been married several times, often ending in divorce. Once again, love is the last thing on his mind. If it happens, it happens, but for now, he's content being a single father of several dozens of tiny little hausen chicks and One(1) Daughter Named After An Instrument.

As for what he finds attractive...

Strong arms that are also so gentle... Calloused hands that even when carressing his cheek feel like clouds bc the person is being so careful. Ruggedness, but held in such a soft way.

He'd prefer someone either as tall as him or taller, with fluff so he could nuzzle into the persons chest and neck, but given his height, he knows better than to hold out hope for that.

Preferably someone cuddly, tbh, in terms of personality. He's touch starved. Married much less cuddly people, all mutually divorced because they simply didn't meet each others needs like they thought they did.

He does also enjoy when partners actually communicate. He himself struggles with communication, but thats mostly bc he lacks the words and verbal motor skills to do so rather than a lack of trying. He does try! He tries so hard, but for him, talking verbally and getting what he wants across is difficult. Also unfortunately, he can't sign. No fingers.

#toonkind #toonkind dnd #ajaxx mackeller #gibbs #void cat #lil staniel looloo stagehand #pekkit

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bastardsunlight · 3 years

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08 & 20 for subscorp if ur still doing the kiss meme?

❛ 08 . a kiss in secret / a forbidden kiss . ❛ 20 . a kiss out of desperation .

I swore an oath to protect him, I think to myself as I slide along the cliff’s edge, hugging it closely, careful not to scrape or to breathe too loudly. Kuai Liang, Bi-Han’s younger brother, has taken up the mantle of Sub-Zero. He is more deserving of it than the former, but I cannot say for certain if his end by mind had was truly justified. I know my mistakes—I am well acquainted with them. Truly, I believe that, should he have risen to Sektor’s position of “Grandmaster”, one the wily bastard has hardly earned, he would be no better, succumbing easily to the temptations of power. Quan-Chi might have orchestrated my family’s end, but the Lin Kuei are also responsible in their compliance and complacence. I will not forgive them. But he—Kuai Liang—has not wronged me. I make amends this way.

Far below, he moves like a shadow with his companion, a man I have heard called Tomas, though I know him better as Smoke. Both are talented, young, and filled with potential. They are also going to their death if they continue on this path, but despite my oath and Kuai Liang’s knowledge of it, I doubt my presence would be appreciated so suddenly. Words will not convince them, so actions must. I clamber higher and make myself invisible, relatively speaking, working my way around for a better vantage point to the ambush.

It is a superbly-laid trap. Some loyal to Sektor—with or without his orders, it matters not—have devised a snare for the offending Lin Kuei. These kryomancers have no morals, no scruples, and do not balk at destroying their own for their ideals of perfection. I spit at these ideals, though I dare not do so now. I am too close, by far. Sometimes, I forget what I am… that they cannot see me if I do not wish to be seen, to a point. I am not invisible, but as a wraith, I can become… other. I sink into the cliff side, disturbing a single stone, but their attention is so drawn that not a single one of the Lin Kuei cowards detects me.

And they won’t, ‘til it is too late.

The trap springs and I am acutely aware of it as I leap forth from a ring of Netherrealm magma, kodachi at the ready. It is as blazing hot as the rest of my body and sears through flesh and bone without effort. I am a monster and in these instances only, I am glad that my wife and son are not here to see what I have become. It serves its purpose, however.

Below, Smoke and Sub-Zero—he has more than earned this; I can feel the chill of his kryomancy even from the perch I have turned into a killing floor—are more than holding their own. Should fortune favor me, I will retreat without detection. I grind another enemy’s head to pulp as a spear-like icicle flies past my shoulder, singeing it with frost. I cannot quite tell if it had been purposefully aimed, or if the fatigue of battle has begun to affect Sub-Zero. It is my cue to go.

“Wait!” And he is scrambling up the cliff side, leaving Smoke below to inspect the fallen and deduce what, precisely, is happening. I could divulge this easily, but I am doubtful whether or not my words, the words of Shirai-Ryu, bitter enemy to the Lin Kuei, would be taken with any veracity. What holds me back defies logic and I find myself irritated and showing my back to Sub-Zero, who could easily put another, better-aimed spear of frost through it.

“Kuai Liang,” I respond, finding no reason to beat around the bush that I know him.

“I will not ask how you know me. You knew Bi-Han.” His arms are still coated in that frost—I can feel the chill—and I can tell that he has a much more stable, controlled, and focused handle upon his ancient, Edenian gift. “I will ask why you helped, Scorpion.”

The name makes me stiffen. It is me. I am Scorpion, but part of me wants to be anyone else. Part of me resents the stinging name, appropriate as it is. The sharper the sting, I have often found, the more accurate the barb. I turn my gaze, but only just enough to see him from one eye.

“A debt.” It is a blood debt, simply put. I may have murdered Bi-Han in bitter error, but I do not regret it—be that as it may, I owe his kin a debt of blood for the misplaced killing. Sometimes, I wonder if I would have done something different, knowing Bi-Han’s hand had not directly brought death to my family and clan. To this day, I am not certain he participated in the massacre and cling ever harder, therefore, to the debt I owe his brother.

“You owe me no debt,” he responds, approaching and laying one bold, chilly hand upon my shoulder, gripping firmly and turning me. What there is to see, I cannot fathom.

“I cannot pay a dead man.”

“You owe Bi-Han no debt, either,” Sub-Zero insists, gripping harder. His other hand moves swiftly. I am a fool, I missed the subtle cues. The free hand is suddenly upon my mask, pushing me back into the stones of the cliff and freezing the metal of it. I must look terribly surprised, because for an instant, a flash of guilt crosses his admittedly handsome, youthful features. “He chose his path. The murder of your clan… He would have done it anyway, Quan-Chi or no, but it … it was he who retrieved the foul sorcerer. Please believe me… Grandmaster Hasashi.”

Why is he speaking so calmly as his fist crushes my mask, breaking it to pieces and tossing it away. I am a wraith, not a man. My face is abhorrent, a skull awash in the flames of my ire. There is nothing about me to see which does not strike terror into gentle hearts, which his must be.

“You do not know me, Sub-Zero,” I insist, hearing the sepulchral tones of my own voice and hating them. How much more grating must they be to the ears of the living?

“But I would know you—a man worthy of the title of Grandmaster at such a young age… A man with honor.” The grip upon the mask, which had crushed it, has changed to a firm hold of icy certainty.

“I have no honor left,” I insist, “only vengeance, and a blood debt.”

