#and feel the heartbeat pulsating directly on my skin

[sgkjd]

i actually maybe don't like "blogging" at all. maybe it was just the best option i had at a certain time in my life. maybe i even feel repulsed by it now. maybe i just feel sick of the blogging i personally tried to do. maybe i have thoughts on creating a completely new account on here and experimenting with how expressing myself in the blogging format works best for me. (maybe i never really considered that i can blog in ways that'd be more enjoyable for me). maybe i want to only have one blog instead of 363828 sideblogs for different interests, maybe i finally know how to fit my multitudes inside one body and one mind.

[heartlaboratory]

In the short movie represented, taken from the university archive, you can look at a curious experiment that took place in the firs years of the '900, when physiologist were working on the relationship between electricity and the human body. A brief report accompanies the movie. Colette De La Beatrix was the countess of a small town called "Holy Lady in the Countryside", she was married to a professor of that time. Unfortunately at the age of 32 she suffered a terrible accident while riding her horse. She was embossed down from the saddle and the horse stomped her right in the center of her chest, destroying the frontal part of her rib cage. She was saved miraculously by the university's surgeon that had to remove her sternum leaving her most vital organ covered only by a thin layer of skin. Usually she wore an iron plate to cover and protect her exposed heart. Her husband convinced her to take advantage of the events and participate in his studies about electrophysiology. She happily took part to them and once results were gathered they decided to show them to the other professors and film the experiment. The movie starts with the countess sitting on a woodden bench. her entire chest is exposed and the shape of her beating heart is clearly visible. A rudimental microphone, linked to a gramophone, is held by a belt on the center of her chest and picks up her heartbeat. Two electrodes are attached on the oppiside sides of her heart linking the organ with what was probably a battery. The report is divided into different parts:

Initial- Countess initial heart rate: 85 bpm Showing the audience her condition and her synus rhythm at rest. Single electrical pulses are charged on her heart to demonstrate electricity can start artificial systoles. Audience is encouraged to feel the countess' carotid pulse to further proove the experiment effectiveness. This part ends with a note hand-written. "remember to tell the audience to never directly touch her heart to avoid dangerous ahrrythmias".

Part 2- Artificial pacing at 120bpm The machine delivers a series of consecutive impulses to create an artificial rhythm. The countess's heart reacts to each pulse correctly contracting in a new manually-induced pace. Audience is encouraged to feel the countess' carotid pulse under the influence of the continuous pulses. NOTE: After the pulses are interrupted the countess' heart recovers its initial pace immediately.

Part 3- Reaching physiological limit, 187bpm To demonstrate total control on the countess' heart rhythm the heart is artificially paced at her maximum heart rate (220 - her age 32). electrical pacing can realize the same results as a strenuous physical effort. The battery completely bypassed her local pacemaker. Audience is encouraged to feel the countess' carotid pulse and look at her beating heart. NOTE: Frank and Starling were right, the artificial rhythm seems hard to sustain for her system. The fast her heart gets the less efective its beating becomes. NOTE2: Her heart takes some long pauses in order to recover.

Part 4- Beyond physiological limits 240bpm The domain over her natural pacemaker is so absolute that its natural limit can be higly bypassed. The heart is paced at an innatural rhythm. Audience is encouraged to feel the countess' carotid pulse and look at her beating heart. NOTE: Audience report that just a very tiny wave of blood can be felt at her neck after each heart contraction. NOTE2: The countess's heart seems unable to follow each electrical pulse as some dyastoles seem abolished in a tetanus like manner. NOTE3: The procedure is interrupted as the countess lost consciousness for a brief period of time. NOTE4: Once the machine is turned off a long period of asystole is seen with subsequent ahrrythmias after the spontaneous pulsation restarted. Heart exhaustion? another hand-written part: "I should have never tried this on my wife"

What the report doesn't says is that countess Colette De La Beatrix died of sudden cardiac arrest few days late.

[from-memphis-with-love]

1849 - an Elvis Presley One-Shot

Summary: It's 1849 and the height of the Oregon Trail. Pearl, an innocent and inexperienced young woman, is plucked from the prairie and into a marriage with rough and tumble rancher Elvis Presley. She's practically paralyzed with fear on her wedding night. But all is not what it seems: he is actually loving and kind with her, and, with a little gentle coaxing, she soon comes to find out the true meaning of what her husband affectionately calls his "manly duties."

Beneath a velvet sky embroidered with stars, the sweeping prairie of the Willamette Valley undulated endlessly, its breezy grasses frosted silver in the gentle moonlight, swaying like the swells of a wheat-colored sea. The air, redolent with sagebrush and wildflower nectar, whispered tales yet untold. 

A weathered log cabin, sturdy as an old oak, nestled harmoniously amid the untamed expanse. Inside, flickering candlelight danced upon the rough-hewn walls, casting writhing shadows that capered about. This humble abode was far more than a shelter; it housed two hearts newly joined in matrimony's sacred covenant. 

Upon a mattress of timber and homespun linens lay the newlyweds. The sounds of crickets and distant animals floated on the night air, a natural lullaby straight from the land itself. They reveled in the hushed serenity of their nascent life together.

A stillness Pearl finally punctured with a question. 

"Elvis?" she pouted, her reedy voice not fully her own. "You've stolen the blanket." Mistaking her complaint for invitation, Elvis sidled closer, his sturdy frame a barrier against the cool night air. He slipped his hand atop her opposite side, ensconcing her between his bare chest and muscular arm. "Might I perhaps have them back, please?"

He nuzzled nearer, his tone playful. "Chilly? Lemme warm you up, then."

Now, with mere inches between them, his radiant skin-heat seemed to flow directly into her own, quickening her heartbeat. She swallowed, her voice quavering slightly. "Do you... have a nightshirt, perhaps?"

"A night-what?" His confusion, genuine or feigned, hung in the air between them, charged with the unspoken energy of their touch.

Pearl closed her eyes, seeking refuge in inky darkness, away from the maelstrom roiling within. She wished to be anywhere but perched on the precipice of her wedding night, an apprehensive innocent bound to a man whose depths were only just beginning to unfurl before her. 

Her thoughts meandered to distant places: endless prairies beneath boundless skies, their splendor unfettered and raw. She pictured the wind's caress, laden with wildflower perfume, conveying whispers of age-old tales. How she yearned for freedom, to roam unconstrained by society's fetters!

Her heart ached for the unknown, the thrill of novel faces and locales. Perhaps in a bustling metropolis, pulsating with a mosaic of sounds, she could vanish into the crowd, shedding her naïve bride skin. Or on a lonely mountain peak, inhaling the crisp air, losing herself in nature's majesty, finding peace in its seclusion. 

No, she banished the thought, Elvis Presley never feels fear, and I'm a fool to think otherwise. 

Somehow, this realization lent her the strength to open her eyes, letting curiosity temper her fears. Yet, the echoes of a strict upbringing whispered doubts, and she might feel more at ease about it all if Elvis kept some of his clothes on—at least for the night. She broached the subject of modesty. “A nightshirt. If you have one in that chest over there, I’d appreciate you wearing it,” she ventured.

Unlike Pearl, Elvis had no such compunctions about their intimacy, nor was he concerned with modesty. His hands, calloused from the laborious toil of ranch work, possessed an innate understanding of the contours that ignited pleasure. His lips held secrets of countless stolen kisses and whispered promises. He cocked a sly smile at her request.

“Honey, you know I don’t own no nightshirt. The closest I come is wearing my long johns in the winter, and now that I got you to keep me warm, I reckon I won’t wear ‘em anymore.”

“Then what, pray tell, shall you wear?”

In one smooth motion, Elvis lifted her until she sat upright before him, noticing with some relief that his trousers remained in place. Strong fingers carded through her hair, treating the auburn strands as delicately as silk. 

"Y’know, the first time I laid eyes on you, you know I imagined you wearin’ nothin’ but your beautiful hair?”

Pearl froze, stunned by the vulnerability his words implied. To be so exposed, with only her hair for modesty, sparked an instinctual alarm...yet also fascination. Like a deer in a rife’s sight, she wrestled with the storm of fear and curiosity Elvis's revelation provoked. 

Firelight danced in his eyes, flecks of gold glittering in that captivating blue. With care, Elvis gathered her hair over her breasts. Though clothed, Pearl shivered at the suggestive act, a blush creeping up her neck. 

"Just like that," he murmured admiringly. "Sweet little rosebuds begging to be kissed. Peekin’ out to me and all."

Sitting there, Pearl felt Elvis's gaze wash over her like sunlight piercing through fog. His words stirred something deep within, blossoming warmth that spread from her cheeks down through her chest. But it didn't stop there. A swirling eddy gripped her belly, intensifying into a molten pull that sunk her deeper into this newfound swell of feeling. No one had told her a wedding night could feel like this. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing away the betrayal of her body's response. 

Noticing her blush, Elvis leaned back, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "Seems I might be pushing my luck tonight," he mused, his mouth settling into a bashful grin. He caressed her cheek, his calloused thumb rubbing soothing circles into her skin. “My God, you are so lovely.” Though his touch was gentle, she tensed. "Little Pearly, are you really that nervous?"

Pearl's heart raced, her cheeks burning with a mix of fear and longing as she took in the sight of Elvis's bare chest. The raw exposure of his skin, the dance of muscles beneath, stirred a whirlwind of emotions—curiosity, vulnerability. Fear. An evil desire she wouldn’t dare name. The way he looked stirred a terrible hunger deep within, and she couldn’t help but long for a barrier between them, a shield to temper the intensity of their connection.

With a voice touched by nerves, she mustered the courage to voice her yearning. "I would probably feel better if you put on a shirt," she ventured softly, unaware of the intoxicating effect her request had on Elvis, who looked back at her with a mix of amusement and reverence. "Are you sure you don't have one, Elvis?"

"I can do it with a shirt on, but I reckon I’ll have to take my trousers off sooner or later," he quipped, then caught himself, noting the joke wasn’t helping. "Is there anything else troubling you, darlin'?"

Pearl straightened, clearing her throat. "I’d really appreciate it if you just get on with it, please. I want to get this over with. We can talk afterward, alright?"

Elvis's smile faded, his thumb stilling on her cheek. "Ah, honey, I’m so sorry. I need a good whuppin’, that’s what I need," he said, nudging his nose against hers playfully. He twirled one of her curls around his finger, breathing in her scent. "I’m just a big ole oaf, is what I am. Here I am jokin’ my head off and you’re as nervous as a fawn. I should be making you feel good instead. Makin’ you forget what it is you’re so scared about.” 

Pearl’s eyes crossed trying to peer into his, so she let them flutter closed.

Cupping her face in his rough palms, Elvis lifted his forehead from hers, leaving a ghost of warmth behind. He pressed a feather-light kiss to the tip of her nose. Pearl's heart fluttered at the gentle gesture, her grip tightening on his broad wrists as he guided her back onto the bed. Sinking into the mattress, she felt a mix of trepidation and trust as Elvis settled above her, forearms bracketing her shoulders.

“My wife,” he whispered, chest grazing her breasts as he bent close. “Don’t be afraid, sweetheart,” he murmured, full lips barely brushing hers in a whisper-soft caress. “I’ll make it real nice for you. Pearl, I will never intentionally hurt you. I swear it.”

“Elvis...” She parted her lips to speak, but his mouth stole the words. His breath was warm and sweet with a hint of black coffee as she sucked it in. Soft lips trailed over the contours of her mouth, leaving desire in their wake. But when his probing tongue intruded, Pearl recoiled in shock and apprehension, questioning the unfamiliar invasion. 

Pearl's world narrowed to the feel of his lips. They ignited longings within her, each touch kindling dormant desires. 

Her racing heart stumbled over itself as his tongue gently challenged her limited experience. Fingers digging into his arms, climbing to the solid assurance of his shoulders, she wondered, silently pleading, What's happening to me?

Desire, raw and unbidden, surged within her. Yet a shadow of doubt whispered too, questioning her boldness. Still, as they kissed, warmth bloomed inside her, promising pleasure, promising connection. Though separated by her thin nightgown, his touch blazed lines of fire over her skin, pulling her into a dance between longing and hesitation. 

For the first time, Pearl reveled in the forbidden delight of passionate kisses, a realm unknown to her sheltered life. The caress of his mouth on hers was a dance, each movement stirring longing she hadn't known existed. Every press and yielding response painted a portrait of contradictions—firm yet molten, unyielding yet accommodating. She prayed they would do this part of it frequently, whatever came next.

Catching her lower lip, he rolled it tenderly beneath his tongue, gently nibbling. Oh yes, she adored kissing. Their kisses grew bolder, back and forth, until his chest pressed firmly against hers. Her pounding heartbeat drowned out the owl's hoot outside. Arching against him, she dug her nails into his shoulders, overwhelmed by urgent, indescribable desire. She pressed into his rippling heat with greater intensity, seeking solace in his muscular frame.

Again, he delicately caught her lower lip between his teeth, rolling it tenderly beneath his tongue and gently nibbling on it.

Oh, yes.

She adored kissing him. Their kisses escalated until she was deaf to everything but her pounding heart. Arching into him, nails digging into his shoulders, she was overwhelmed with desire, seeking solace in his heat.

He relinquished his hold on her hair, breaking the kiss to embark on a tantalizing exploration of her face. His lips traced a path along her cheek, leaving a trail of teasing nips and touches that sent delightful shivers coursing through her body. With deliberate intent, he traveled upward, caressing her temple before retracing his path down to her eyelids.

Oh, what sensations!

His mouth against her sensitive skin was pure ecstasy. Venturing to her ear, his breath resonated as he nibbled her earlobe, flicking his tongue along the tender hollow beneath. A soft moan escaped her. Descending to her neck, his kisses made her tremble, breath hitching. She adored his skillful, desiring mouth. His presence enveloped her, intensifying the longing within, and she felt a curious pooling in her lap that startled her. Their hips pressed together, moving slowly, heightening the achingly sweet yearning in her veins. Lost in the moment, she faintly registered his trembling hands worrying the buttons of her gown, finally easing the fabric open. A gentle breeze brushed her bare breasts, sending delicious shivers down her spine - an unfamiliar yet delightful sensation.

