The heart-clunching Adrienette dance scene for those who need it, ft. Alya “the hero we don’t deserve” Cesaire
DISCLAIMER: Miraculous Ladybug does not belong to me, nor do the characters. I am solely sharing this scene to spread the enjoyment. Miraculous Ladybug respectfully belongs to Thomas Astruc and Zagtoon productions.
Once upon a time, I posted a picture of Vertigo snoozing with his tummy up, and someone said that it looked like an inviting trap. So I figured I’d post this video of what a typical Vertigo belly rub looks like (on his terms, of course). Hopefully the sound quality isn’t so terrible that you can’t hear him purring
Do you know that post about an uber driver surprising passengers with puppies inside their cab? Because I dreamed about it last night but with victuuri. Like, driver!victor with makkachin and his pups at the backseat, then passenger!yuuri enters and victor just stares at him bc wow what an angel??? 'pls marry me we'll travel the world and raise these puppies together???' Lmao it's just so cute too bad i woke up right after that it's such a nice dream ;//
On Victor Nikiforov’s Uber profile it says: prefers passengers with pets.
Yuuri doesn’t have a pet with him, but he does need a ride, so he figures ‘prefer’ is going to have to be the operative word in this situation. Phichit hadn’t been able to give him a ride, something had come up, so he’s leaning against the brick wall outside of a diner. There are waves of rain beating down on the sidewalk in front of him and a tiny, maroon awning is his only savior.
When he sees a white convertible pull up, he squints, wondering if this could possibly be his driver. Deciding to take the risk, he hurries into the rain and peers into the window. There’s a man inside, too blurry to make out, but he’s waving to him, so Yuuri opens the back door.
(No, this can’t be the right car.)
“Come in, you’re going to get soaked!” the man calls, and there’s a playfulness to his voice, an invitation.
“You have dogs,” Yuuri blurts, as though the man doesn’t know that there are currently five brown poodles habituating the back of his fancy convertible.
The man–Victor, Yuuri reminds himself–nods. “That one is Makkachin, he’s the oldest. And that one is Spot–do you see the spot on his back?–and that one is Bella, she’s the troublemaker, and then that’s Charlie…”
“Right, okay,” Yuuri blurts, and he gets into the car, shutting the door behind him. A dog lays down on his lap. He can’t buckle his seatbelt.
“Where are you heading?”
Yuuri swallows. “Um, doesn’t it say in your, uh, thing?”
Victor looks at his GPS. He’s definitely attractive, Yuuri notes. “Yes, I suppose it does. Just trying to make conversation.”
“Oh, right, sorry. Um, I can’t get my seatbelt on.”
“Oh, Makka!” Victor scolds, looking over his shoulder. “You can just push him off, it’s fine. Just be gentle, please.”
Yuuri tries to push the dog off, but he whines and keeps his head on Yuuri’s thigh. He doesn’t have the heart to try again, so he just prays that Victor is a good driver. “So why, um, why the dogs?”
Victor turns a corner and Yuuri holds onto Makkachin, trying to keep him from slipping. “Aren’t they cute?” Victor asks, sounding hopeful.
“Yeah, they are,” he admits, patting Makkachin’s head. “Are they all poodles?”
“I used to have a poodle.”
Victor frowns, looking at him through the rearview mirror. “They’re very loyal dogs. They like riding around, meeting passengers. I’ve never seen Makkachin take as much of a liking to one as he has to you, though.”
He blushes and ducks his head. “Really?”
“Really. In fact, it’d be a shame if he were to never see you again after this ride, so maybe you should give me your phone number. So that you can visit. For the dog’s happiness.”
(Well, that escalated quickly.)
He tries to figure out whether or not Victor is asking him out.
But, it’s for the dog’s happiness, after all.
“S-Sure. I mean, I do need rides sometimes….”
“You’ll be my priority customer,” Victor promises. “Now hold on.”
They swing around a tight corner, Yuuri is thrown against the door. The dogs don’t look at all disturbed, they maintain their places and pant happily at the man in the front seat. “Sorry about that!”
He clutches his heart. “Yeah… Yeah, no problem.”
“Wow, you’re even cuter when you’re flustered,” Victor muses, watching the rearview mirror again.
Yuuri, on the other hand, watches the road. “Look out!”
He glances down at the road, swings their car to the right. “Don’t worry, it’s fine.”
“D-Definitely fine,” Yuuri repeats, unsure.
Then, they’re at his stop. “See you soon?”
(For the dog, Yuuri thinks.)
(For the dog, and for that man’s stunningly gorgeous eyes.)
Can you improve my outlook on life and write a very drunk draco clinging to Harry please?
(LOL, I love the way you phrased that and also, I love drunk Draco.)
Potter sat there, leaning back in the booth with his arm slung across the back of the faux-leather seat, his shoulders shaking as he threw his head back and laughed at something the Weasel said. Granger shook her head with a smile of fond exasperation and leaned up to kiss her husband’s cheek. The weird blonde (”Loony Lovegood,” his booze-soaked brain provided) was waving her wand over the she-Weasel’s head in circles - ‘cause that’s normal behaviour for her.
Draco supposed that the thought of going over there ought to feel intimidating - he was completely outnumbered. But perhaps it was because of the eight or so shots of tequila Pansy had dared him into guzzling, or because he was randy as fuck.