“That you keep to this debt shows me you do possess honor… and skill.” There is mischief in his voice, but also sincerity. His smile, I have to admit, is captivating and his eyes are a fathomless, Stygian blue, like the deepest waters of the sea or the dark of a winter night. There is a surprising amount of warmth behind them, despite his physical chill.

He is close, too close, and I am forced to remember the way his brother handled me—the way we handled each other, if truth be told. Our trysts were brief, violent, and voracious, as if we could never get enough of the other, but at some level, that we could not stand our own desires. This is simpler, more straightforward in its admiration, and the control he has over his kryomancy is remarkable. Upon this alone I could admire Kuai Liang. He is a prodigy. But then, so was I, once.

As he leans into me, I realize just how much I crave contact, of just about any kind, but of worthy adversaries most of all. There is no doubt in my mind that defeating him would not be easy and I long to put that theory to the test.

“I do not have long,” he admits, almost sheepishly, “and this may seem sudden, but I had to catch you before you left… I know you have been keeping watch over me, Scorpion, but I did not know how to thank you. Should my clan know of our contact...” He trails off and I know exactly what will happen.

“Do not thank me,” I warn. “Just stay alive.”

“Liang!” Smoke calls from below, evidently approaching the cliff face, meaning to climb, or ambulate however he might do that. Sub-Zero stiffens and, with a single, furtive glance, turns his full attention upon me. Without warning, I feel our lips pressing together, his covering mine hungrily and my own opening helplessly to the odd, invasive sensation of desire… of being wanted. I am to surprised by the gesture to wonder how the flames have been so becalmed. I wrap my fingers in the front of his gi, intent on tossing him back and disappearing in a firestorm when suddenly, he pulls away, looking guilty and shaking his head, turning toward his friend’s voice.

“Six up here,” he calls back, “and scorched with the fires of hell.”

“It’s him again, isn’t it?” Smoke responds, sounding worried. Kuai Liang glances over one shoulder at me. I have yet to recover myself and lean, breathless—as if a wraith could draw breath in the first place—against the rocky wall. I can, at any moment, sink into them and disappear, but my mind is rebelling against any and all action.

I want more.

I need more.

“We have to assume,” says Sub-Zero, eyes fixed upon me. He is buying me time to escape and—perhaps I misread him—promising further contact at a later date. “But whomever continues to guard our flanks, Smoke, is welcome to it.”

He looks me up and down once more before returning to Tomas, far below. My dead heart beats harder and faster inside me and everything in me fights against the urge to allow myself to be overcome with such things. It would be in poor form, would it not, to engage in a tryst with the younger brother of a former lover.

Would it?

KISS MEME

#response #subscorp #thermodynamic equilibrium #aboutscorpionmeta #Anonymous

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curiosity-killed · 3 years

Text

sunbeam flaring

hair...healing...thoughts...?? They’re Dumbasses, Ur Honor

(title stolen from Love Sonnet XI by Neruda bc I had litcherally no idea what to call it)

word count: 2354

He notices it on a perfectly ordinary afternoon two weeks before Callebero’s twenty-second birthday. Inasmuch as the captain of the imperial cavalry has such a thing, it’s Sirion’s day off; he sleeps in, waking only briefly when Callebero extricates himself and presses a kiss to his cheek and then dozing until the sun is two fingers above the horizon. His morning is slow and indulgent; breakfast with Regent Aquios, who insists he call her by her first name despite the way he shies from such familiarity, followed by a few hours catching up on the paperwork and correspondence that has piled up in his office lately. Now, he pauses in the middle of running forms with Mikolan as Callebero crosses the gardens. He’s dressed formally today, in those heavy layers he hates and which always draw Sirion’s eyes to his narrow waist and the broad strength of his shoulders. An older retainer walks at his side, mirroring his frown, but it’s not their conversation that catches Sirion’s attention.