A faint whisper of caution echoed in Pearl's mind, a remnant of scriptures urging caution against such intoxicating desire. Yet the allure was too powerful to resist. She surrendered to cascading waves of pleasure, losing herself in the intensity of their connection, exploring the passion dormant within her. The world fell away. All that mattered was the electric current drawing them closer in a dance of yearning and surrender. 

"Good Lord," he rasped, voice thick with desire. "I can’t even breathe, I want you so bad.” 

His scorching tongue blazed a path over her taut, yearning nipple. A jolting shock seized her, stealing her breath, causing her heart to falter. His mouth enveloped her with fervent intensity, sensations reverberating to her toes. Wide-eyed, she glanced down to see his flawless face nestled against her breast. Gradually he retreated, teasingly tugging her nipple, teeth capturing the pulsating bud before releasing, only to repeat the exquisite torment. 

Shock rippled through her, leaving her gasping in disbelief. Yet he drew her back into his mouth, swallowing her essence with unyielding passion. Panic gripped her and she screamed, pushing against him with all her might, cries echoing. What is happening? What unspeakable act is this? Oh mercy!

She felt betrayed. His audacious promises were deceitful lies! He personified sinful, impure yearning. This pleasure was too good to be true. 

As Pearl's piercing screams reverberated through the air, the sound struck Elvis like a lightning bolt, jolting him from his haze. Fear and concern etched his face as he sprang up, heart pounding. Reaching out with trembling hands, he gripped her shoulders urgently, as if to anchor them both. 

"Darlin', what's the matter? Did I hurt you?"

She screamed again, scrambling away and hastily closing her gown with trembling hands, desperately trying to conceal herself - a raw, vulnerable moment, reminding them both of past wounds. 

"Leave me be! Don't you lay a hand on me! You deceived me, you lied!" she cried, anguished.

In the corner, Get Lo, the loyal hound, rose with a mournful howl as footsteps and voices neared the cabin. Fists pounded the sturdy door, causing it to tremble. 

"Boss!" Red's voice echoed. "Hey, boss!" More commotion. "Stand back! I'll kick it down if I have to!"

"No!" Elvis shouted. "It's alright, Red! Don't break down the door!" 

"Show yourself then, damn it! How do I know someone ain't holdin' a gun on ya?"

"God damnit, I'll be right there!" Elvis shot an anxious look at his bride, now wedged into the corner between the headboard and wall. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry. One second and I’ll be right back, alright?" 

But she appeared more inclined to a tooth extraction than entertaining that idea. Elvis muttered an oath and went to the door, lifting the bolt and cracking it open to let Red glimpse him in the flickering candlelight. "We're alright. Weren’t nothing, Red. Just a misunderstanding, is all." 

Red's eyes blazed with desert-sun intensity. "A misunderstanding? She nearly shook the soul out of me, Elvis!" His voice held the edge of a man ready to face a nest of rattlers. "A misunderstanding?" 

Elvis bowed his head, a shadow of remorse etching across his face. "I’m sorry, Red. This is my doing, not hers." 

Red shot a knowing look and without a word, Elvis eased the door closed, his hand lingering on the bolt before it fell into place with a gentle thud. He turned slowly, his gaze drawn to the bed. 

Pearl clung to a pillow, her eyes wide pools of darkness against her pale face. Fear and disbelief swirled within those inky depths. 

"You lied!" Her shrill cry pierced the heavy air. 

Brows furrowed, Elvis sank onto the mattress. "Sweetheart, I swear I didn't deceive you. Please, tell me what I did wrong."

She wrapped her arms around herself, clutching her shoulders with trembling hands. "You lied! You gave me your word!" Her voice broke on the accusation.

Elvis leaned forward, elbows on knees, straining to read her face in the dim firelight. Though just minutes ago passion had flowed between them, now she recoiled from his touch. Her chin jutted out defiantly. "Why did you lie?"

Steady but tinged with desperation, his voice cut through the tense silence. "What lie?" His eyes searched hers for any glimmer of understanding. He fought to remain calm amidst the storm raging within the room. "Sweetheart, please, tell me what you believe I lied about."

Her lips twisted in bitter disbelief. "Don't play dumb. You said you conducted yourself righteously, like the brethren." She spat out a harsh laugh. "None of them would ever behave as you did. You lied, plain and simple. And I was foolish enough to believe it." 

Elvis ran his fingers through his disheveled hair, frustration creeping into his voice. "I did not lie."

"You most certainly did!" she shrieked, the words piercing the air. "You claimed to be free of impious inclinations!"

Elvis replayed his actions in his mind, struggling to pinpoint his misstep. He could only surmise he had unintentionally caused her harm. "Did I hurt your breasts when I kissed them? I didn't mean to come on too strong." 

She let out a scream, shielding her face with her hands. "Do not speak such vulgar words! I am not married to you! Do you hear me? I am not!"

"Pearl, you’re not talkin’ sense. People don’t marry and unmarry over a misunderstanding. They engage in con-ver-sa-tion," he implored, sounding out the word slowly. “We need to talk this through.”

"Well, I did not enter into a marriage. I was deceived!" 

Elvis sighed, running his fingers through his hair again. "Deceived, married...we have to talk. Please, tell me what I've done."

She persisted in hiding her face behind trembling fingers, oblivious to her gaping gown and the exposed breast it revealed. The nipple he had showered with affection remained erect, illuminated by the flickering fire. It seemed to beckon for more—a request he would gladly oblige if only she were more receptive. 

"You know perfectly well why I'm upset," she accused, voice muffled.

"No, I truly do not," he confessed. Shifting to all fours, he moved closer, examining her tender nipple. Pink and raw, it stood erect, pulsating with her quickened heartbeat. He was too rough, he concluded with regret. 

Grasping her knees, he gently unfolded her legs before straddling her thighs. Palms planted on either side, he focused on her quivering hands. "Pearl, please lower your hands and look at me." 

"No!"

"I promise I won't do it again. Alright? I'm truly sorry. From now on, you hold the reins. Whatever pleases you is exactly how I'll do things, I swear. You just have to tell me what feels nice and what doesn't." 

"Well, that certainly wasn't nice!" 

"Then, you guide me on how you want it, and I'll follow your lead." 

Pearl jerked away, a sob catching in her throat. Swirling emotions tightened her chest. "How can I trust you're not lying?" 

Elvis sighed, the sound resonating deep within his broad chest. "Have I ever lied to you?"

The faint scent of leather and tobacco enveloped her as he leaned closer. She inhaled sharply. "Yes." 

He raked a hand through his dark locks. "Sweetheart, let me show you the truth." 

His warm breath grazed her ear, evoking memories of his teeth grazing her sensitive flesh. Goosebumps prickled her arms. "Was it nice at first?" His deep timbre reverberated through her.

"Yes." 

"Well then, we'll only do what feels nice. I promise." His voice was like rich honey, urging her to taste its sweetness. 

She peered at him through splayed fingers. "Do you swear it?"

His eyes smoldered like blue flames. "Honey, I don't just swear it. I'll prove it to you."

His head dipped lower, warm lips finding her breast. She jerked back with a shriek, her elbow catching his ear. 

Elvis recoiled, clutching his head. "Damn it, Pearl Marie! Now I know I didn't hurt you that time!" 

“Scoundrel!” Shame flooded her cheeks. She scrambled to escape, but her nightgown snagged beneath his knees. Strong hands grasped her shoulders. She balled her fists. "Don't touch me! If you do, I won't be responsible. I'll fight like you taught me and I’ll break your nose this time!" 

"Why are you fighting me?" Hurt and frustration etched his rugged features. 

She trembled, anger and confusion swirling within. "Why? You do a thing like that and you ask me why? You lied! You promised to do things proper, but you didn't!"

"A thing like what?" Elvis began to grasp the situation, though he struggled to believe he had it right. "Kissing your breast, you mean?" 

She covered her face again, trembling. "Stop saying things like that!" 

"Like what? Breast? Nipples? Titties? Yer cans?" he started to laugh. She made a keening sound. Get Lo joined in, throwing back his head and emitting a playful bark. 

"Shut up!" Elvis yelled, his frustration mounting. Get Lo continued to howl, but Pearl jumped in surprise and began holding her breath. "Not you, honey." Elvis shot a fierce glare at the howling hound. "Get Lo! I don't need you interfering none!" The hound fell silent and grumbled. 

Elvis figured he had his answer regarding the matter of the breast. He rubbed his face wearily and blinked. "Pearl, do you believe that kissing you there is ungodly?" 

She removed her hands from her face, gaping at him in astonishment. "Of course it is! You promised to do things the regular way, and you lied!"

Realization washed over him. So that’s what this was about. “Well, what is the regular way, Pearl Marie? I guess maybe I ain’t real clear on that.” 

The fire’s amber glow illuminated her face, but darkness still shrouded her eyes. She perched on the edge of the roughhewn log bed, hands folded primly in her lap. 

"You're just supposed to do your... thing!" she insisted, biting her lower lip. 

Elvis cocked his head, his brow furrowing. "My thing? What exactly is my thing?"

She shrank back against the headboard. "Just... you know. And nothing else!" Her words came out in a nervous rush.

Elvis sank back on his heels, disbelief etched on his face. "Is that what your mother told you? Honey, I think there's been a misunderstanding here."

"No, there hasn't!" She sat up straight, her voice sharp. "She spelled it out plain and clear!"

Elvis's mind raced, recalling the tales he'd heard about the strict sects with their restrictive ways. The kinds of places that squeezed the lifeblood out of a man. His gaze drifted to the plain black dresses and gray undergarments piled against the wall. A hollow feeling settled in his gut. 

"Pearl Marie, are you saying the men in your church never touch a woman? They just...do it and leave it at that?"

She turned her face away, her chin quivering. "Yes. And Ma said I should just lie there and meditate, ignore the... goings-on while it happened." 

A laugh burst from Elvis's lips before he could stop it. Hazel eyes flashed accusingly at him and he threw up his hands. "Honey, I ain't laughing at you. I swear it." He struggled to compose himself, leaning back against the sturdy log footboard. Maybe he should change the subject, but he couldn't help it. Laughter shook his body until he had to clutch his stomach, tears streaming down his cheeks. 

"I ain't making fun, truly," he managed between fits. "Just had a funny thought is all."

He wiped his eyes, regaining a shred of control until he pictured himself in a black suit and hat, dutifully making sterile love. That image shattered his restraint. He laughed again until his sides ached, finally going limp against the footboard. 

"Well, damn," he muttered, wondering what had set him off in the first place. Wasn't funny at all. The woman he loved wanted to recite psalms while he moved inside her. Heaven forbid he disrupt her concentration. 

"Are you finished?" she asked crisply, buttoning her dress up to her throat once more. 

Elvis looked up at her. "Reckon I am."

"Then let me take this opportunity to inform you that I don't believe we are compatible. Our marriage would be a disaster unless you abandon your sinful desires."

He sat up and met her gaze directly. "That just ain’t gonna happen. Ain’t nothin’ sinful about a man makin’ his woman feel good.”

She wrapped her arms around her waist, dropping her eyes. Longing pierced his chest, for he did love her. But he wouldn't surrender his principles to appease her church's notions of marital duties. There was nothing unholy about wanting to worship every inch of her. If she believed otherwise, well, she was just as confused as the rest of them. He knew she'd be happier once he showed her the truth.

"Remember when I said we're coming at this from different angles?" he began gently. "That it might take some time to find middle ground?"

"Yes," she replied.

"Well, I was righter’n I thought." He gave her a tender look. "But that don't mean we ain't meant for each other. Just means we gotta compromise, both of us."

"I won't compromise my beliefs." 

"Honey, I ain’t concerned with your beliefs. It's your body I got my sights set on," he said, throwing her an innocent look, although looking harmless wasn't one of his natural talents. "We can work this out."

"How? I won't permit the things you did earlier. I won't!"

“Well, tell me something you will allow, and we’ll take it from there.” He leaned forward, propping his arms on his knees. With effort, he kept his mind off the image of himself in a suit. "What do the church men do exactly?"

She looked down at him from the side of the bed. "My mother told me that on my wedding night and every night thereafter, I should lie still on my back. She told me that my husband would come to me at night and join me in the darkness under the quilts. He would lift my gown to my hips and fulfill his manly duty swiftly. And there wasn’t much more to it than that," she gulped, her voice trembling. "And if I wished, I think of something else like prayer or meditation until he finished."

Elvis suppressed a chuckle. One stray laugh and she'd never forgive him. Instead he stroked his chin, hiding his smile. 

"Well, now, you see? We already got half of it licked. At least now I know what I can and can’t do," he said. 

Wary hazel eyes searched his face. He realized he'd shaken her world more than he’d thought. It was no laughing matter.

"So you might be willing to compromise?" Hope tinged her voice.

"Well, now..." Elvis considered swiftly."Is kissing like we did before allowed?" 

"Yes," she answered.

He stroked his chin. "Let's see if I got this right. From your collarbone down to your hips, that area's off limits."

"Correct," she nodded.

"But from your hipbones down, that's free territory?" 

"Correct," she confirmed.

"And in the area that’s mine, is there any rules?" he asked, a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

She appeared bewildered. "Rules?"

"Your ma told you their rules. So what do the church men do when they fulfill their duty? Tell me plain so I'm clear."

She shook her head. "She didn't say. They just... do it." She waved her hand dismissively. 

Bingo.

"So, there ain’t no rules how I do my manly business."

"Not that I know of. That’s your business. A wife does not concern herself with such matters," she responded.

Elvis raised an eyebrow. "So, I can do my business as I please?"

She hesitated, sensing a trap but unable to grasp it. In her innocence, she couldn't fathom his motive. Guilt pricked Elvis, but experience had taught him that sometimes conscience was a man's worst enemy. 