Or because he’d just stood there hiding behind the cloak stand by the door and gazing at Potter like a lovesick halfwit far too long - he was no coward. Not anymore.
So he squared his shoulders and marched across the bar, tripping only twice, the second time because of that swaying oaf who’d nearly knocked him over.
Potter blinked up at him with his mouth slightly open.
“Potter.” Draco felt vaguely triumphant that his voice came out steady and calm - and Potter’s form was only very slightly blurry. “Potter,” he repeated, blinking slowly.
“Malfoy,” Potter replied cautiously, one eyebrow sliding up the scarred forehead. “What’re you doing here?”
“I can be here if I want to be here ‘cause I want to be here–” Draco was being very loud - his ears rang a little. Potter scrambled out of his seat, throwing a hasty glance at his friends before coming up to Draco and grabbing his elbow hard. Draco scowled around at the group - Weasley was scowling back, Granger looked thoughtful, she-Weasley looked completely bewildered and Loony, well Loony hadn’t noticed him yet; she was peering into she-Weasley’s ear as though she’d lost something in there.
Potter dragged him away a few paces. “What the hell?”
Draco tried to yank his arm out of his grip but nearly ended up overbalancing and falling onto his arse instead - Potter’s grip tightened.
“Let me go!” Draco slurred, stepping closer to Potter.
“What’re you doing here?” Potter repeated softly.
“I like you,” Draco proclaimed boldly. “I’ve always liked you. You never noticed. You have terrible eyesight.”
Potter pursed his lips, a faint line appearing between his thick brows. “I know I do,” he said, indicating to his smudged glasses.
“I like you,” Draco said once more, his voice decidedly breathy now - ugh. He stepped closer and, oh Merlin, rubbed their noses together. “So much,” he sighed, pressing their cheeks together for a swift second.
“Oh?” Potter didn’t seem put out at all. After staring steadily at him with his stupid green eyes twinkling merrily, Potter asked, “What d’you want, Draco?”
“To go home with you.” Oh shit, he was going to kill Pansy.
Potter simply continued to twinkle at him. “Well, I’m not going to say no to that,” he said very seriously, finally releasing Draco’s elbow to slide both his arms around Draco’s waist and tug him closer.
Draco gasped as he was pressed flush against Potter. He could caught a whiff of spicy aftershave, Firewhiskey and mint; he pushed both hands into the mess on Potter’s head and leaned forward to whisper, “I want you to fuck me.” He pressed his face into the crook of Potter’s neck.
Potter’s arms tightened, the world closed in around him until he was being squeezed almost to the point of pain, and then he was being pulled through dense blackness.
Everything ached. His stomach ached, his back ached, his toenails ached - his eyelashes ached. His head felt like it had exploded and had been put back together before exploding again; even his hair hurt.
He was too close to the sun, his retinas were on fire. The sheets below him were softer than a cloud and smelt pleasantly flowery - his stomach twisted.
He kicked himself out of bed, fell over onto his hands and knees and then half-crawled, half-ran to the bathroom until he was heaving into the toilet. It was another ten minutes before he was able to make himself stand, piss, gargle with half a bottle of mouthwash and wash his face - which also hurt.
Clad only in his boxers he stumbled through the house, following the horrible sound quality of the Wireless and the utterly heavenly scent of fresh coffee.
“Coffee!” he croaked, throwing himself into a chair so heavily that he slipped off the polished wood and landed on his bum. Potter turned around, a spatula with a bright red handle in one hand, took one look at him and nearly fell down laughing.
“Good morning!” he virtually screamed. Draco rested his cheek on the chair and groaned hoarsely, feebly pressing his hands to his ears.
“Coffee,” he whimpered. “What happened to my head? Coffee,” he pleaded once more.
Grinning widely, Potter poured him a large mugful. Shaking his head slightly as he walked over to the table, he set the steaming mug on the table, reached down and nearly lifted Draco off his feet as he helped him onto the chair he’d aimed for. “Let me guess - tequila?”
“I hate Pansy.” Draco wrapped both hands around his jade green mug with the gold polka dots and drew the drink of the Gods closer to him. “I hate tequila. I hate drinking. I hate bars. I hate going out.”
“But you like me.” Potter’s completely deadpan expression made Draco scowl - aarrgh, his face hurt dammit.
“What?” He took a huge gulp and moaned a long, gurgling moan as the gorgeous bitterness spread over his tongue.
“You like me,” Potter said again, leaning a hip against the counter with his arms crossed - he looked on the verge of another bout of laughter.
Draco stared blearily at him for several seconds before fuzzy memories started leaking into his aching brain. Then he let his head thump onto the table with another groan as Potter burst out laughing again.
“I hate everything!” Draco stated miserably. “Stop laughing at me!” His head throbbed when he raised his voice so he promptly shut up.
Potter, still laughing by the way, was loading up a plate with eggs, sausages and strips of bacon fried to crisp perfection - Draco’s stomach rolled and he clamped his mouth shut firmly as the food was set down before him.
Then Draco’s husband cupped his face with both hands, turned his face up and kissed him firmly. “I like you too,” Potter informed Draco.
“I will vomit on you,” Draco threatened.
Potter grinned, kissed his nose and went to get himself a plate of breakfast.