Callebero’s hair has been pulled back from the front, the long tail tucked into a neat bun that’s secured by a gold band. A spider’s-silk thread of jewels drips in a loop below it. Beneath it, the rest of his hair forms a short curtain falling just below his ear. The end of a staff taps him on the top of his head. “Stop gawking. We already know you and the imperator have turned the palace to your love nest, but you don’t have to be so obvious,” Mikolan scolds. “That is not—” Sirion starts to sign before huffing out a breath and giving up. Once she recovered from the initial shock of Valyn’s treachery and Callebero’s return, Mikolan had thrown herself gleefully into teasing him about their relationship. So far, she is still too mindful of place to say anything to Callebero, but she has taken full credit for them meeting and has not missed a single opportunity to remind Sirion of his early impressions of Callebero. There’s no point fighting such a losing battle, so he turns back to their practice and stows that startled notice away for later contemplation. It’s not like he’s unaware of it. He’d noticed Callebero scratching the back of his head with the end of a reed pen when his hair was little more than rabbit-fur fuzz, and Sirion has combed his fingers through both the long tail of his crown and the shorter locks just growing out. It’s just—he hasn’t thought about it. That night, curled close around each other with their legs tangled, Sirion skates his fingers through Callebero’s hair and tries to order his own thoughts. There’s a sharp division between the thick, downy underlayer and the longer half, sleek and silken. A fiercely selfish part of Sirion is grateful he never saw Callebero’s hair hacked short. He thinks he might have killed whoever held the blade. “I know, it’s ridiculous,” Callebero mumbles from where his face is smashed partially into the pillow and partially into Sirion’s left arm. Canting his head, Sirion shakes his fingers gently out of his hair and taps Callebero’s shoulder twice in the negative. Callebero shifts so that half his face is unburied and squints blearily up at Sirion. He’s not sure what all happened today, but Jisel had been clearly nursing a headache throughout dinner and Callebero had collapsed face first onto their bed before removing his crown or hairpieces. He’d muttered something about doing away with all laws and ceding absolute power to Jisel, to which Sirion had reasonably pointed out that she would kill him herself if he did such a thing. Groaning, Callebero had smashed his face into the pillow and muttered a string of curses that made even Sirion’s brows lift. “It is nice,” Sirion signs now. “I liked how you had it today.” Callebero squints at him, brow wrinkling as if in complete bafflement. “You may be a once-in-a-generation commander,” he says finally, “but your taste in men remains questionable.” Rolling his eyes, Sirion flicks his shoulder. “Say it again, and I’ll bite you,” he warns. For a moment, Callebero stares at him in open confusion, his lips parted around words that don’t escape beyond a faint squeak. Then, he breaks into laughter and reaches up to drag Sirion down and kiss him. “So much for my protector,” he teases. Sirion arches his eyebrows. “Jisel would say the same,” he retorts. “I can assure you Jisel would never bite me,” Callebero rejoins with a laugh. Rolling them over so that he can drape himself across Callebero’s chest and free his left arm, Sirion shakes his head. Callebero allows the shift comfortably, curling his arm around Sirion’s side to trace slow strokes up and down his back. Despite his earlier exhaustion, he’s bright-eyed now and smiles up at Sirion. “Only because she would be better prepared,” Sirion replies. At that, Callebero only breathes out a soft laugh and tilts his head to one side in apparent concession. “Very well, Commander,” he teases. “I solemnly swear not to doubt your taste in romantic partners ever again.” He leans in when Sirion presses a kiss to his lips and hums in pleasure when Sirion nips his bottom lip. “I don’t know how anyone thinks you’re such a solemn and decorous leader,” Sirion gripes. Callebero yawns and wiggles his shoulders in a mix of a shrug and an effort to nestle down into the mattress. Easing off him, Sirion settles back at his side with his arm draped over Callebero’s waist. His sleeping robes are warm and creased from being pressed so close between them, and Sirion can feel his own body slipping closer to sleep. “Mm,” Callebero hums. “It helps that I mostly keep my mouth shut.” Sirion can’t help breathing out a laugh at that, shaking his head. Like many, his first impression of Callebero had been a silent one—and at the time, Sirion had read that as cool haughtiness much as many visitors did. Laying such an image over the Callebero he now knows seems laughable, but he knows he’s one of only a few who can claim such familiarity. Under his arm, Callebero’s belly tenses with a quiet laugh. He prods Sirion in the ribs. “It worked on you, after all,” he teases. Mikolan’s incessant teasing rises to Sirion’s mind, and he shakes his head. Callebero grins. “You thought I was a brat,” he says, unreasonably gleeful. “I”—Sirion starts and then stops short, because that is true—“changed my mind.” Callebero snorts, graceless, and wriggles out from Sirion just enough to smother the candle on the side table. With only the moonlight left spilling blue through the cracks in the shutters, the room is ink-dark and it takes a few moments for his eyes to adjust. “It took me kicking your ass to change your mind,” Callebero retorts. “It was a draw,” Sirion signs. “I laid you out, love.” There’s laughter in Callebero’s voice as he speaks, and Sirion finds amusement battling down the old wound to his pride. He can still picture the staff end hovering right before his nose, Callebero’s careless, bright grin on the other end. He hadn’t fallen in love in that moment, but it had been a shift—a sudden, bracing change like dunking into cold water on a summer day. “You had the element of surprise,” he still insists. “Mm,” Callebero hums doubtfully. “I could still take you.” Narrowing his eyes, Sirion squints at him in the darkness. It’s absurd. They’re both grown men with more accolades than most families have in three generations. They’ve each emerged from three wars and a coup with honors and scars to prove their valor. There is no reason to quibble over an old sparring match. “Could not,” he signs anyway. Callebero’s laughter is more of a hot brush of air against Sirion’s skin than a sound, and he squeezes him once. “I suppose we’re due for a rematch then,” he says, the words briefly warped around a yawn. “Ah maybe next week?” Sirion hums and drops his head to Callebero’s shoulder, hooking his ankle around his calf. “For your birthday,” he signs, and Callebero laughs. Jisel catches on quickly, of course. On the third day of Regent Batu’s visit, they duck away with a pot of tea in the far corner of the library where only Callebero ever thinks to look. If anyone asks, they aren’t hiding. It’s simply a convenient location to get some work done while the visiting gentry fill the palace with gossip and traveling parties and more gifts than any single person has ever needed. For the most part, Sirion looks on all the pomp and frivolity with amusement. All these rich nobles falling over themselves to litter Callebero with gilt and gems as if they could win his favor with enough gold. And, selfishly, part of Sirion likes that none of their piled gifts will never match what Callebero actually wants. A toothed satisfaction runs through him at the futility of their sycophancy. “If Jemma catches you gawking at his hair one more time, I think she might combust,” Jisel remarks. Rolling his eyes, Sirion glances up from the report he’s been reading to shoot her a glare. Over the last year and a half, it has become apparent that Jemma doesn’t quite know how to handle he and Callebero being partners and seems stuck vacillating between threatening Sirion should he ever hurt Callebero and lecturing Callebero on valuing Sirion enough. Hayalen has spent most of it laughing at both her wife and the two of them. “I do not gawk,” Sirion retorts now. Jisel raises her eyebrows, hiding her smile behind her teacup, and he can feel heat suffusing his cheeks. Huffing out a breath, he leans back in his chair. “It’s not”—he stops, pressing his lips into a seam in frustration before sighing—“I’m just not used to it.” Humming faintly, Jisel lowers her cup to cradle between her hands and runs a fingertip back and forth over the lip. “I did the same when Kieran came back from Jimar,” she admits. “It took a while, and I hardly noticed at first but then…” She pauses, looking away. A pang squeezes Sirion’s heart. He doesn’t know exactly how she and the younger Aquios’ relationship fell apart, and they’ve seemed to be on polite enough terms now—but it still feels shocking and somehow wrong that they should have ended at all. “It’s comforting,” she says finally, turning back to him with a little smile, “to know that he’s not planning to rush headlong into danger again.” Oh. Sirion blinks, startled by that analysis. He’s hardly thought of it in such serious terms; when he’s pondered his sudden fixation on Callebero’s hair it’s been more in curiosity and bafflement. Footsteps sound behind them, and Sirion twists around. Callebero’s eyebrows arch up as he nears, unimpressed, and Sirion grins back at him. “Traitors,” Callebero announces. “We only wanted to give our imperator princep space to celebrate with his courtiers,” Jisel replies, sweet as honey. Huffing out a breath, Callebero drops down into the chair beside Sirion. “Your imperator princep would rather shovel out all the horse stalls in the capital,” he retorts. He kicks lightly at Sirion’s ankle, glancing over to grin at Sirion as if Sirion weren’t already looking at him. Shaking his head, Sirion reaches over to pull him in for a brief kiss. He comes willingly, smiling against his lips, and across the table, Jisel snorts. “Shameless,” she singsongs. Callebero laughs, a warm breath of air against Sirion’s lips, and then he pulls back to grin at her. He’s still leaned close enough that Sirion could run a hand through his hair if it weren’t so neatly pinned up. “I remember someone telling me that Aeridians are all too repressed and that’s why we spend so much time polishing our swords,” he says. Pausing, Jisel narrows her eyes and searches his face like she can’t tell if he’s joking or not. After a moment, she scowls and leans back. “You can’t use the things I’ve said while drunk against me,” she says. “And I stand by it anyway.” Shaking his head, Callebero snorts out a laugh. The motion makes his earrings jingle, ringing together like little chimes. When they turn in for the evening, he’ll grumble about all the layers and seriously contemplate going to bed with each of the dangling piercings still in, and Sirion will nudge him into sitting still long enough to let him take them out and loosen his hair from its severe styling. He can nearly feel the memory of it, the body-warm metal and the cool brush of hair, already lingering in his fingertips. “Since neither of you drink properly, it’s only fair,” Jisel says with a careless shrug. “That is for the sake of the nation’s dignity,” Callebero rejoins. Sirion snorts. “Where would we be if everyone knew the fearsome Black Prince fell asleep after one cup?” he teases. That earns him a short glare and a flick in his shoulder, but he captures Callebero’s hand to tangle their fingers together, which earns him a smile and a net win. Sitting back in his chair, Callebero rolls his shoulders and finally starts to relax. “Jar,” Callebero corrects loftily, and Jisel snorts. “Half,” Jisel rejoins. Stifling a grin, Sirion settles in to let them bicker it out. He’s never seen Callebero drunk, only warm and loose with wine and contentment. His only part in the quibbling is to tease both of them wherever possible. A few strands of Callebero’s hair have slipped loose from the braids and bun, sliding down in a loose loop. Humming softly, Sirion reaches out to tuck them behind his ear. His hand lingers, brushing gently through his hair. Callebero turns slightly, just enough for Sirion to catch the smile on his lips. It softens, warms, and Sirion finds himself mirroring him, helpless. Across the table, Jisel snorts at both of them, and Sirion’s smile broadens into a grin.