"I suppose you can," she finally answered. "It’s your business, after all."

"And you ain’t gonna protest? ‘Cept if I hurt you which I’ll try my damnest not to do." he asked. "Do I have your word? You just gonna think about scripture and let me do my thing? Let me conduct my manly duties as I see fit?”

She blinked at him warily. "You swear you won't engage in vulgar acts above my hips?"

"Honey, not unless you ask," he assured her.

"Why would I ever ask such a thing?" Incredulity filled her voice.

"Just leaving it on the table is all. Do I have your word?"

"Yes, you have my word," she replied.

Elvis suppressed a grin. "One more thing. How much time do I get?" 

She gaped at him, eyes wide. "Well, I don't know. How long does it take?"

"Well, that's the thing. Sometimes longer than others. Can I have all the time I need?" he proposed.

"I... suppose so," she hesitated. 

Elvis raised his hands. "Well, there you go. A com-pro-mise, just like you said. You promise you’re okay with this?"

She eyed the rumpled quilts where she had lain just moments before. A crease formed between her brows. Reluctantly, she nodded, though her pursed lips revealed lingering doubts. 

"I promise," she replied, sounding skeptical. "On the condition that you swear to be content with the brethren's way of conducting ourselves, forever."

Elvis lifted his right hand. "I swear on my mama's grave, I won't lay a hand or lip on you from hips to collar—'less you ask me to."

“Shall I lie back down then?”

“I reckon.” 

With a resigned sigh, she slid back onto the feather mattress. Stiff as a plank, she squeezed her eyes shut and folded her hands over her chest, bracing herself. In a small voice she called out, "Elvis?"

“Yes, darlin’?”

"Don't forget the quilts." 

In response, Elvis reached behind, his fingers brushing against the rough woven quilts. Gripping the edges, he rose to his knees and gently peeled back the layers of fabric. 

"Covered up to your chin?" he asked, his voice a tender whisper. 

She nestled into the quilts' warmth, squeezing her eyes shut as if blocking out the world around her. "Please."

Elvis tugged the quilts up to her chin and slipped underneath beside her. "I can lay my arm over you, can't I? I've done it a million times already," he whispered, his warm breath caressing her cheek.

"Yes. That should be fine.”

With a feather-light touch, Elvis curved his hand around her waist, fingertips pressing into her soft flesh as he drew her closer. "Come here, sweetheart. You're still scared." Propping himself up on his elbow, he gazed down at her closed eyes, placing gentle kisses on each delicate eyelid. "I'm sorry for how I acted before, for shocking you. You know I would never do it on purpose."

She turned her cheek toward his lips, savoring their tender brush against her skin. "And... I'm sorry for hurting your ear. Are you alright?"

"I’m fine," he reassured, his voice low and soothing. 

Elvis started to tenderly brush her hair away from her face, tucking back silken strands behind her ear. "You’re so beautiful it breaks my heart. Have I ever told you that?"

She lifted her lashes, a smile gracing her lips. "Oh, Elvis." She embraced his neck tightly, inhaling his familiar scent. "I apologize for all the cruel things I said."

He held her close, pressing his face against her hair that smelled of waterlilies, feeling as though he possessed all the world's riches in his arms. "It ain’t nothing, I know you didn’t mean it." She pressed her body closer to his, molding her curves against his hard contours. He couldn't help but smile, a spark of desire igniting within.

Kissing. 

Pearl's lips melded with his, sparking an electric current that coursed through every nerve. The celestial stars themselves seemed to pale in comparison to the heavenly sensation surging within her. She yearned for more, quivering in anticipation of his touch. He claimed her mouth once again, exceeding her loftiest expectations. With torturous slowness, he traced her lips, exploring their delicate curves and coaxing soft sighs from her throat. As their bodies pressed together, his chest grazing hers sent delicious shivers dancing across her skin. She dismissed the friction as accidental, though an aching need stirred within her. 

Each kiss scattered her thoughts, shattering her inhibitions. Clinging to him fiercely, she sought to draw him closer still, desperate to merge their souls. Her nails dug crescents into his shoulders, stinging pain he appeared oblivious to. His lips blazed a trail down her neck, igniting an inferno beneath her skin. 

"Oh, Elvis..." she breathed, the words trailing off as emotion choked her voice. 

“What, darlin’? Am I wanderin’ too close to your collar?” 

Sensing the question hanging in the air, tears pricked her eyes. With a single word, she could end this exquisite torture. His taut muscles revealed his readiness to comply. Yet the thought of halting him brought inexplicable sorrow. Her fingertips glided over his shoulders, feeling the power coiled within him—power that belonged to her. 

She recalled his sudden embrace the night before, his body pressing down, dominating yet tender. He could have taken anything, but treated her like fragile glass. Always in control, yet somehow still hers to command.

Last night, when she'd elbowed him in the ear, he'd instinctively withdrawn, putting needed space between them. The irony was not lost on her; she had become a threat to him. But it was his tenderness that stirred her emotions, now bringing tears to her eyes. She was deeply moved by his unwavering care and protective nature. Oh, how she adored him, her heart overflowing with immeasurable love.

"Sweetheart, you're crying. Did I do something wrong?" His words were laced with concern, a genuine desire to understand and make amends. Pearl found herself unable to form a response, emotions rendering her speechless.

"Should I stop?" he asked gently, his voice conveying both worry and willingness to fulfill her wishes. 

“Oh, Elvis!” she finally managed.

His hand slid from her waist, slipping between her and the mattress, pulling her closer against his solid chest. "What's the matter, darlin'? Are you scared? I promise, I'll be gentle with you. Don't be afraid," he whispered in a soothing tone.

"I love you!" she exclaimed, clinging to him, seeking solace in his embrace. "I'm not afraid. It's just... oh, Elvis, I love you so much it hurts." 

He tensed, her words both balm and challenge to his heart. "I love you," she said again, conviction ringing in her voice. "I love you more than words can express."

A tremor rippled through his sturdy frame. His rough, calloused hand were splayed across her back, yet he treated her like the most precious treasure. Despite his strength, his touch remained gentle and caring. "Oh, darlin’," he whispered, voice quivering. "I love you too. With all that I am and all that I’ve got. But it shouldn't make you sad."

"I'm not sad! I'm happy!" she insisted.

He pressed tender kisses to her other cheek, tasting the salt of her tears. "Well, damn..." Frustration and bewilderment colored his tone, making her giggle uncontrollably. She felt his lips curve into a crooked grin against her skin as he continued trailing kisses along her ear. "Pearl Marie, will I ever understand you? Crying because you're happy. Darlin’, sometimes I swear you’re just plum crazy. You don’t make a lick of sense!"

She tilted her head, surrendering to his kiss, the word "lick" igniting a fervent desire for him to tease her sensitive spots with his tongue once more. As if sensing her need, he found a delectably vulnerable spot just below her ear, eliciting a soft gasp as she melted into his touch. 

"Yes, right there. Just like that. Oh, yes..." she whispered huskily. Her gown began to shift as he tugged it up, initially causing a spike of fear. But then his palm caressed her bare thigh, sending waves of pleasure washing over her.

Each touch felt like butterfly kisses, leaving her skin tingling with anticipation. Her heart pounded against her chest, and her breath turned shallow and unsteady. With feather-light fingertips, he traced a path to the very core of her being, teasing and tantalizing her with every stroke, only to trail away and trace maddeningly sweet patterns along her knees. It was as if her very essence had turned into a molten syrup, yearning to flow and merge with his touch. The quilts shifted, and suddenly she felt the moist, silken press of his lips against her thigh. Startled, she opened her eyes wide and stiffened with a mix of surprise and uncertainty. 

"Elvis, what are you..." Her words faded to a breathless moan as his tongue flickered, tracing delicate spirals that kindled liquid heat low in her belly. 

Through the quilts, his muffled voice vibrated against sensitive flesh. "Just relax, darlin'. I'm tending to business." 

"But, I don't know if..." She clamped her knees together, but his broad shoulders gently eased them apart. 

Pearl clutched the rough-hewn headboard, pulse racing. Was he really going to...? Oh Lord, the man aimed to kiss her there. Shock paralyzed her even as exquisite sensations spread like wildfire across her skin, urging her to surrender. 

"This ain't proper," she managed, but her resolve wavered under the intoxicating caress of his lips. 

He lazily circled her inner thigh, tongue painting glistening trails that seared like summer sun on bare skin. "Hush now, you're sweeter than cherry pie." His warm breath raised gooseflesh. "Let me take care of you."

"Darlin', reckon this here's how it's done?" 

"Elvis, are you sure 'bout this? I... I can't rightly tell."

"Start meditatin’, sweetheart. This here's my territory, not yours. Got it?" 

She closed her eyes, her voice quivering. "Mediating?" she repeated, sounding mighty puzzled. Drawing nearer, he raised his shoulders, leaning in closer to her. "No need to fret, darlin'. Remember what your ma told ya. Jus' lay still and don’t pay me no nevermind." 

He continued his tantalizing journey upwards. She twitched, tightening her grip on the headboard, her gaze fixed on the heavens. 

"I'll holler when I'm done, alright?" 

Done? Pearl felt an intense longing surge through her core. Close her eyes, that's what she was supposed to do. But... oh, dear heavens. "How long will it... will it take?" she managed to inquire. 

Rough palms grasped her backside. Pearl's eyes widened, a soft gasp escaping her parted lips. Merciful heavens, he meant to... 

"Just as..." he trailed his tongue along her inner thigh, sending shivers of pleasure with every teasing lick, "just as long as it needs to, darlin'." 

The first slow lap of his tongue drew a shuddering moan. Fingers clutching the sheets, she stared skyward. This couldn't be real. But the wet heat enveloping her dispelled all doubts. 

When he found that one exquisitely sensitive spot, her body jolted as if struck by lightning. "Elvis, I can't..."

"You can, darlin'," he purred before capturing her swollen flesh. 

"E-Elvis?" she stammered, her voice vibrating as if it traveled through her vocal cords on a wild bronco.

"Darlin', this part ain't your concern. Jus' lie still and let me handle my business, ya hear?" 

"Oh God, please..." She twisted handfuls of his hair, no longer caring what was proper. 

His low chuckle vibrated through her very core. "That's my girl. That's the rule," he drawled firmly. "This here's mine to do as I please, without your fussin', right?" 

"Y-yes." 

"Well then? You lie still and quit your worryin'." 

With that declaration, he resumed his gentle lapping, causing her to arch upward uncontrollably. Small, high-pitched sounds escaped her lips. She clung to the headboard, her body rising higher and higher. "Oh my... oh my... mercy, mercy!"

“There’s a girl. Give it to me, darlin’.” 

"Yes. Oh, yes," she breathed out, her hands digging into his scalp. "Oh, my God! Oh, dear heaven. Oh, pardon me! I'm meddling again." 

He chuckled again, the deep rumble shattering her thoughts as his mouth claimed her sensitive flesh. His tongue swirled and flicked, sparking a blaze that raced through her veins. Digging her heels into the mattress, she arched up, surrendering completely as her hips moved with his. Muscles twitching to his rhythm, the pressure built sharper and sharper within her. Just when she thought she couldn't take anymore, his mouth surged, fiercely pulling until she fractured with a cry, sensations bursting in a kaleidoscope of colors. 

She was precious to him. 

Throughout his life, Elvis had longed for a woman to love and make his bride, but only now did he truly grasp the meaning. She was his salvation, a woman woven from delicate lace and sunbeams, with eyes as vast as the summer fields. She was warmth and radiance, the tender blossoms of spring. A beautiful and perfect gift. It felt as if he were discovering love for the first time. And in a way, it was. For Elvis Presley was a tough man with an untouched heart. Until now. 

This girl held his heart in her hands, capable of making it sing with joy or bleed with sorrow. With a single arch of her spine and a lift of her slender hips, she could ignite him with bliss. He adored her. Her guileless urgency and unwavering trust nearly moved him to tears. No reservations. Just pure vulnerability. And as she shattered in climax, he tasted the rhythm of her heartbeats in the sweet throbbing of her flesh. Afterward, he tenderly caressed and kissed her, soothing her delicate sensitivity, easing the ache that lingered. 

When her breaths steadied, he hovered right over her. With her eyelids drooping low and a dreamy smile on her lips, she looked up at him. "Are you done?" 

Elvis leaned in for a kiss. "Nah, sweetheart. I'm just lettin' ya catch yer breath afore we go at it again." 

Her eyes widened. "Again?" 

He grinned and shifted to lie beside her, propping himself up on one arm to get a good look at her face. How beautiful she was, basking in the afterglow of the pleasures he brought to her for the first time! 

Beneath him, she gasped as his finger delved deep into her slick heat, back arching, breasts straining against her thin nightgown. He watched each expression dance across her features - surprise, wonder, rising urgency. Teasing and pulling back, he brought her to the edge again and again. When she arched, nipple grazing his chin, he flicked it lightly. 

She cried out, quivering, "Oh yes!" 

Another deep stroke had her whimpering, begging for more. 

Grinning, he met her gaze. "Want me to show 'em some lovin'?"

"Oh, Elvis. Do it again. Please." 

Elvis lowered his head, gripping her nightgown with his teeth, and pulled it up her slender frame, exposing her bosom. 

Elvis' fingers trembled as he grasped the thin fabric of her nightgown, the white cotton soft like a wisp of cloud between his teeth. With a gentle tug, he peeled back the garment, exposing her bare breasts to the fire's amber glow. Rosy peaks puckered in the chill night air, beckoning his touch.

"Ask me nice, darlin'," he murmured, breath warm against her chest. 

Frustration flared in her eyes. Snatching a fistful of his hair, she wrenched him downward. "Just do it already!"

That sure as shootin' had "please" beat to hell. And he reckoned he had every right to tease her mercilessly before giving her what she desired. 