#my writing #story: tcp #calsir #ch: callebero #ch: jisel #ch: sirion #Thots™ happening...?? Perhaps????#idk this is from a while ago and i just wanted to wrap it up

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nailbatss · 5 years

Text

Where Do Broken Hearts Go? - Richard Camacho

Before this starts: This was a request from the lovely @belladiaz101 ! Thank you so much for your request! I had a lot of fun writing this. I hope you enjoy! Also, italicized parts are memories from the reader!

Word Count: 2700+

Genre: Slight angst at the beginning, but pure fluff the rest of the time

Request: “hii, can i please request an imagine with richard where it starts with fighting and crying and all that and in the end they cry together and cuddle and so on... ! thankyou heaps ❣️ ur so talented btwq”

Counted all my mistakes and there’s only one

Standing out from the list of the things I’ve done

All the rest of my crimes don’t come close

To the look on the face when I let you go

“GET THE HELL OUT, (Y/N)! I DON’T WANT TO TALK ANYMORE!”

A pained look crossed your features before your eyes welled up with tears.

“Fine, but don’t come looking for me.” You said as you stormed out of the house.

You took your necklace off and threw it, picking your jacket up as you walked out of the house. The door slammed shut behind you and the house was filled with an unsettling emptiness to it. Richard knew he had fucked up the very moment he screamed at you. He had let you walk out of the house without another word. You had left without saying anything else. Not even a goodbye. You didn’t even take your car; you were that angry with him. You had dashed away from the house without another word, into the night, and certainly out of Richard’s sight.

After all, he didn’t want to talk to you anymore. That’s what he told you, right?

So I built you a house from a broken home

And I wrote you a song with the words you spoke

He had written countless songs about you, but they were all garbage. None of them were good enough to become an apology to you. Usually when you two fought, he would use that as a source of inspiration to write you an apology letter. You felt honored and touched but you told him many times it wasn’t necessary. You wanted your sweet Richard just to say he was sorry with words. Sometimes, it was very poetic and beautiful. Other times, it was so heart wrenching that it made you cry. You were such a sap sometimes; you can’t help it!

The moment he asked you to move in was through a letter. You had found it by accident when cleaning. He had wanted to give it to you when you went out to dinner that night. The letter was sweet and handwritten quite shakily. You could barely make out some of the words that were written on the page; it made you giggle. Richard’s handwriting proved that he was nervous. However, a few words in particular caught your gaze. You had noticed the words. ‘Will you move in with me? We can make this place our home, since you’re already my home x’

There was a key taped to the note and it had your initials engraved on it. You audibly gasped when you had noticed it was painted your favorite color. It even had your favorite pattern on it. He had also placed it on a silver chain, like a necklace. You two had been dating for a couple of years by this point. It was a sweet gesture, but were you really ready to move in with him?

“(Y/N)? Baby, where are you at?” Richard called out and walked through the front door.

Panicking, you put the note back where you found it and you continued cleaning. Good timing too, because here comes Richard. “Oh, there you are baby.” He grabbed your waist and kissed you. All you thought now was, ‘Thank fuck that envelope was not sealed… I would have been in some deep trouble.’ You decided to speak now and break your thoughts to ask about his day.

Richard really fucked up. You were only trying to ask him about something and he had snapped at you. You had asked him what he was going to do about Aaliyah since he was going on tour. You had wanted to know if you needed to pick her up at all or if she should stay with her mom. You and Yocelyn were pretty close since you two had met.

Maybe you were going to go home and blow off some steam. That’s when the realization struck him, you had thrown your necklace with the key on it. He scooped it up as he examined it. There was some scratches on the paint from using it over time. However, he knew that was to be expected. What he was going to do now that you had left? There was a flurry of tears flowing from both of your faces as you had screamed at each other.

He had been a total dick to you for no reason. You wanted to know what to do with Aaliyah and he kept screaming that he wanted to talk about it later. He hadn’t wanted to think about leaving you or his baby girl here. He wanted you both to come on tour with him. Management wouldn’t allow it and it pissed him off even more. That’s what had fueled his anger. It was nothing you did wrong. He had lashed out on you because you were asking why he wouldn’t tell you anything.

It took me some time but I figured out

How to fix up a heart that I let down

Richard was going to apologize to you for what he had done. He couldn’t just let his baby go out in the world and take it on while you were emotional. He picked up his phone to call you, but his heart fell to the floor when he heard it ringing in the other room. You had left your phone. God, this started to freak him out some more. Where had you gone? Why didn’t you take your phone with you? You were going to lose him and he was going to lose you. Richard was freaking out more by now. He had to find you, no matter the cost. You were his baby girl, his girlfriend, and the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

Now I’m searching every lonely place

Every corner calling out your name

Trying to find you but I just don’t know

Where do broken hearts go?

He grabbed his keys from the coffee table and rushed outside to his white car. The unlock button had never been pressed so harshly. His seatbelt had never been put on so fast, and he certainly had never reversed his car that fast. Ever. His windows were rolled down and the top was down as he sped down the road.

“(Y/N)!!!” He called your name desperately as he drove above the speed limit. There was nothing stopping him from finding you, the love of his life.

Tell me now, tell me now

Tell me where you go when you feel afraid

Tell me now, tell me now

Tell me will you ever love me again, love me again

Richard was definitely scared by this point of finding you either dead on the sidewalk, or finding you with someone else. He didn’t know what to think at this point. You had left everything with him except for that jacket of his. He needed to know where to look for you.

“Richuki! You need to stop being so worried about me! I’m going to be fine!” You said as you sipped your coffee. The two of you had decided to meet up for a coffee date after you took a study break. Yocelyn was proud of him for putting himself out there, and you, well, she was proud of you for trying to date again. You were studying for your finals and he was helping. Er, he was trying to help anyway.

“What the hell do you even need to know that for?” Richard said as he pointed to one of your notecards, which was filled with Biology notes.

“Biology.” You answered simply.

“Gross.” He scrunched up his face and made you giggle.

“I know, tell me about it.” You hum.

You threw your pencil at his head to get him to quit distracting you. “Stop distracting me!”

“How am I distracting you?” He asked, playfully offended by your outburst.

“You’re being stupid and good looking!” You clamped a hand over your mouth.

The coffee shop. That’s where he needed to check! He rushed to the coffee shop since it was open 24 hours. You liked to study there when you were in school. He had teased you many times that coffee was never the answer, but maybe it was for this particular case. Climbing out of the car, Richard entered the shop hopefully.

The bell above the door chimed to alert there was a new customer. One of the waitresses, Carrie, perked up. She walked closer so she could talk to Richard, a pot of coffee was in her hand as she spoke.

“Hey there, Richard. Are you looking for (Y/N)?” She asked with concern.

“Yes, is she here?”

“In the usual booth. Over there.” Gesturing a perfectly manicured nail in that direction, Richard thanked the gods silently.

“Thank god. Thanks Carrie.” He replied as he walked over thankfully to talk to you.

You were hunched over with a cup of your favorite hot drink in your hands. You had been anticipating sitting on your own while Richard sat at home, probably stewing in his own anger. What were you supposed to do now? Wait for him to come find you? Nah, he would never come looking for you. Both of you had said some pretty harsh stuff to one another. As far as you were concerned, you didn’t want to see him right now.

Yeah it took me some time but I figured out

How to fix up a heart that I let down

Richard had found you and he knew exactly how to fix what he had messed up. He had a surprise for you and he wanted you to accept it. Hopefully, this wasn’t too broken so you two could fix things with one another. As soon as you laid your eyes on him, your puffy eyes widened and your anger started to bubble in you again. “What do you want, Richard?” He seemed a little taken back with how harsh that had come out, but he decided to roll with it.

‘No turning back, Richuki, you gotta go for it.’ He was telling himself, pumping up the love he had felt for you for so long. “Princesa, please let me try to explain-” You cut him off with a hiss, “Fix things? You’re so funny. Get out of my face with that.” Wow, you really weren’t going to let him talk, huh?

“The promise.” He said simply, drawing your attention. “Promise, what?” You said in confusion. “The promise ring I gave you months ago. My promise was to love you until one day that I can call you my wife. I promised that I would take you on dates, no matter how silly or weird they may seem. I promised to love you unconditionally no matter what. I also promised that I would come after you if we fought because I love you so much. I promised to never give up on you. Richard stepped closer to you and he dared to take your hands. “You’re the most amazing thing that I ever laid my eyes on. I can’t imagine waking up without you anymore. I can’t leave you here or let you go too far out of my sight. I was wrong for snapping at you, and I have no excuses for doing so. Mami, I just want you to come home with me and Aaliyah. We miss you so much. I can’t imagine anyone else to be a second mom to her than you are. Our house is not a home without you.”

He gave you the house key necklace that he created for you. It was a little worn from use, but it reminded you how important this was to him-- to YOU. It made you tear up a little bit from the memories that you had of first coming home and using the key. Richard had lit up like a Christmas tree and he gave you the biggest hug when he realized it was you. You were just so happy.

Turning the key in the lock, you were bracing yourself for the first time you would officially call yourself “home”. You smiled while you stepped in the door, imagining what Richard’s reaction would be. After you stepped inside, Richard’s confused voice could be heard. “What the hell?” He mumbled beneath his breath as you could hear his feet shuffling towards you. You were carrying a duffle bag and you dropped it as soon as he walked up. His eyes widened and brightened up when he realized it was you.

You could barely brace yourself as he rushed up to you. He wrapped his arms around you to pick you up, hugging you tightly. You hugged him back and laughed when he picked you up. “Richuki!” You laughed when he had picked you up. The man smiled while he kissed your cheeks and all of your face. “Mami! You used the key!” He said excitedly. “Yeah, of course I did! How else would I make it into the house?” You asked him teasingly as he kissed your face everywhere. Your Dominican champion held onto you and grinned up at you.

As the memory faded, you realized he had disappeared. Looking around confused, you looked down to realize that Richard was still there. You gasped quietly when seeing him on his knees. “Richard, what are you doing?” You knew his leg was injured, yet he did this as best as he could. “You’re hurt.”

You started to help him up. “Wait what-” He cut you off with a small smile. “I know I spilled my feelings to you, but I wanted you to know this is real. I love you so much.” Richard showed you the ring. “(Y/N) (L/N), will you come home to me forever, and will you marry me?” You were already crying as you nodded your head. “Y-Yes.”

After putting the ring on your finger, you bent down and you kissed him so affectionately. The patrons inside the coffee shop were cheering you on, including Carrie, the close friend of you two. You both stood up after you helped him up. He wrapped an arm around you and kissed your hand. “I’m so glad to call you my beautiful fiance.”

Needless to say, you two went home so you could cuddle one another. You got dressed in some of your favorite pajamas and you cuddled up with him. Your hand rested on his chest as you admired your ring, tears streaming down your cheeks once again. “Princesa, why are you crying?” He kissed your cheek with concern. “Nothing, Rich. I’m just happy.” You replied and Richard wiped your tears away. “You’re amazing. I’m happy and glad that we’re done with this fighting. I always hate fighting with you.” You told him gently. He smiled and took that moment to kiss you passionately. You were so in love with Richard and you were glad that you two had made up. When pulling away, you noticed Richard looked like he had something on his mind.

“What’s on your mind?” You asked. Biting his lips, the Dominican man sighed. “I guess I thought I was going to lose you for good. You ran out so suddenly and I didn’t know where you went. It’s not like you to storm off like that when you gets upset. I guess I was thinking the worst. I know it wasn’t for long that you ran out, but… I can’t help but worry. You’re my baby, you’re the love of my life and I-” Richard started to tear up and you felt bad. You peppered kisses all over his face. “Aw, Richuki. Thank you for worrying about me, but I’m okay. You knew where to come looking for me.” You hugged him and smiled brightly. “I love you so much.” Richard smiled a shaky smile, “I love you too, (Y/N).”