Elvis swept his tongue slowly around one taut nipple, tracing its shape, feeling it swell beneath the caress of his mouth. A flick of his tongue made her gasp, then he returned to circling, building anticipation. When he finally closed his lips over the bud, its softness overwhelmed him. He suckled gently and was rewarded with the honeyed taste of her skin. 

To his surprise, her body began to writhe, hips undulating, fingers twisting the sheets. The telltale pulsing against his palm revealed she was cresting that peak of ultimate pleasure. Twenty-one years without a lover's intimate touch, and now she came undone in his arms. 

He savored each tremor that wracked her slender frame, the way she arched and cried out with abandon. Elvis brought her to that precipice two more times, worshiping her with his mouth until his own need could be denied no longer.

Rising above her, he gripped her legs behind the knees and nestled against slick, molten heat. Still lost in rapture's haze, she gazed up with heavy-lidded eyes, oblivious to the pain that awaited. The primal urge to plunge ahead warred with his vow to cherish her. 

"This'll hurt just once, darlin'," he whispered, hating himself. "I wish to God it weren't so." 

She blinked, her gaze fixed on his face, her eyes shimmering in the warm glow of the fire. "I understand. Just hold me close through it all," she implored softly. "With you beside me, it won't hurt as much. I won't feel afraid."

Tears blurred his vision. Elvis gathered her in his arms, surrounding her with his strength. She wrapped both arms about his neck, clinging tight. "I'm not scared anymore," she breathed against his cheek.

Though brave in word, her body tensed as he positioned himself at her entrance. In that moment, he would have given all he owned to spare her even the slightest twinge. The not knowing tormented him—how much agony she might suffer as he forged ahead. With infinite care, he nudged inside, felt her passage resist and then give way as she flinched in his embrace. The small cry that escaped her lips shredded his heart.

He buried his face in the silken veil of her hair, cursing the merciless act love demanded of him. To harm the one person who mattered most gutted his soul. 

But the cabin cocooned them in its embrace—the familiar smells of woodsmoke and pine, the fire's soothing crackle, the handcrafted furnishings whispering of shared memories. Their sanctuary through so many storms past would shelter them through this too. 

"Do it," she insisted, though her body still trembled with fear.

Panic jolted through him like lightning. "Jesus, I can't! I'm hurting you!" He started to withdraw, terrified of damaging her delicate frame. She was far smaller and tighter than any woman before. The risk of forcing himself deeper made his blood run cold. "You're too small, sweetheart," he choked out.

But before he could pull away, she lifted her hips, impaling herself upon him in one swift motion. 

Elvis' heart stopped mid-beat. He felt her tight channel give way as she took him fully inside. Fear for her clouded his mind. 

"Oh, God damn," he uttered, his voice laced with a mixture of desire and vulnerability. A soft, fragile laugh escaped her lips, and he felt the tension gradually dissipate from her body. With a tenderness that matched the love he held in his heart, she pressed her damp cheek against his neck. The touch of her wet skin against his sent shivers down his spine. In a hushed whisper, she reassured him, her words carrying a profound truth. "It’s all right now," she murmured. "It doesn’t hurt as much as I thought." 

Pearl gasped, her back arching off the rumpled sheets. Elvis hovered above, his elbows planted on either side of her shoulders, beads of sweat trailing down his furrowed brow. His hips rocked in a steady rhythm, eliciting soft mewls and whimpers from his wife. 

"Is this okay?" His voice was gruff, laced with restraint. Pearl's eyes fluttered open, pupils blown wide with desire. She nodded, breathless.

Elvis maintained his pace, relishing the slide of skin against skin. Pearl's nails raked down his back, leaving angry red trails in their wake. Her thighs tightened around his waist, pulling him deeper. 

"Oh!" she cried out, the sound sharp in the quiet cabin. "Don't stop, please..."

Elvis complied, quickening his thrusts as Pearl's moans grew louder, more desperate. Her hips bucked to meet his, the bed frame creaking in protest. The musky scent of their lovemaking permeated the air. 

Pearl's inner walls clenched around him as her climax crashed over her. The sensation tipped Elvis over the edge, his own release pulsing through him in waves. He collapsed on top of his wife, their hearts hammering against each other. 

As their breathing slowed, Elvis nuzzled Pearl's neck, inhaling her familiar floral scent. Her fingers lazily combed through his hair. He pressed a tender kiss to her collarbone, overcome with gratitude and awe. 

No longer was he a lonesome wanderer. Pearl had become his sanctuary, a beacon guiding him home. Elvis held his wife close as sleep overtook them. The distant howl of coyotes echoed outside their cabin, but they felt no fear in each others’ arms. Here, tangled together, they had found their own private heaven.

[pumpygirl9]

I come to you topless after running as fast and much as I can and you can see my heartbeat pounding and racing away like it wants out I say you can do whatever you want to me and my heart what do you do

The way your pounding heart is squirming under your skin sends me into a frenzy.. I kiss and suck on your needy apex as it pulses under my tongue. You moan and your pump seizes up for a moment, skipping a beat before returning to its bounding speed.

Of course, when I saw that you were going for a run I had grabbed my steth. I press it firmly into your violently pulsating heart and I’m met with the most arousing and primal pumping your little muscle can produce..

I can’t help but touch you everywhere. My heart is racing too and I can feel it engorging my clit.

Fuck it. I sternly tell you were going for another lap and you say your heart can’t take it. I urge you forward and we run together, but about halfway through our lap, the thought of your galloping pump became overwhelming. I stop you and your panting so hard I can feel your lungs working when I press my hand into the center of your chest to feel that adrenalized heart struggling. We’re both breathing heavy and feeling each others hearts and bodies as I lay you down in the soft grass.

I press the steth in deeply. It almost sends me over the edge right then, but I brace myself and focus on touching you. Your body is so overstimulated that it doesn’t take long until your chest and your wetness is throbbing into me. I can’t take it anymore. You’re shocked when I quickly remove my jeans and straddle your chest, your pulsing heart pressing directly into my aching clit. Something takes control over me and I start humping your heart like I’m in heat.

Okay sorry I can’t write anymore because I came 🫡 goodnight

[gopeachllama]

Cuban Cigars and Cardinal Kisses

a.n/: ... ok in my defense, its still nessian month somewhere....

This fic was inspired by the mv of suit & tie by justin timberlake (the source of this AMAZING gif). its honestly one of my favourite mvs of all time. i watched again recently and it just screamed nessian to me so i wrote this. if you wanna get into the vibesTM of the fic then i highly recommend watching the mv before you read it!

reblogs and comment are highly appreciated!

Fandom: A Court Thorns and Rose by Sarah J Maas

Relationship: Nesta Archeron & Cassain

Warnings: Explicit sexual content

Word Count: 5500

Ao3

~~~

Like most other nights at Velaris Lounge, there was already a drink waiting for the man at his arrival. Picked from their finest, and most expensive collection; a finger of Lagavulin’s sixteen years-old single malt scotch whiskey in a crystal tumbler, as so directed by the gentleman. Cassian Khan, six feet and two inches of fine grooming and tailored suit, strode inside through the exclusive entrance way. Liquor in hand, he stood for a moment, lazily scanning the scene before him with deep inhale. He welcomed the soft ambience lighting, the sharp scent of spiced tobacco smoke and the quiet chatter of wealthy men and women overlayed by the sensual drawl of jazz instruments. Cassian’s blood thrummed in time with the low rhythmic thump of the bass. Day light did not reach this place. The place where night – its sole ruler – became something wholly living, pulsating, breathing. This was Cassian’s home. His fucking castle. Sending a roguish smile and a wink to the waitress still standing-by, he headed for his preferred seat by the foot of the stage.

He spotted Rhysand before he sat down. His childhood friend was draped elegantly over his throne of cushioned velvet, one leg crossed over the other, and taking long drags from the joint between his lips. Wicked delight glinted in Rhys’ dark eyes as he watched his friend unbutton his jacket and drop into his own lounge chair across from him. There were no strobe lights directly over the area where they sat; the darkness surrounding Rhys wore him just as finely as his thousand-dollar suit.

Rhys picked up his own, amber-coloured drink and tipped it in Cassian’s direction, “brother,” He greeted. Opaque slivers of smoke curled out and around his teeth and dissolved into the air as he spoke. “Just in time.”

So, it seemed. Their other friend, Azriel, was nowhere to be seen. Cassian’s gestures mirrored Rhys’ as he toasted his friend and took sip from his drink. The liquor ran down his throat, smooth as honey, and he sprawled against the back of his seat. He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and fished out two slim packages, handing one to Rhys and working on the other. Once the plastic wrapping was removed, he brought it to his faced and dragged the length of it under his nose as he inhaled. The aroma of spice and rich wood flooded his senses and he let out a low, satisfied hum. With an eager smirk, Cassian prepared the crisp Cuban Montecristo No.2 with sturdy, brown fingers. When he was done, he raised the lit cigar to his mouth and took a deep breath. Coating his tongue, expanding his lungs, and coursing through his veins, he allowed the heady fumes to fill him. And he came alive.

Cassian scrutinised his companion through the tendrils of smoke as he exhaled, “looking a little eager tonight, Rhys. A special night?”

“Isn’t it always?” Rhys drawled as he watched the sinuous bodies on stage from the corner of his eye.

Cassian couldn’t argue with that. Nights at Velaris Lounge seemed to exist in an entirely different space and time.

Cassian and Rhys’ continued talking, and there was no shortage of subject matters, with Cassian being the head of security for Rhys’ company. They usually avoided mixing work and pleasure, though Rhys’ often proclaimed that both could be the same thing under the right circumstances. Cassian was inclined to agree.

Soon, the conversation was swallowed up by a lull in the music and a dim of the lights. Cassian readied himself by settling further into his chair. The music quickened in tempo, and anticipation charged through air as trumpets beckoned the start of the performance. His arrival was announced through the speakers, in a sweeping, grandiose declaration.

His best friend since childhood, and the remaining member of their trio; Azriel glided onto centre-stage with hard forged confidence. A lit joint in one hand, and a crystal tumbler in the other, Azriel sang. Smoothing, melodic sounds as he moved around the mic stand with loose limbs and an easy smile on his face. It always warmed Cassian, seeing his friend like that. Seeing how he changed when he was on his stage. So different to the man he was outside of this place. To how he used to be. It was a gentle, endearing reminder to Cassian, of their struggles, their triumphs. Of how far they’ve come – how far he’scome and never looked back.

The bass thrummed, trumpets shrilled, and drums pounded. The timbre of Azriel’s voice streamed effortlessly alongside the various overlaying pitches of the backup singers. The song was all jazzy and funky at the same time, that had Cassian idly tapping his foot in time with the beat. This performance was unfamiliar to his ears. Usually, Azriel made the effort to rehearse his potential performances with his brothers present. And though this wasn’t the first time, it still occurred rarely enough that it had him slightly arching his eyebrows up in surprise.

Before he could think anything more of it, the tempo of the music changed, lowering in pitch and slowing to a steady beat, the rhythmic thump of the bass vibrated the ground at his very feet. The lights flashed before going out completely, blanketing everything under darkness. There was a charge of bated breath in the air, but Cassian was never afraid of the dark. Blood thrummed through his veins in anticipation.

A single spotlight turned on and landed on centre stage. Revealing Azriel’s silent retreat, as if he had melted into the very shadows. But she stood there, in his place. Cassian’s breath hitched at the unfamiliar figure. Burnished gold hair spilling down her back, long legs clad in thigh-high stockings and stiletto heels. And black laced lingerie, covering across her generous breasts, her perky ass, and a garter belt strung around her at the dips of her waist. Piercing steel-grey eyes.

She stood for a breath. One, two, three. And then shemoved.

Cassian catalogued it all. Every flick of her fingers, every sway of her hips, every arch of her back. The gleam of her pearly-white teeth anytime she smiled just wide enough. And Cassian knew, that even when this was all over, she would continue to haunt him every time he closed his eyes.

The pale strobe light casted over her in black and white. Highlighting the curves of her body, with shadows mingling in every dip. The valley of her breast, the ridge down the middle of her toned, flat stomach, the notches of her spine. Cassian felt the phantom press of marble on the tips of his fingers, and they flexed uselessly on the arm of his chair. He wondered if it would feel just as cold if he caressed her unblemished skin. Every now and then, her skin would shimmer; it was beads of moisture that got caught under the spotlight. Perhaps it was droplets of her perfume, that he could smell the barest hints of this close to the stage. Or maybe it was her sweat. Cassian couldn’t tell the difference with the scent. Not that he cared one single bit.

He blinked, and in the next moment, she was on the ground, hands and knees on either side of the turned over mic stand. She dipped low, her cleavage only a breath away from the cool surface of the stage. Then, she reached down her body, and thrusted the mic stand through her splayed open legs. Cassian bit down on an audible groan. She was steel forged in fire and melded under the steady beat of a synth bass drum. It was a brutal, devastating kind of beauty. Cassian may have been a little bit in love. And undeniably rock-fucking-hard in his pants.

In on final turn, she was on her back and propped up on an elbow. Then, so slowly, in time with the bass, much like his own thundering heartbeat, she raised one leg. It stopped for a beat when it was perpendicular to the ground. And she waited, like she knew there was not a single breath being drawn in the room. Like she knew all eyes were latched onto her. The movement was slower, again, when it continued. She stretched herself, and Cassian lost the battle to look away from the thin strip of black lace nestled between her thighs. Her leg eventually rested on her shoulder, held there with a single finger twirled around the heel of her stiletto. The music dropped out completely, and silence consumed the Lounge. The air went heavy, a tangible taste in Cassian’s mouth. And then she tipped her head back, hair flowing to the floor in golden waves, and basking the length of her neck to the single spotlight above. The corners of her mouth curled, oh so slowly. Her cardinal red lips standing out on her pale skin, like blood spilt on pristine marble. She smiled, shamelessly, secretly. The sight of her wide open to the patrons of the Lounge and filthy promise stained on her lips; so debauched, Cassian could hear Rhys shifting in his seat breaking through the silence. He felt the burn in his lungs from the lack of air, but he didn’t dare to move in the slightest. Afraid he would shatter the moment completely. But before Cassian could think to greedily take in every inch of her, the stages plunged into darkness once again. And when light returned, she was gone, and Azriel was there. The mic stand up righted, and a casting knowing smirk. At him.

The music went back to its previous tempo, as strobe lights flashed and soft chatter resumed within the audience. But it was all a dull noise in his ears.

“Who is she?” Cassian sounded a little breathless.

Rhys continued to watch the space she had just vacated. “She showed up a week ago, asking for a job. We told her that we weren’t looking for any new dancers… And she just stripped right there, down to her under-things and started moving. She didn’t even wait for the band,” He turned back to Cassian, and that wicked smile was back in full force, “Az hired her before she even finished her piece.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about her?” There was a slight edge in his voice, but Cassian never got his answer. The music ebbed, cueing the end of Azriel’s performance. As usual, He didn’t linger for the moderate applause. Grabbing a glass of liquor off a tray waiting for him at the base of the stage, he stepped off, and headed straight for his two friends.

“Spectacular as always, Az,” Rhys remarked as Azriel loosened his tie and dropped into the remaining empty seat. Cassian saluted the arrival his friend with a tip of his drink in his direction before upending in one swig and signalling for another one. He pulled out a fresh, new Cuban from his pocket and passed it to Azriel. The latter knowingly took his time. Getting it ready with deft, scarred fingers before finally bringing it up to his lips before, again, taking a slow drag from it. Cassian’s whole body thrummed with question; the words mingled on his tongue along with the sharp aftertaste of expensive whiskey. But Azriel beat him to it.

“So, Cass. How do you like your birthday present?” flicking an eyebrow upwards, he smirked around the cigar propped in the corner of his mouth.

Cassian tensed and waited a moment, carefully choosing his words. “My birthday is in July, jackass.” But Cassian was never the careful type.

Rhys gave a short laughed before replying, “we’ll take that as a thank you.”

“Hello, boys,” A sweet voice came from behind Cassian’s ear. It was once of their long-time waitstaff-turned-dancers. A gorgeous, lithe, little thing. Dressed in sleek, black slacks and a sheer-laced bralette. And even though they smiled politely at both Cassian and Azriel, and placed a new drink in front of the former, Cassian knew the real reason for their appearance.

“Doll,” strobe lights glittered in Rhys’ eyes as he reached for their hand and pressed a kiss onto delicate fingers, “you were absolutely exquisite tonight.”

The dancer melted as they dropped into the space under the man’s arm. And even Cassian marvelled at the way the ambient light made their black skin glow like obsidian.

Azriel sent a soft smile in their direction, “Tarquin,” he greeted with a slight nod. They went to answer, but words were all for naught when Rhys began ghosting his lips along the crook of their neck and shoulder.

Cassian went back to the important matter at hand, “her name?”

Toying with the lace at the edge of Tarquin’s bralette, Rhys didn’t bother to look Cassian’s way as his smile turned feline, “Narcissus.”

He waited for more but when his friend didn’t go to elaborate – more interested with tracing his tongue in the hollow of Tarquin’s collarbone – Azriel did it for him. “It’s an alias, of course. But she had that look in her eyes, you know? Like she was one of us. It didn’t matter to me what her name was.”

Narcissus. The word struck a chord deep within Cassian. And even though he didn’t know her real name, he had to have her. He may go mad if he didn’t. Perhaps he already had. One of the staff girls melted from the shadows and spoked into Azriel’s ear. His gaze shifted to behind Rhys’ head and Cassian followed it with his own to a couple sitting a few tables down from them. She was halfway on her partner’s lap, rubbing idle circles into his splayed thigh and giggling at whatever he was whispering into her hair, while he met Azriel’s stare from the corner of his eye with wicked promise. Azriel’s lips tipped up lazily from one corner when he returned his heavy gaze back to his friends.

“The couple over there would like to express their praises,” He just said.

Cassian scoffed and Rhys waved an idle hand, “I’ll see you in the morning then, brother.”

Azriel stood and drained the rest of his drink before meeting Cassian eye with a slight tug of his mouth and flicking his chin in the general direction of the bar behind him. Cassian jerked his head over his shoulder and scanned the length of the bar. His attention snagged on a familiar small back, and stockings and stiletto clad legs hooked around the leg of a bar stool. He almost lurched from his seat as he looked back to the two men with him. But Azriel was gone. Already at the other table, one hand placed on the man’s shoulder and pressing a kiss onto the woman’s cheek. Tarquin was straddling Rhys. His friend lightly caressed a single finger up and down their spine while his other hand remained draped across the back of the lounge as the pair traded deep kisses that would have been inappropriate in any other public setting. Cassian and his two closest and longest friends; well, they never made the habit of saying goodbye to each other. He left the sitting area and headed for the bar.

Cassian stepped up to the bar just in time to hear a low voice ask the bartender, “scotch. Neat.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “From the finest bottle for the lady. And make it a double.”

The lady did not move to face the newcomer. Only with a slight tip of her chin, she watched him with piercing, unreadable eyes as he watched her. All of her: loose golden hair, long neck, straight back, legs crossed, one hand on her knee. She sat on that bar stool like it was her throne. She wore a slim black dress now, hiding nothing Cassian hadn’t already seen for himself when she was on that stage. He flexed his hand at his side and sent her a cool, suave smile.

“On the house,” he said as he settled into the stool next to the dancer. “For your captivating opening performance at the Lounge.”

When both drinks were handed to them, Cassian tipped his toward the woman and took a generous swig. “I’m-”

“I know who you are. Mister Khan,” she cut him off, luscious lips in a straight line and manicured nails rapping on the bar surface.

Cassian was thankful that he had already sat down, for he would have been rendered to his knees at the mere sound of her voice had he not. It was the slight curl of her tongue, and a curve of her lips, that gave it a breathy, raspy sound. She had a faint accent. French. If Cassian hadn’t already decided to take her to his bed, he most certainly did now. He wanted to know how his name would sound from those sinful lips. He wanted to know what her moans sounded like. Her cries of extasy. Her laugh.

“You are my boss, no?” She asked, peering over the rim of the crystal glass at her mouth.

I am if you want me to be. “Technically.” Along with Rhysand and Azriel, they all own equal shares of Velaris Lounge. “But I prefer the term benefactor.”

There it finally was. A small tug at the corner of her mouth. And Cassian relaxed, satisfied at the sight of it. She eyed the Cuban cigar that was still between Cassian’s fingers. Without any further prompt, he offered the unlit end to her. She took hold of it between two lithe fingers and brought it to her mouth. And Cassian watched in utter reverence. As if the scene unfolded before him in slow motion. Her lips wrapped around the thick end of the cigar. And Cassian’s hand curled hard around the edge of the table. shadows swarmed into the hollow of her cheeks, as she inhaled. And Cassian stopped breathing entirely. Her eyes flashed as she watched him the whole time. As if she could see. Somehow, in the dim, ambient lighting. The cinch in his jaw. The sudden, unbearable tightness in his pants. As if she could hear. Somehow, over the entrancing melody of jazz instruments. The depraved thoughts going through his mind. Of the way he ached to know what her lipstick would look like smudge all over his cock. And then, as if she knew. She curled her lips slightly around the cigar, before removing it from her mouth. Leaving behind a perfect imprint of her cardinal stained lips. Teeth grinding together, Cassian had to physically force down a groan.

Doing anything at all to wade through the thick haze of arousal clouding his mind, he rasped, “so how has the lounge been treating you so far.”

“This place is called the city of dreams, no?” she said, “I never believed that, until I came here. That it could be this simple.”

Cassian couldn’t help the pride that bloomed in his chest. One of us. Azriel had said. “What do you dream of?”

Her eyes wandered behind them to the stage, remained there for a heartbeat, then returned to him. Resolve glinted in them. “To have everything I’ve ever wanted.”

A dangerous smile overtook his features, “well, Velaris is the kind of place where getting everything you want is just the beginning.”

She turned in her seat to fully face him. The slit of her dress shifted in the process, exposing the entire length of her thigh and the laced hem of her thigh-high stockings around it. Cassian’s eyes dropped to it instantly. And like some compulsion, his idle hand went to ghost a single finger over it. She didn’t move away.

“And what is it that you want, mister Khan?” those words ran smooth from her lips, like the expensive scotch she held in her hand.

Cassian wanted to be set ablaze by the heat in her ember eyes.