As you two lay in each other’s warm embrace, you were both confronted with how much you loved one another.It was obvious that you two cared about each other too. It meant the world to you that he had chased after you. It showed you that he really did love and care for you. You were excited about marrying him and becoming (Y/N) Camacho.

#cnco #cncowners #richard camacho #richard imagine #cnco imagine #requested

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sarcastic-scribbles · 7 years

Text

What Makes Us Beautiful

Written for @surpassing-morning for the Miraculous Summer Exchange 2k17.

Paris at dawn is a beautiful sight; the sky is a brilliant array of blues and pinks, yellows and oranges as the sun begins to peek up over the horizon. The Eiffel Tower stands tall against the waking sky, a black silhouette behind the morning sun. Birds begin to twitter as they are roused from sleep, but the streets are still mostly empty, a blissful calm filling the city before the citizens rise and the chaos and noise of the usual working day begins. This is a magical time, hidden from most, a moment of quiet and peace in the busy city.

Adrien feels almost out of place here, as if he is intruding on an intimate time that should only belong to fantasy creatures he had read about in fairy tales. He half expects to blink and see a pixie flitter in front of him, or turn his head and watch a matagot slip through a fence to enter someone’s home. Even Plagg is strangely quiet, not moving around in his pocket or mewling about wanting more cheese, though he’s peeking out of Adrien’s pocket, big green eyes looking around at the quiet city. Then again, if anyone were to belong at this secret time where day and night meet, it would surely be the mischievous black cat kwami.

The moment of stillness is shattered as the bus pulls in front of the school, its engine rumbling loudly and its brakes noisy as it comes to a stop. Seeming to not notice the time of day or simply not caring if he wakes all of beloved France, the bus driver honks the horn and opens the doors. Mrs. Bustier gives the driver a look saved only for the most difficult students, and he at least has the decency to look sheepish as he runs a hand through his hair.

The class starts to pile into the bus, the few who are awake chattering quietly amongst themselves. Alya and Nino were so tired when they arrived earlier that morning that they had fallen asleep together on the steps in front of the school, and Adrien had let them sleep after taking a few pictures for posterity’s sake. He wakes them up as the others climb into the bus, letting them sleepily head for the bus as he waits another moment.

He had noticed that Marinette hadn’t arrived yet, and given that she tended to arrive late to school anyway, he’s not surprised she had struggled to pull herself out of bed even earlier today. While Mrs. Bustier’s back is turned as she watches students clamber into the bus, Adrien sneaks over to the Dupain-Chengs’ bakery and knocks on the door. Sabine answers the door after a moment, a bright smile on her face when she sees him.

“Adrien! Did you come for Marinette?” Her eyes twinkle mischievously as he sheepishly nods, lifting a hand to the back of his neck.

“Yes ma’am, I didn’t want her to miss the bus…” he trails off as his gaze lands on Marinette herself, rushing down the stairs. Her hair is all over the place, her jacket pulled through one sleeve but not the other, and neither of her shoes are tied. This last detail proves to be her downfall as she steps on one, trips, and barrels toward the floor. Adrien rushes forward at the last second and catches her in his arms. Her hands come to rest against his chest, blue eyes squeezed shut from bracing for the impact that never came. Marinette looks up and their eyes meet; they share a breath together before they jump away from each other, blushes burning their cheeks.

“A-A-Adrien! What, uh, how, um, w-what are you doing here?” she stammers, peeking at him through her long lashes with a look that skyrockets his heart from his chest to his throat. He coughs in the hope that doing so will dislodge it.

“I, ur, wanted to make sure you didn’t miss the bus.” Adrien grins shyly, and the words are out before he can stop them, “I-It wouldn’t be any fun without you, Marinette.”

The blush that had been slowly retreating from her cheeks quickly returns as she throws him a smile that stretches her mouth so wide it’s almost comical – and definitely cute. It really isn’t fair. He turns and opens the door for her, thinking the distance might help clear his head. “After you.”

Marinette and Adrien hurry to the bus, earning only a raised eyebrow from Mrs. Bustier before being ushered inside. They sit in front of Alya and Nino, who had fallen asleep again. Not wanting to invade Marinette’s personal space, Adrien sits as close to the edge as possible, but she seems to have the same idea and crushes herself against the window, only sparing him a few quick, shy glances.

It takes him five minutes to come up with a plan to fix the gap between them, and another five to muster the courage to follow through. Slowly, he taps Marinette’s shoulder and lifts his phone when she turns, a grin on his lips. “Want to take a picture?”

The plan works like a charm, resulting in the two pressing up against each other to take several pictures. Marinette doesn’t even notice when he wraps his arm around her shoulders to “pull her closer for a better picture”. Their laughter joins the general noise from the bus as they look through the photos, giggling at silly faces they made or the awkward poses they caught classmates in in the background. Then suddenly Marinette snatches his phone and takes a few canon pictures of him, claiming that she is determined to capture one bad photo of him.

By the time they reach the art studio, his phone has a brand new album filled with pictures of himself, and Marinette is demanding to know his secret.

He has to bite his lip to keep from admitting he’d tell her anything for a kiss.

The Little Ladybug had opened in honor of Paris’s hero to encourage citizens to explore their more creative sides. The hope was that instead of Hawkmoth latching onto their wild emotions, they would instead express themselves through art. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t, but The Little Ladybug was always busy anyway. Shelves lined the walls, filled with paintbrushes and paints, pencils and pens, colored pencils and even crayons; art supplies were everywhere for any creative mind to get started. In one corner of the room, a young woman was teaching a small group how to paint a sunset scene, and in another corner, a man was instructing several people on how to make a small vase from lumps of clay. There were also tables filled with handmade pottery, sculptures, and drawings for sale to support the studio.

The class wanders around The Little Ladybug for the first few minutes, eventually breaking off into smaller groups depending on what interests them. Kim, Max, and Alix find themselves drawn to the group making pottery. They sit at adjacent potter’s wheels and are given lumps of clay to start forming their vases, along with a few brushes for them to create their own designs. Kim’s vase starts as short and round, not intended for any specific purpose but more for the enjoyment of creating it. Max’s vase is much taller, an hourglass shape with a wavy lip, intended to be a gift for his mother. Alix’s appears to be more of a bowl than a vase at first, but Kim reaches over and guides her hands until a bulbous vase begins to form. She flicks clay on his nose as a thank you.