“I want to know your real name, sweetheart.”

The woman blinked slowly. “Why should I tell you?” she breathed. Her voice now barely over a whisper. The casual glances to his lips occurred far more frequently.

“Because,” Cassian’s words turned heavy as the atmosphere became sharp, like a kindle before a flame, “I need to be able to remind you what it is when I’m fucking you so hard that you won’t remember it.”

If she was flustered at his crude language, she hadn’t shown it. Cassian had no doubt that a woman such as herself was used to receiving such propositions from all kinds of people. She only regarded him; one second, two seconds. Then, her eyelids fluttered, and her lips curved slowly. She smiled; that same secret smile she had given earlier. To no one in particular, on that stage where no one could take their eyes off her. She brought the cigar back to her mouth and took a long drag. The glowing end that illuminated the space between them was nothing compared to the inferno of desire raging within Cassian. Pinning him with an unwavering glaze, she leaned forward, as delicate tendrils of smoke curled around her blood-red lips like silver flames. The last of it danced along Cassian’s cheek when she drew close enough to whisper his damnation.

“Nesta.”

***

The first time he fucked her that night, they barely made it to the couch just beyond the foyer of his penthouse apartment. Cassian took Nesta as she was when he first laid eyes on her. Midnight laced lingerie, garter belt, thigh-high stockings, stilettos, and all. Her dress and coat, and his tie and suit jacket were promptly discarded somewhere by the front door, as he pushed her down on knees and elbows, and pressed her face firmly into the soft, cool surface. Cassian was enthralled, possessed, savaged. And he barely had half the mind to rip open a condom and roll it onto his cock, as he moved aside the damp slit of her panties to reveal a swollen, throbbing cunt. Nesta was ready for him. He had made sure of that when he spent the better part of the drive home with his hand up her dress, as cunning fingers rubbed at her clit over the rough material of her panties. He was pretty sure there would soon be a speeding ticket with his name on it. But he couldn’t bring his self to give a fuck. He only hoped that the image taken by the speeding camera; of Nesta moaning and writhing in the passenger seat of his European sports car, would dissuade the cops from sending it. Cassian wound his hand around the back of Nesta’s garter belt and fisted the other into her hair, as he fucked her in ruthless, powerful thrusts. He came, harder than he ever had in his life. Spilling into the condom inside of her with bruising fingertips and clenched teeth. And Nesta followed not seconds later, with Cassian groaning and uttering filthy fucking promises into her skin.

He fulfilled those promises, just moments later. When Nesta was barely over the throws of her earth-shattering orgasm. Her ruined panties and stilettoes were gone, and her lace bra was push down beneath the curve of her breasts. Her sensitive nipples puckered from the earlier onslaught of Cassian’s tongue and teeth. She mewled at the feeling of the heated skin of her ass pressing onto the cool granite surface when Cassian lifted her onto his dining table. Anticipation pooled in her eyes like molten silver when two rough hands spread her knees wide apart. Cassian never considered himself a religious man. But there was something so unequivocally holy in that moment; Nesta’s gasping and moaning her pleas in abandon, while Cassian knelt and worshipped her flesh. Fingers and tongue worked in expert harmony, as he tasted every inch of her sopping cunt.

When they finally made it to the bed, Nesta was bare down to only her stockings – at Cassian’s adamant insistence. Her soaked panties were left with his thousand-dollar suit; crumpled on the dining area floor. Her bra and garter belt were practically torn off and dumped along the way of their frantic journey to his bedroom. Her long, burnished gold hair was spread generously over his charcoal bed sheets, like golden silk on molten rock. Briefly, Cassian wondered if those lavish strands were long enough to brush against the plush carpet on the floor, while her head was tipped over the edge of his bed, and his hard length plunged deep into her awaiting mouth. Cassian banished the thought instantly, lest their latest coupling end far too soon for his liking. One stocking clad leg was thrown over his shoulder. While the other, was pressed into the memory foam mattress, held down hard by a large, muscled hand. Cassian was drunk on the sight of Nesta like this. She was wholly stretched out by him; beyond anything he has ever attempted before with anyone else. And he silently thanked whatever depraved God watching over them, for her lithe, dancer’s body that could take it, and then some.

The blush that began at her cheeks, slowly made its way down her neck and to her chest. Mascara was smudged around her glazed eyes; faint tracks of it running down her face and into her hairline. The sleek lines of her dark red lipstick were nothing but whispers of what it once was on those beautiful, luscious lips. Perfect, cock-sucking lips. No doubt Cassian would find the rest of it imprinted on his plush, Italian leather couch. At that point in the night, Nesta’s mouth was open in a constant ‘O’ shape. Her pink, wet tongue periodically coming out to tangle with his. She was a sight of pure debauchery. And it was nothing short of a masterpiece. With each powerful thrust, Nesta body jerked with the force of it, her supple breasts bouncing in tandem. And Cassian was hypnotised by the rhythmic movement of her hardened nipples.

Cassian had taken many women to his Californian king-size bed. Beautiful women. Exquisite women. Some of them shy, some of them playful. And most were downright sinful. But Nesta. Nesta, Nesta. Cassian Khan felt like one of the greats. Like fucking Michelangelo, like Sandro Botticelli. Seeing how he was making her writhe beneath him like that; manicured fingers twisted in the bed sheets, arched back, neck bared, skin painted in the soft glow of the spectrum of city lights glittering through the floor to ceiling windows. Seeing how she was open completely, and unyieldingly to him. Taunt flesh rippling under the pearly skin of her flat stomach. Her soddened, swollen cunt, stretched deliciously around his considerable girth. She was priceless renaissance painting that belonged in a museum for the world to see. The Dance of Narcissus, he would call it.

With a guttered groan, Cassian broke through the moans, the pants, and the slick sounds of rock-hard flesh rubbing against soft, wet flesh. “Sweetheart, your pussy is perfect. Like it was made for me.” He couldn’t look away. At Nesta stretched out before him. A precious oasis to a dying, dehydrated man. He would do anything. Give anything – his cock, his time, his money – to keep her coming back to his bed.

“One day, I’m going to fuck you raw. Would you like that, sweetheart?” Nesta could only whimper in response. Which spurred Cassian to go faster, deeper. Harder. “I’ll fuck you so hard. Stuff you so full of my cum, you won’t walk properly for a week.”

Cassian snaked his free hand up her body, fingers caressing over her sensitive skin along the way. He drove it into her hair and gripped harshly onto the strands at the back of her head. “You’ll get up on that stage, and dance for all those filthy-minded men. But it’ll be me dripping out of your tight, little pussy and down your gorgeous legs.”

“Cass!” Nesta cried out. Desperate to touch him, she reached out, digging her sharp nails into his tensed bicep. Cassian welcomed the pain.

“Fuck Nesta. So, fucking perfect for me.” He knew he was close to his release, but he wanted her clenching around him before that. With hard tug of her hair, he made Nesta look him in the eye. Cassian felt the muscles of her thigh trembling at her impending climax beneath the hand that held down her leg to the mattress. “One more time, sweetheart. Come for me, I know you can.”

Nesta shattered around him, just like that. Never taking her eyes from him the entire time, as she gasped and thrashed beneath him. Incoherent words spilt in between each heaved breath. Cassian could only comprehend a word here and there; it was mostly in French. And he didn’t stop. Even as she cried out, begging for reprieve. Begging for more. Cassian pushed her legs even further apart, driving deeper into her limp, pliant body, brushing against places that had never been touched. A bead of sweat rolled down the length of his forehead and nose, before landing in the valley of Nesta’s breasts. Cassian breath stuttered as his cock tightened. And there were barely seconds for him to pull out completely from her over-sensitive flesh. Nesta choked at the sudden loss, but Cassian ignored her muffled protests. In one swift motion, he ripped the condom from his throbbing cock, and pumped the exposed length, once, twice, thrice. And Cassian came undone. He shouted Nesta’s name as ribbons of cum painted her breasts and stomach. Nesta. Nesta. Nesta. He chanted her name over and, and over again. Until he was nothing. Until her name was but an imprint forever in his memory. A promise.

***

They had fucked one more time. Hours later, in the watery, grey light of dawn. Cassian awoke to soft mounds pressed against his back. To tongue and teeth dragging along the stubble on his jawline, and a delicate hand wrapped firmly around his erection. There was nothing separating their skin from head to toe. Nesta’s stocking were nowhere in sight. Not that Cassian cared to look anywhere beyond what was right in front of him at that moment. They shifted in unison, and she straddled him. Somehow, in all their lazy moments, Nesta had already rolled a condom it onto his shaft, while his eyelids were still heavy with sleep. And before he had the chance to touch her, she wordlessly sank onto him, teeth embedded into her bottom lip. Nesta waited, impaled on Cassian’s cock. Adjusting to his sheer size despite already having him twice before. Her flush was gone, but her skin was littered with the evidence of their carnal frenzy from merely hours ago. The first light of day, lit hair up like a golden vail spilling over her shoulders. She was breathtaking, so he told her. But she had not paid attention to his adorations. No, for the first time since they met the previous night. Nesta drank the entirely bare, magnificent sight of him. Her eyes ran over his rich brown skin. Every mountain and valley of muscle in his arms and abdomen. The notch of his throat. The sharp, brutal planes of his face. His molten, hazel eyes. The intricate black lines of ink that spanned his pectorals and biceps.

“Homme exquis.” Nesta murmured softly, as she lifted her hips.

Bodies, supple and hard, moved together. Deeply, and slowly with the rising sun. Chasing any lingering tastes of Cuban cigars and single-malt scotch. Once more. Cassian would want to have her once more, to match the frantic, carnal passion from the previous night. But he restrained himself. Being too content with that moment in the silence of an early morning. With Nesta tracing his tattoo with fingertips and tongue, and Cassian’s nosed buried into her damp hair. She must have showered while he slept. And he was consumed with the scent of him on her. He thought of her using his shampoo, his soap, his towel, and something small and warm burrowed deep within his chest.

They found their releases with each other, Nesta right after Cassian. And when Cassian emerged from his bathroom fifteen minutes later. A towel wrapped low around his sore hips, and tendrils of steam following his steps. Nesta was gone with the final shades of night. But promises of her remained, littered all over his apartment. Stockings draped over the bathroom rack next to a damp towel. A lace bra, hanging off his bedroom doorknob. Black panties laid out on his granite dining table. A garter belt slung over the back of the leather couch stained with cardinal lipstick kisses. Cassian kept them all with a secret smile on his face. Later, when the night would return in all its magnificent beauty. He would put on a fresh, expensive suit. And He would return to his castle. To his friends. To Nesta. And he would do it all over again.

[erefics]

afterglow by erefics

synopsis: reader has had a rough day of first classes, and comes home in tears to a supportive eren. now, his only purpose is to make you feel better in any way he can.

content warnings: female bodied reader, corruption, daddy kink, daddy!eren, major praise kink, breeding, use of the pet name puppy but no pet kink

word count: 1.7k

*all characters are aged up and in college*!

your eyes had been swollen and puffy as your feet shuffled across the hallway back to your shared apartment with boyfriend eren. they dragged across the tile, making it evident you’d been tiresome and overpowered from the harsh and cruel school day.

not only were your classes harder than you expected, but the other students were relentlessly mean all day to you. they hadn’t given you a break the entirety of the day, teasing you and making you run to the bathroom stall in order to dry the tears falling down your perfect pink cheeks.

thankfully, eren had always been there for you when you came home from school. he got out of his last period before you, which was a perfect way to be greeted in the living room by him after dealing with the harsh reality of college.

“what’s wrong, doll?” he immediately noticed the poor little grimace on your face, which you tried so desperately to hide. it wasn’t because you didn’t want to tell him what happened per say, it was just the fact that you struggled opening up about your feelings. you were so sensitive, so easily broken. he knew that. and he knew when something was most definitely wrong with his puppy.

“what—‘m okay, eren,” you lied bashfully, covering your reddened cheeks with your hand, but your palm was too small to conceal the tears.

he clicked his tongue, shaking his head slowly. it didn’t take him long to catch on, and he moved your hand off of your face by force, pinning it down to your side.

“what did i tell you about hiding your feelings from me, princess?” his voice deepened.

you looked up at him rather slowly, it took you a moment to make full eye contact because you’d been stalling from that for so long now. he was quite intimidating when looking at you so directly.

“i…’m not hiding anything,” you continued to lie, surprising even yourself by the amount of perseverance you were showing.

his grip on your wrist only grew tighter, which started to startle you a bit.

“speak up for daddy, dollface. i’m not gonna bite you for talking about your feelings,” eren raised his bushy eyebrows, even puckering his lips into a very tempting pout. that was all you needed to spill out your feelings to him.

“well, my day just wasn’t the best…’started with chemistry, got asked to leave because i hadn’t been prepared, apparently you have to ‘bring your own goggles’. shouldnt that be included in the tuition? and my mathematics professor is a total dick. but don’t get me started on the girls who’d been teasing me all day…calling’ me names and stuff, talking behind my back and already starting rumors. then on the way home from the campus i tripped on an empty soda can and was pretty much out of breath and started crying and—“

“y/n!” eren interrupted your ramble, soothing your pulsing heartbeat with a hand on your chest. his fingers stroked the side of your jaw softly, wiping the excess tears that hadn’t yet dried, or fallen to the floor. “‘s okay, i’m here now,” he brought you into an embrace, finally, ridding you of all sadness. “what kind of assholes would say anything like that about my precious puppy?” he removed his hands from your back, keeping the same eye contact from before.

“dunno. ‘don’t even wanna go back tomorrow,” you sighed, plopping down onto the sofa next to eren, crossing your arms as if throwing a hissy fit.

“well you’re here for now, angel. you’re safe. and in my comfort. i’m here to always make you feel the best you possibly can,” eren followed you, sitting on the sofa and grabbing you by the hips and placing you on his lap, your back facing his stomach. his hand traced lightly down the side of your neck, humming to himself ever so quietly. you could barely even hear, but it was faint enough. “daddy won’t let anybody make you feel like that again,” he hummed, his hand rimming the silhouette of your shoulder, moving its way down your arm softly, giving yourself chills.

you giggled a bit at the soft ticklish feeling of his hand trailing down your clean and untainted skin.

“shhh, puppy. let me make you forget that bad day, yeah?”

you jolted in his lap a bit as his hand made its way across your lap, gripping the fat of your thigh and squeezing it until your aching core felt the effects of it. “y–yes, daddy,” you nodded, starting to let yourself enjoy his strokes of love, eyes even closing through instinct. you simply let go while he took over the controls of your body.

“such a pretty body. do you know that, y/n? that you have such a delicate, fucking untouchable body. it’s too bad i’m gonna touch it, then. gonna touch it real good.” eren nodded to himself, his hand gripping your cunt through your skirt, almost as if he was taking a handful of you. the fact you’d been fully clothed still yet you felt so fucking wonderful as the pressure exceeded against your clit–was magical.

“yes, yes! real good, daddy,” you blurted out, back arching against his lap.

“mhm, i know, i know, shhh.” his fingers uncovered your panties by pushing the pleated skirt above his hand, towards your torso. the fabric was so thin and mesh, you could see everything through the undies. eren had taken one swipe of his finger down your slit, and that was enough to know how wet you’d been. “fuck, fuck. you’re gushing, pup. how fucking pretty is that?” he mumbled, holding up his finger with your juices coated on it, dripping down the digit.

“‘already so wet, ‘m sorry. you know ‘m sensitive, daddy. can’t handle the things you say,” you beg for his sympathy.

“course you can sweetheart. you can, and you will handle me,” eren kissed the gap between your neck and shoulder, simultaneously pushing your panties aside to begin rubbing through your slick cunt. “oh, oh yeah…i love how that feels, princess.”

his fingers moved like light work against your clit, using muscle memory from your previous encounters together because he’d already known the things you liked. soft and slow we’re the two key words. “being so good for me. letting daddy touch you how he pleases, hm? that’s my good girl. such a pretty cunt. feels so good i bet. you have to tell me. tell me how it feels, okay?”