Ivan and Mylène find a table to sit at where a stack of papers and a tray of colored pencils and crayons lay. They go about drawing and coloring dogs and flowers and imaginary creatures, smiling shyly at each other. When Mylène shows Ivan her latest drawing, grinning brilliantly as her big golden brown eyes meet his, an idea hits him and he turns to work on his next drawing. He hides his work from her until it's finished, even as she attempts to peek over his shoulder, then reveals his crayon doodle of Mylène herself, the prettiest stick figure he’d ever drawn if he did say so himself. Her smile grows wide as she crushes him in a hug before turning to draw him as well.

Nathaniel, Rose, and Juleka go to the easels and try their hands at finger painting. Juleka is unsure at first, but with Rose and Nathaniel’s encouragement and direction, she dips a finger into the black paint and begins working. Rose finishes first and proudly shows off her unicorn dancing through pink clouds. Juleka nervously displays hers next, a raven perched on a pile of pink, red, and white roses. Nathaniel is slow to reveal his work, blushing and rubbing the back of his neck as Rose gushes at his painting of Ladybug and Chat Noir while Juleka quietly tells him it’s awesome.

Nino and Adrien chat quietly as they follow Alya and Marinette, who look at the various sculptures and paintings for sale. Marinette lifts a small black cat sculpture that fits perfectly in her palm. The cat sits regally with its head held high and its tail curled around its feet, its glowing green eyes staring ahead. Around its neck rests a green collar with a little golden bell. It reminds her of Chat, down to the crooked smirk it appears to have, and she decides to buy it. Alya shows Nino a fox sculpture she’d found, its features cartoonish but cute, and he points out a necklace with a teal sea turtle hanging from it. Marinette notices Adrien holding something red in his hand and steps over, a blush quickly rising to her cheeks when she recognizes a ladybug charm, meant to be added onto a bracelet.

“G-going, uh, going to get it?” she asks, peering up at him. Adrien jumps in surprise, then smiles when he sees her.

“Yeah, I think so.” His eyes flicker to the cat sculpture in her hand. “A black cat?”

The heat in her cheeks increases. “Oh, well, yeah, it just… it reminds me of Chat.” Her eyes flicker to the ground, then slowly meet Adrien’s gaze. She’s startled to find he’s blushing as well, eyes gone wide at her confession. “A-And he’s my favorite, uhm, of the two of them, so I… well…”

“F-Favorite?” he chokes out, sounding like he’s having trouble taking a breath. With how red his face is, that might be the case. “You, you like Chat Noir… he’s your… o-okay.”

Marinette opens her mouth to question his reaction – and ask if he’s feeling alright because he looks like he might need to sit down – when a sharp laugh draws her attention to Chloe and Sabrina.

“Look at all this garbage, Sabrina, honestly, who would want to be seen with this?” Chloe lifts a clay pot, cracked around the edges but painted beautifully despite its flaws. “Daddy would never get me anything so tacky.”

Sabrina nods, though her eyes flicker longingly to the pot as Chloe moves on to another shelf. “And this one here looks like it was made by a child. Why on earth would I spend my money on this?”

Marinette scowls and whirls around, heading for the cash register to pay for her sculpture, grumbling under her breath about how some people simply can’t appreciate art. Adrien follows her silently, paying for his ladybug charm once she finishes. Alya and Nino had already bought their trinkets, so the four make their way to the corner of the room to learn how to paint a sunset scene.

Nino sits next to Adrien on one bench, and Alya next to Marinette on another. Having never really painted, Adrien pays close attention to the artist as she shows them how to make the first basic strokes. He’s slower than the others, trying to be as careful and precise as possible with each color and making them blend together just right. Reds become oranges which fade to pinks, blues, and finally black, with a few white dots scattered here and there. Mountain peaks cover the foreground, black silhouettes against the color-filled sky. The sun is the hardest part, the brush not wanting to move as he presses down lightly and spins it around as carefully as he can. The edges are a little jagged, the lines of color curved slightly, and the mountains appear to blend together, but he’s proud of his picture. Beside him, Nino draws a little forest in the foreground, dark green trees reaching out to touch the fading sun. Alya’s is brighter, rays shining from the sun as the world she paints is awoken to the morning light. Marinette creates an ocean setting, the light of the sky reflected in the waves she creates. A tiny boat floats in the corner of her painting, the words S. S. Marinette invisible to anyone not looking for a signature.

Seeing Adrien looking at her painting, she tries to show him how she made such a small signature – and ends up accidentally painting his wrist in the process. Adrien reaches for his paintbrush and interrupts her apologies as he paints a little green mark on her cheek. Horror flashes through her expression, quickly replaced by a determined smirk as she dips her brush in some red paint. Nino and Alya watch, amused, as Marinette chases Adrien down to paint his own cheek red, earning another green smear on her forehead in return. She raises her brush to exact more revenge, but he gets there first, smudging green paint all over her cheeks. He then quickly ducks under a table to hide from her fury, giving her a sheepish grin when she lifts the tablecloth, grabs the front of his shirt, and yanks him up. His face stops inches from hers as she holds him still, clutching his shirt tightly while she dots red paint over his face. Adrien does nothing to defend himself, flustered from how close his lips are to hers. At last Marinette lets him go, satisfied with her revenge, and starts to step by him when she trips over her feet. She crashes into him and they both tumble to the ground. Adrien’s eyes meet Marinette’s and they stare at each other for a moment before bursting out laughing, finally recognizing how silly their paint-littered faces look.

“You… you look like you have chickenpox,” Marinette giggles, muffling her laughter in his shirt.

“And your freckles have turned green,” Adrien snickers, hugging her close.

When at last their laughter fades they start to sit up, pausing when their proximity is realized as their faces come within inches of touching. Adrien’s breath hitches and Marinette’s heart skips a beat, their eyes drawn just below each other’s noses for a moment. They share a breath, beginning to move closer, when Adrien touches his brush to her nose, painting it bright green.

“Gotcha,” he whispers, but the playfulness is gone, another emotion swimming in his eyes. Marinette blushes and gives him a shy smile before pulling back.

“Yeah, you have.”

The two slowly stand and make their way back to their seats, blushing brightly as they set to work on another painting, their minds reeling.

Other than quiet chatter, the studio is mostly silent, tranquility filling the air as the class enjoys their activities in the studio. The morning passes more quickly than any would have wanted it as they each explore their talents or discover new ones. Even Chloe and Sabrina seem to find a way to entertain themselves after discovering they can make their own jewelry – though Chloe was reluctant at first, she could tell Sabrina was interested and decided to humor her, though she’d never admit she was enjoying the art herself.