“ ‘feels good!! eren, eren, please. can you go a little faster?” you’d asked him, struggling through your words. eren didn’t even respond before picking up the speed of his fingers on your clit. he’d been waiting for the signal to go faster forever. he’d ached for ages to move from slow to fast and soft to rough. but he only wanted to do the things you were comfortable with. “oh!! fuck, ‘s feeling good eren!”

“just like this? i knew you’d like that, puppy,” he smirked into your shoulder as you squirmed around in his lap, moving your hips with your own mighty power to add extra pressure to your clit, along with his fingers already rocketing inside you.

“‘m so close!!” you cried.

“i thought so, hm. of course i wanna let you cum. but i think it’d be more enjoyable if you did so with this pretty little cunt wrapped around my cock?”

“yes, yes!! yes, ‘m so desperate to feel myself on your cock, daddy. ‘s too much, want more though”

he chuckled, using his other hand to unbuckled himself underneath you, proving to be rather good at doing two things at once. touching you and unbuckling.

within seconds, he aligned himself with your leaking cunt, putting pressure with his tip on your clit first, which matter of fact had been throbbing and pulsating, waiting to be overstimulated to the point of climax.

“eren!! oh!!” you cried out, body bending over forward like jello as his tip just satisfied you a bit too much as it pressed against your cunt. “put it in please!! put it in!”

“so impatient, hm. remember i’m doing this because you had a bad day.” he spoke, and mid sentence, he pushed his length slowly inside your walls. “and this is special treatment,” he finished, pushing himself in all the way to the hilt.

eren kept himself aligned while inside of you, somewhat still aside from your occasional squirming giving stimulation to his length.

he placed soft kisses against the back of your neck, lifting hair out of the way first, letting you adjust to his size for a few moments before finally starting to add movement, going steady enough to just give you relief to breathe out.

“daddy!!” you leaned back against him, hands reaching for anything to grab as you started moving vertically against his cock, that pretty, tiny body rocking up and down to feel good.

“daddy loves you,” he murmured softly into her ear as he added more frequent thrusts into her hole, moving her entire body up a few inches off the sofa which proved how intense his power was. “you know daddy loves you, right, pup?”

“mhm, yes! d-daddy loves me,” you repeated after him.

it only took a few moments more before you’d been too stimulated and you released yourself while he’d been inside you. the noises you made were so pretty and loud once you finished, it had signaled eren to cum with you. there was no warning or hesitation, he simply emptied himself inside your little pretty cunt, his load leaking out of you and onto both of your thighs, causing a rather evident mess.

“feel okay, my dear?” he spoke softly, squeezing your body tight against his chest. you nodded, rocking whatever energy you had left against his cock even after finishing, proving you still had some left in you.

“now i’m gonna need you to tell me every name of every student that hurt your feelings today.”

[rreyie]

𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙡𝙙 𝙚𝙮𝙚𝙨- 𝙖𝙤𝙩 𝙨𝙢𝙪𝙩

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: after three years of not seeing eren due to his buisness in marley, you reunite with him only to find he isn’t the same person anymore, but the one thing that hasn’t changed is his desire for you.

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: smut! hair pulling, spanking, hate (?) sex, eren being an asshole, MAJOR season four/manga spoilers, vaginal, orgasm denial, overstimulation, fingering, oral (male receiving), f! anatomy reader, dom! eren, sub! reader

𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙧𝙚: smut/ nsfw

𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨: eren yeager, reader insert

𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚: i really struggled with what to name this, but i still think it turned out fine. this may be the dirtiest thing i’ve written so far but anyways, eren stans come get y’all juice

——————————————————————————

it had been three whole years since you had last seen eren. as much as you missed those emerald green eyes giving you a playful glare from across the room, you certainly did not miss his careless demeanor.

it had happened after the girl shot sasha, your best friend. as you laid there sobbing on the floor, all eren did was laugh. no comfort. no “i’m sorry.” just a half hearted chuckle from that asshole of a man.

as you put her body in a different room, you walked out of the dimly lit airship to see eren sitting on some sort of box. through that mane of chocolate brown hair, you saw those emerald eyes again, only this time, they weren’t as youthful as they once were. they were tired. drained. dull. you didn’t know how else to describe that look.

“whatcha starin at?” he asked. his voice was barely audible.

your cheeks still red and eyes puffy from crying, you sniffle and manage to speak some words. “i’m looking at the jackass who was laughing at my best friend dead on the floor.”

eren chuckles. “i see nothings changed over the last three years, huh?”

you look away from him. you couldn’t bare to look eyes with him, especially now. he touches your arm. “come on now, look at me. i missed you.”

you swat his arm away. “shut the fuck up. why did you laugh? in a time that i needed you most you just sat there and laughed?”

eren laughs again. “haven’t you forgot, dear? i can see everything. i knew sasha was going to die before it happened.” you couldn’t stand his shit anymore. you jerk your body to face him, and raise your arm, looking directly into his eyes. you throw a punch at him, aiming directly for his skull, but his calloused hand stops you, making you look weak.

“heh, let’s not get too hasty here, dear-“

“quit calling me that damned nickname!” you shout at him. “i can’t talk to you right now. i’m going to bed.” his arm releases it’s grip on yours, and you angrily storm off into your resting place in the airship.

another few days passed, and you were coming back from the memorial service held for sasha. as you took off your army great coat, darker spots staining it from the rain pattering outside, a figure towers over you.

you look up and make contact with the entity, now figuring out that it was no other than yours truly, eren.

“well, want to talk now?” he asks. his voice was monotone, like nothing happened at all. you throw your coat onto a nearby chair, and storm upstairs to your room.

you eneter the room, which was pitch black, your tear-ridden eyes not processing anything you see. only a blurry mess of shadows and highlights. you throw yourself onto your bed and curl into a fetal position.

you wanted to throw up. first your best friend dies, and then your relationship was going down the drain... on top of that a world war was happening right before your very eyes.

a cold hand is pressed onto your back. you jolt at the contact, and see erens face looking down at you. you hadn’t taken the time to notice that he had cleaned up nicely, hair in a bun and cleanly shaved.

as your head tilts upwards, he presses his lips to yours, the unfamiliar sensation making your lips tingle. you let out a small moan and feel erens mouth curl upwards.

“well, i can tell even if you didn’t miss me, you sure missed my cock.” eren says. this statement caught you off guard, and your cheeks flushed red. eren snickered, and continued to kiss you. eren inserted his slick tongue into your mouth, pushing and pulling your tongue in all different directions, mixing your saliva with his.

erens hand moved south, his finger just grazing upon your clothed womanhood. though your area was covered, you could still feel the friction of his finger and the fabric. he began to slide his hand inside the flimsy waistband of your pants and cupped your delicate womanhood.

letting out a soft moan at the contact, he began to grope and squeeze you in all the right places, and ran his index finger along your wet folds, already soaked with your slick.

“wet for me already, ain’t’cha princess?” he growls into your ear, warm breath sliding upon the exposed flesh of your neck. he moves his lips to your neck, and begins to gently suck, eager to mark you, similar to how an animal marked its territory. the gentle suction made you like putty in his arms, and you leaned into his chest. his heartbeat was beating right into your ear, giving you a sense of security.

unexpectedly, a finger slips into your walls. an “a-ah~” elicits through your lips. you shifted your hips to desperately try and feel full, even though only one narrow finger was inside you.

“only good girls get two fingers”, eren says. “are you gonna be a good girl for me? hm?” eren pushes his finger inside you more, hitting the plush sweet spot that was nestled inside you. you let out a pathetic little whimper as eren stretched you a little further.

“y-yes...” you stammer. eren began to pump his two fingers into your tight hole, as he felt his own arousal course through his veins, the fiery sensation talking over him and pulsating though him, going straight to his dick.

your thighs began to tremble as you were about to feel your orgasm, but then, right when you were on the cusp of reaching bliss, he carefully but slowly took his fingers out, his coated in your juices. he sneered at you, as your let out another whimper.

“h-hey...” you say, barely able to make words after your spoiled orgasm. “what w-was that for?”

“because you’ve been fucking around with me all week”, he responds, starting to unbuckle his leather belt. “all i’ve wanted this whole week was for your pretty little pussy to bounce on my cock, but you’ve been so stubborn that you wouldn’t even look my way. this is my payback. i’m going to absolutely fuck your brains out tonight.”

your spine shivered at the thought of you being here all night being used as erens own personal pocket pussy. you didn’t want to know how many rounds you were in for tonight, since eren never stops until he’s tired.

before you knew it, erens belt was off, and you were sitting on the bed watching him did himself of his shirt. his perfectly toned abs were semi-visible in the moonlight, the ripples of skin or bones creating a masterpiece. his hair was nearly free of the bun at this point, but you wouldn’t dare notify him of this.

eren folds the belt and gives it a little whack upon the bed, giving a crack.

“strip”, he commands. “now.”

you obey his words, and pull of your shirt without hesitation, followed by your cargo pants, leaving you in your bra and panties only.

erens gaze turns predatory as if he was a lion and you were the antelope. he flips you over almost effortlessly, and grabs your ass.

“dear god, i missed this...” he groans. “your ass is gonna be all red after i’m done with you.”

you clench your eyes, bracing for impact. you knew exactly how this was going to go down. eren cracks the belt down onto your left ass cheek, and you yelped at the impact. he did it again, the pain soon quickly melting into pleasure with each snap.

sure, eren could be a bit rough in the bedroom sometimes- no, scratch that. he could be super rough. but he always knew where the line was to be drawn. or at least he used to know. you only knew that this man had been deprived of sex for the time he was in marley, so he was likely craving some sort of intimacy. and now that he had you, he wasn’t going soft this time.

as soon as the last crack of the belt had ceased, he threw the belt down and kneeled over you.

“suck me off”, he demanded.

you flipped yourself over this time, and got level with erens member. erens black boxers had a throbbing bulge in the center. as you pulled his boxers down, his cock immediately sprang up, and slapped against his stomach.

boy, eren always had a nice dick. it was pale, but a vein ran through the side, and connected to the red tip of it. he hasn’t shaved down there in a while, so the seemingly primal hair that laid at his base was expected.

you grasped his cock that was eagerly waiting for attention, and moved your tongue along the shaft, placing kitty licks on the tip. you felt eren twitching under your touch. you wanted to tease him to compensate for your lost orgasm, to feel him writhe and beg to cum.

eren grew impatient with the kitty licks and tongue work that he grabbed a fistful of your hair and jammed your mouth onto him. you gagged at the sudden movement, the tip touching the back of your throat. he moved your head back and forth, using your spit to guide you along.

you took in his whole length. it was painful, but totally worth it to see his expression on his face. cupping his balls, you played with them, moving around the sensitive skin with your hands.

“i-m gonna c-cum...” eren warns you. you try and pull off so he wouldn’t make you choke. eren resists, only pulling you closer. his cock spasms, and releases a load of cum into your mouth. you were nearly choking on cock, the salty taste reaching every corner in your mouth.

you swallow it all. eren pulls out his cock, still hard even though he just came. he takes hold of your shoulders and pins you down on your bed.

“don’t worry princess, i’ll compensate for that lost orgasm this time.” he said, an evil smirk on his face. yup. you were in for it.

he quickly takes your bra and panties off before starting, and takes note of the giant spot of arousal in the bottom of your panties before he slides them off. he unclasps your bra and gives your breasts a quick little squeeze before pumping his cock a few times and lining it up at your entrance.

“p-please, be gentle...” you whisper.

eren laughs. “not a chance.”

he thrusts into you, his whole length unexpectedly filling you to the brim. letting out a groan, he thrusts into you again. it felt like the wind had been knocked out of you. you grip the sheets beside you.

“i missed the feeling of your little pussy...” eren growls. he continues to thrust, smashing his hips into yours as he fucked you with no mercy at all.

lewd sounds of skin slapping a guttural wet sounds filled the room as you squirmed beneath him, moving your hips so he could get a good angle. his dick begins to touch on your sweet spot, hitting it repeatedly. the pressure on your spongy seeet spot was enough to make a loud moan escape from your mouth.

“m-more!” you yelp. eren heeds your command as you felt his balls slapping against your ass ruthlessly. “oh god, please, eren! please!” erens pace quickens a little bit more as you feel the burning sensation of your orgasm about to take over. you cum right on his dick, the creamy liquid spilling out of you and coating him so he could glide into you with ease. eren still has a bit to go, and while making an effort to cum, he only thrusts harder, causing you to cum yet again, eyes rolling into the back of your head.

“ngh- oh fuck...” eren stammers, as he bottoms out into you, shooting thick ropes of cum into your hole.

you lay there panting, eyes almost shutting. but eren isn’t anywhere near done yet. his dick gardens yet again, and he continues to thrust.

“e-eren... please no more...” you gasp, trying to contain yourself as eren slammed into you again and again.

“no”, he says raspily. “you’ve been teasing me all fuckin’ week. you need to be punished for this.” his tip kisses your cervix, causing you to grimace. “turn over.”

you tried to move, but your legs were like jelly, unable to move after all the previous sensations you were feeling.

“dumb slut. let me help you.” eren places you on your tummy and re-aligns himself at your entrance, and jams his throbbing dick into you. your ribbed walls were clenching around him tightly, which only made him encouraged and want to go harder, deeper, if that was even possible.

your vision turned foggy upon your third orgasm, toes curling and all.

“ngh- aah!~” you whimper, feeling numb and helpless. something about eren using you as his own personal fuck toy made you seem to cum a little bit quicker than the last times you’ve had sex. maybe it was the control he had over you, the domination.

“oh, did my little whore cum for me again?” eren groans. “louder. i want this entire hallway to know exactly what we are doing in here. let them know how good i’m fucking you.”

eren gives a tug at your hair, making your head turn around and look him directly in the eye. he had a wicked sneer painted across his face. he purposely hits your sweet spot again, making a string of high pitched moans and whimpers fill the room, maybe even the whole hallway as eren instructed you to do.

your noises were the final straw that eren had. he quickly pulled out and flipped you over before jacking himself a few more times, and letting his cum splatter across your face and chest. your vision was so foggy at this point that everything was just a big cloud of white. as you regain your vision, you see eren laying over you, his brown hair messy and eyes filled with love.

“you’re not gonna just leave me like the others, right?” he questions you as he kisses your naked collarbone. you’re completely out of breath at this point, and all you can do is nod.

“good.” he grabs a towel that was sitting on your nightstand. “i hope you never leave me, to be honest.” he cleans up his release combined with sweat that was puddled on your body.

“n-never.” you stammer.

[johneroserotica]

Aerith’s Encounter

“Please! Please let me come. I can’t take it anymore.”

If only her pleas could bring any mercy or respite.

Aerith had been warned about venturing off alone. She wasn’t scared of Shinra however, and felt as if there was little that could be hazardous in the flower gardens. How wrong she was; there were other things besides Shinra that had taken an interest in this magically powerful Cetra.

She had been too preoccupied with picking flowers to notice a Marlboro behind her. This large, dangerous creature was able to move with unexpected silence and caught her off guard. As Aerith snapped upright at the rustling sound behind her, it was already too late. Her scream was caught in her throat as she looked in horror at the creature – a mass of green separated by the white of it’s countless teeth. The huge, swollen plant-pod, almost entirely covered in tentacles aside from a huge, eerie, grinning mouth, was directly in front of Aerith; nobody was around to help.