The peace in the studio is eventually broken, however, when Kim dares Alix to flick clay onto Max’s vase, and he in turn throws some at her in good fun and hits Kim instead. War arises among them, clay hitting glasses and hoodies and sneakers until the three are covered with clay, smeared on their hands and clothes and splattered on their faces and hair. A treaty is formed when Mrs. Bustier comes over to stop Kim from shoving Max’s head into a lump of clay as Alix slips clay into Kim’s hood; lunch is announced not too long after.

After everyone has gone to the bathroom and washed off most of the paint and clay from themselves, Mrs. Bustier allows the class to split into groups to get some lunch, reminding them to meet at the Bastille at two thirty to drive back to school.

Adrien’s hair is still a little wet from his attempt to remove paint from it, and he hopes the way it falls isn’t too reminiscent of Chat Noir to tip anyone off. He sidles next to Nino as the class leaves The Little Ladybug, and Alya and Marinette join them once the class separates. They walk aimlessly for a while, pointing out several restaurants they could stop at without deciding on anything, until suddenly Adrien stops, staring across the street.

“The Coffee of the Cats?” he asks, and the others follow his gaze. The building is small and simple, its name painted light blue on a beige wall. On its window is a drawing of a black cat sitting next to a mug of coffee. There are no bright, flashy lights or extra signs; it is almost hidden away on the street.

Alya and Nino don’t have any problem with it, and though Marinette seems to be containing a laugh at a joke none of the others catch, she agrees to go inside as well.

The Coffee of the Cats is filled with old furniture and cat trees, with only a few tables and chairs set up to somewhat resemble an actual café. Cat toys and beds are strewn about on furniture and on the floor, and all over are cats – cats loafing on their trees, cats sleeping in beds, cats winding around legs, cats everywhere. Adrien thinks this might be what heaven looks like.

Nino and Alya take a seat on one of the couches, Marinette on a nearby chair, and Adrien plops right down on the floor to start petting one of the cats. A waitress offers them a menu and they order, eager to eat after the long morning they had. Once the waitress leaves for the kitchen, Marinette kneels next to Adrien and scratches under a ginger cat’s chin, earning a happy purr in response.

A grey cat hops onto the couch and gingerly steps over both Nino and Alya’s laps, head and tail held high. Alya cracks a small smile while Nino warily watches the cat walk over them, looking incredibly uncomfortable.

“Duuuude, I don’t… cats aren’t my thing, man, I’ve always just had dogs; big, loud, lovable dogs and cats are just… they’re weird, dude.”

Alya laughs and pats his shoulder. “I promise I’ll protect you from the scary cat, you dork.”

Nino is miffed for a minute before another cat leaps into his lap and he yelps, clutching onto Alya. “Dude dude dude dude dude!”

She carefully lifts the cat into her lap and scratches behind its ears, raising an amused eyebrow at Nino. He merely crosses his arms and looks away. “…It just startled me, that’s all.”

Marinette picks up a feather wand and starts playing with the ginger cat, cooing as it bats at the dangling feathers. The white cat Adrien had been petting joins in, the two cats chasing and pouncing at the always out of reach feathers. Adrien laughs as he watches, leaning a little against Marinette, who decides not to comment on how his arm snakes around her waist. There’d be plenty of time to talk later.

When the food comes they all move to a table, chatting amiably about first the art studio, then Nino’s newest album, Alya’s sisters’ latest trip to the hospital, Marinette’s most recent design, and one of Adrien’s guilty pleasures.

“You watch romcoms in your spare time? Dude, seriously?” Nino stares at him in disbelief, his uneaten ice cream melting in his bowl.

“I mean, I can see it,” Alya says, taking a bite of her chocolate cake. “You’re totally a hopeless romantic, right?” Adrien’s blush is all she needs for confirmation, regardless of the stuttering affirmation he gives her. “See? Ready to sweep some girl off her feet and ride into the sunset.”

“But romcoms? I understood the anime, okay, they have some great plotlines, but romcoms just… it’s the same movie! Over and over, the exact same movie!”

Adrien frowns. “No, sometimes the girl falls first, and sometimes the guy does, and they really beautifully portray relationships as both fun and emotionally deep if you watch the right ones.”

Marinette sips at her milkshake. “He’s got a point.”

Nino points a fry at her. “You stay out of this. Alya, come on, dude, back me up!”

She shrugs. “Sorry, I like them too.”

“Oh, come on!” He shakes his head, almost as pitiful as the orange sherbet melting away in his bowl. “…I need new friends, dude.”

The Bastille isn’t far from the café, but after walking for a little while Alya begins to playfully complain about how tired she is from walking. Nino offers to carry her on his back, then turns to Adrien.

“Bet we could beat you and Mari to the Bastille.”

Adrien immediately bends down so Marinette can climb onto his back. He holds onto her legs carefully as her arms loop around his neck, and he hopes that she can’t feel his pounding heart. “You’re on.”

The two take off, holding tightly to the girls as they zip through streets and sidewalks. Marinette and Alya seem to be having more fun the boys are, yelling insults at each other and encouraging Adrien and Nino to run faster lest the other get ahead. It’s neck and neck all the way to the Bastille, until Adrien is forced to stop for an old man hobbling across the road (who may have been familiar but neither he nor Marinette was paying very much attention). Nino and Alya celebrate their victory, cheering and good-naturedly boasting their win to Adrien and Marinette. Adrien takes the loss well and congratulates them, though Marinette is a little sore and it takes a few silly faces from Adrien to get her to cheer up again, promising to beat them next time.

Mrs. Bustier smiles and checks the four of them off her list as they step onto the bus, then follows them inside. Alya and Nino sit in front of Adrien and Marinette, and Mrs. Bustier double checks that the entire class is present before taking a seat herself. The bus driver then shuts the door and they drive off, heading back for school.

With the rumbling of the bus, the warmth radiating from Adrien, and the exhaustion from a long, full day, Marinette falls asleep in no time, resting her head against Adrien’s shoulder. He is startled at first, but smiles and wraps an arm around her, wishing her sweet dreams under his breath. Alya and Nino turn around and snap a few pictures of the two before Adrien catches them, his face flushing red as he insists they turn back around before they wake Marinette.

Outside, the city is bustling, people hurrying into shops and houses with their arms loaded with bags. Cars honk and street vendors call to the people passing by, the smell of fried food permeating inside the bus. Gone is the peaceful moment of dawn, yet still Adrien would call this time magical, not because of faeries and spirits, but because of the life that flows throughout Paris, from its people to its streets to the bright blue sky. The city is alive, Adrien thinks as he leans his head against the bus window. And as the Eiffel Tower comes into view once again, he knows that is what makes Paris beautiful.

#miraculous summer exchange #miraculous ladybug #what makes us beautiful #adrienette

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