Before she could make for her staff, a cloud of what looked like fog streamed from the monster’s mouth and engulfed her. Falling back, Aerith finally managed to scream out for help, but she was miles away from anybody. Aerith knew that it was hopeless; even first-class SOLDIERs had difficulty defeating these hulking beasts on their own. Whatever the cloudy substance was that she was breathing in, it made her feel faint, she couldn’t stand back up.

She expected it to eat her up there and then, though once her ankles were restrained by tentacles which rose from the ground, she realised it had far more sinister plans for her.

Terrified, she had begun to breathe more rapidly, causing her to inhale more of the gaseous substance. After a minute of watching the Marlboro through the fog – which remained in place, seemingly surveying her -her body began to sizzle. Somehow fear had blossomed into arousal.

What had sprang from the Marlboro’s mouth was a devastatingly potent aphrodisiac fog. Within seconds, Aerith burned with sexual longing, a need to be touched brought everything else to a halt. Her staff was out of reach, yet all she could think about was why the creature had done this to her. Her skin burned with a need to be touched, while all rational thoughts of fighting, of escape, were being replaced with erotic fantasies. At first she wanted to strip, then as the potency of the substance increased, her desire was for someone else to strip her. Erotic yearning seemed to course through her veins at a renewed vigor with every heartbeat. Still the monster continued to watch in silence as its prey clawed at the ground in a bid to escape the rising tide of unbearable arousal.

Tear my clothes off, lick me, finger me, eat me out, fuck me… just do anything to me, her body and mind seemed to cry out in unison. With her free hand, she had stopped trying to pull against her restraints, instead she began to slip her hand down between her legs in an attempt to quell the onslaught of arousal that was consuming her. She was truly at the mercy of the living plant-life’s wicked intentions and it terrified her, yet she had given in.

“What do you want?” she cried out as her fingers pressed to her pussy.

Her question was met with another breath from the monster, engulfing her once again in the aphrodisiac fog.

“No more, please!” she pleaded, praying that it could hear or understand her, feeling as if she would die if she were any more sexually aroused. Her nipples and clitoris pulsated, making Aerith clutch her chest and pinch her nipples before returning to stroking her pussy desperately.

She dared not ask anything of the monster again, in case it responded with another blast of the fog, yet still it continued to seemingly watch her.

While her legs remained held apart, with her other wrist restrained,  completely on display for the creature, she felt her orgasm quickly approaching. Her situation didn’t matter, whatever happened afterwards did not matter, all that mattered for Aerith right now was the rush of release. At that moment, when her orgasm was about to crash over her, something felt different.

As soon as she expected to feel the convulsions of climax, to feel her pussy clench and her muscles seize in rapture, she remained stuck at the peak. At first she simply stroked herself faster and harder, yet still there was no release. A few minutes passed before she began screaming and wailing, “What have you done to me?” though there was no response, it simply continued to watch.

If only she knew that her lack of release was her own doing. Aerith had equipped a stop-materia, and that very same materia which was embedded in her bracelet was being used by the Marlboro. It intercepted the magic and was using the stop spell on Aerith in a way to stop her orgasm in its tracks and hold her right at the pinnacle.

Even when she slowed down, the sensations did not cease. As much as she begged for it to let her come, it merely responded with another cloud of the aphrodisiac fog, to constantly elevate her torment.

As Aerith tried in vain to masturbate herself to a climax that simply built and built with no end in sight, she wondered if this was all the monster desired – to torture her to death with pleasure.Wwhen her free hand was then ensnared as she reached the edge once again, she felt sure of it.

Hanging on the very edge of multiple orgasms all piled together to form a flood of agonising ecstasy, Aerith weeped. Her hips rocked uncontrollably as her pussy continuously convulsed in desperation for more. Her clitoris seemed to have not stopped twitching for the last twenty minutes.

While she lay spread eagled, waiting for the next stage in her torture, vines crept towards her dripping wet pussy.

“PLEASE STOP TORTURING ME,” she cried out, only to be met with another blast of the fog. Just the feeling of the silky soft petals drifting along the soft, succulent lips of her own flower seemed to be enough to bring her to the brink. It was like a thousand tongues all lapped at her delicacy, such soft, dedicated strokes designed to wreak havoc. They crept and slithered around her overly engorged clitoris, too swollen for its hood to contain that hypersensitive little cherry; once a petal brushed over it directly, it kept her on the knife edge of perfect pleasure with the softest touch.

It felt like hours of this, being trapped in hell. Every time she thought she would pass out, another blast of the fog made her body convulse in another surge of desire. What made it worse was the monster which remained in place, never reacting to her writhing body or screams for mercy. If she could see its eyes it would have made it a little more bearable, to know what it was watching, perhaps to see if there were any signs of empathy or even desire in the creature’s eyes. Instead all she had was that wicked, constant grin.

Finally, after her eyes began to glaze over, there was a change in sensation. Right as the tendrils and petals continued to masturbate her to what seemed to be the one hundredth edge, the stop spell was not cast. Like an electric current, her body jolted as the orgasm hit her with the force of a sledgehammer. Every muscle in her body seemed to seize. To her horror however, the monster had another trick up its sleeve.  The moment it sensed Aerith’s orgasm, it cast a slow spell on her, bringing everything to a snail’s pace.

Aerith was very familiar with the spell, recognising the haziness around her, as if she were within a painting. To have this used on her at that moment seemed to confirm to her that this monster merely wanted to torture her to death.

Trapped at such a moment, Aerith could feel every tiny pulse of her clitoris, every miniscule clench of every fold of her pussy. It was as if these sensations allowed her to focus everything as if under a microscope.

Instead of an explosion, her orgasm trickled from her body. It was like her orgasm was constantly being ruined without it ever vanishing, the joy replaced with despair and a need for mercy. It was worse than the denial, at least with that, there was a hope for release. With this – between her internal squeals for mercy and the blank spots where her body tried to pass out – there was only the anticipation of it ending. Instead of the rise and fall of pleasure, the peaks, little anticimalaxes and convulsions of a regular orgasm, it was simply a slow descent from the top to the bottom.

She strained to escape even harder, though the fog had kept her sluggish and weak, otherwise she’d have hurt herself trying to escape this hell. The vines and petals did not stop their assault on Aerith’s delicate pussy; every twitch of her defenceless clitoris and the non-stop convulsions of her entrance seemed to be a signal for an increased speed and intensity of the tendrils. Aerith was certain that she would have passed out or gone insane if it weren’t for magical intervention by the Marlboro.

Once her orgasmic ordeal had finally come to an end, she remained held in place, panting. She had no idea how long the orgasm lasted, though the last ten minutes of it felt the worst: the constant decline in pleasure felt like the opposite of edging, slowly feeling the pleasure drift away for an extended duration, yet held in its grasp. Even though she knew it was no good, she still couldn’t prevent herself from screaming out “Make it stop, make it stop. Oh God, make it stop!” repeatedly.

As she lay there, she began to beg for it not to put her through that again, anything else but that. To her shock and delight, she saw the Marlboro begin to back away.

Her body felt like it had run a marathon while her mind was trying to process the nightmarish level of pleasure it had just endured. She looked down again to watch as the Marlboro continued to back away entirely, still facing her. She realised that this was all it had wanted, to explore her pleasure. Breathing a sigh of relief, Aerith let her head fall back against the grass. Suddenly, she heard a rustle to her right. When she turned to face it, her mouth fell open in horror.

She was miles away from anyone, nobody could hear her screams for help. To her right, a horde of Marlboro’s were approaching one at a time, all with exactly the same intent.

[sasorikigai]

[ GAZING ] + [ TIMID ] + [ COAX ] ( modern Hanryou, but with a chestnut twunk :^) )

SOFT  DETAILS  FOR SMUT  &  INTIMATE  MOMENTS || @sonxflight || accepting

[ GAZING ]  receiver taking sender’s jaw and saying “look at me” during sex or foreplay.

[ TIMID ]  the submissive partner getting self conscious and covering their face,  laughing softly at the intensity.

[ COAX ]  the dominant partner gently moving the shy or overwhelmed submissive’s hands from covering their face so they can kiss them,  breathing praises against their skin.

💥 || They are close enough for the molecules of their skin to meet and become something new; close enough for Ryou Sakai’s clothes to adapt the scent of Hanzo Hasashi’s perfume - touch is lethal, as exploring hands wander. Such endeavor transcends beyond the familiar comforting warmth of their bodies, for they burn like magma on the Commander’s coldened skin. Such tantalizing scintilla of his dilated, tenebrous gaze reaches out, yearning more, but there is a disconnect between him and anything tangibly real. 

Hanzo’s touch is lethal, and so is Ryou’s; his beloved’s throbbing heartbeat runs through his veins, and he notices everything, just like the fact that the young lover entrapped beneath the confines of his pulsing muscles long for a hint of him a little too often. Unyielding, eternal desire hangs beyond the string of their mortality; for they had lost every second of a minute, reaching for another particle of skin, as they turn to dust with every passing second, as they breathe in steamy air, each other. “I will write you poems with my tongue as I breathe on your lips and swirl happiness into your skin so you will never forget, forget me not in the depths of my poetry for you will find my desire into the depths of your own eternity.. Pen, tongue, tongue, pen..... Killer kisses in the semblance of exquisite heaven that only you can feel."

His touch, Ryou’s touch, their touch is lethal, and Hanzo craves to gently suffocates Ryou into a wanton delirium; as their greedy, exquisite want multiplies with each thrust. Hanzo’s movements are instantly calculated and instinctively regulated - but his touch is lethal, for his one-track viewfinder only seeks to memorize Ryou Sakai’s flesh evidence. Hanzo Hasashi effortlessly pulls his beloved in, as the sparkle in the fathomless depth of his essence manifests as a promise. It is akin an intensity of the Commander’s quieted rage, his raw fury towards those who breached his innocence. 

With such effulgence, Hanzo Hasashi does not hold back, as he unleashes everything within him that he managed to tame all those years. As he vows to exterminate the real evil in the world, never see the light in day as it should never reincarnate, it is his proverbial embers which devours and caresses Ryou, consumes him and saturates him as the shining slickness of his warmth conquers the darkness of nights, blinding brightness directly blazing a trail towards Ryou as Hanzo decisively removes the veil of Ryou’s digits, as his intense, fevered gaze prances such self-consciousness as the breathes’ tune frolics their coalesced flesh, cavorting amongst the rays of the Sun, as his supporting clutch eases with a releasing sound of his exhale, as he empties himself into their bare planked frames. How they still remain intermingled, pulsating and strumming in tandem as melody and tune embrace them in flawless rhythm. 

How Hanzo surges with that reckless abandon, as orgasm sweeps over him like the proverbial wave of the seashore, gathering power and size as it bears on them, overwhelming in its rush, seemingly inescapable, as the wave’s concentrated power hurtles harmlessly overhead. There is an oblivion, as he utterly loses himself in the tangle of bruised flesh; relinquishing himself into the coaxed darkness as both his selfish and selfless need unfurls him in the tender destruction of self, as the complete eradication of everything he used to believe sends him forth the rhapsodical heaven. 💥 ||

[oblivious-embodied]

A Miraculous Journey of Self Discovery

Miraculous Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir: Rewritten, Trans AU. 

A long time ago, I decided to make my own rewrite of the Miraculous Ladybug show, do it in my own way so that things could progress the way I would like, for characters to grow and develop in personality and strength. Write my own way for the miraculous to be empowered, to be a bigger deal, to mean more than what they mean in the show. And, along the way, I saw @wintertundra-art's Trans Adrien and Marinette AU, and I wanted to see if I could incorporate that into this rewrite. And, with her permission and cooperation, I was able to get the first chapter, Origins: Part One completed! I'm excited to see where this goes from here!

So, as a christmas gift to you all, Enjoy a miraculous rewrite, and trans representation! If you haven't already, go check out @wintertundra-art and her wonderful AU! And, if you have any questions, feel free to send me an ask too.

I’ve decided to rate it as Teen and Up Audiences, and you can read it here on AO3! It currently sits at 12,265 words

Origins: Part One

(Summary: Eons ago, powerful artifacts were forged, infused with power that humans can only dream of, they were made to be anchors to beings of immense power. Centuries ago, two of the more powerful miraculous were lost, the Butterfly of Emotion and the Peacock of Soul. Now, the Butterfly has been awoken, and is in the hands of someone who want's to corrupt the Butterfly's power and use it for their own nefarious wants. The only way to stop this from happening is to bring balance, and only the most powerful Miraculous can do so: The Black Cat of Destruction, and the Ladybug of Creation. )

A man opens up a broach, revealing the smiling image of a blonde haired, green eyed woman. His breath hitches just a bit as he locks eyes with her image. With slightly shaking hands, he closes the broach and he looks to a floating, violet creature with big, purple eyes, and a swirl on its head that is the same shade as its eyes. Little butterfly wings extend from its back.

“Nooroo,” his tone is sharp, cold, calculating. Terrifying. “Tell me where to find the other Miraculous.”

“I-I do not know...” the being named Nooroo answers, bowing its head slightly.

The man narrows his eyes.

Several thousand years ago, possibly eons ago, powerful pieces of magical jewelry were forged, each serving as an anchor to beings of extreme power. Beings that are the embodiment of concepts that the minds of simple humans can’t even begin to comprehend, concepts like The Four Elements, The Mind, The Heart, The Soul, The Body, Energy, and even of Destruction and Creation itself.

These jewels were named ‘Miraculous’. They can’t be destroyed; whether that is due to the material they are made from, or the bonds they have with the beings, known as kwami, no one knows.

These Miraculous were created for the sole purpose of aiding the human race. And with their use, myths and legends of large, humanoid creatures, capable of unfathomable feats of strength and power arose.

And according to legend, whoever holds both of the two most powerful Miraculous, the anchors to the beings of Destruction and Creation, Death and Life, will be as powerful as a god.

And with that power, the ability to do whatever they want.

And he must have these Miraculous. He must have the power to become God.

His life, his happiness, all he’s worked for, all he’s done, the fate of his family, it all depends on him getting those Miraculous.

“Very well.” He says finally, but he turns his cold gaze to the poor being. “Tell me, Nooroo, what are the properties of your Miraculous.”

The being named Nooroo looks up at this man, its eyes weary. “That is the Miraculous of the Butterfly. It derives its power from the heart; it will allow you to sense the emotions of anyone around you in a certain radius, and through this you will be able to give others powers and abilities. These people will then become your devoted followers, your champions.” Nooroo straightens back up, puffing out its little chest.

A sickening smile creeps its way across the man’s face. “You are saying, Nooroo, that I can give supernatural powers to the ordinary; and they will, in turn, do anything I tell them to do.” It isn’t a question. It’s a statement. His mind is already circulating with different situations. At this, Nooroo deflates a bit, drooping.

“W-well, no, not really. You can give powers to someone you deem fit, but you can’t really control them. They’ll just be able to communicate with you, and vice versa, and you will be able to help them along the way.”

The smile does not leave the man’s face, “You said your powers are derived from the heart, yes?” Nooroo nods, it’s eyes widening. “I may not be able to control them directly... but I can to some degree.”

At this, Nooroo’s eyes fly open, his mouth dropping open. “Th-that’s-that’s not what the butterfly is intended-“

“I will do what I want!” The man cuts in, his tone forceful, he emphasizes his words with a stomp to the ground. “I am your master. You will do what I say, and you will not disobey me.” Nooroo’s eyes blow wide again, and it opens its mouth to say something, but nothing comes out of its mouth. It is unable to say anything. In it’s eyes, terror is clear. Dejectedly, Nooroo bows it’s head and body. “Yes, Master.”

This brings the man even more sickening joy.

“Nooroo, we will find those Miraculous.” Then man takes a step forward and lifts Nooroo’s chin up. “And we will do it by any means necessary.”

He takes a step back and fastens the broach to his shirt. 

“Nooroo, dark wings, rise.”

Nooroo is sucked into the broach and violet light rushes up the man’s body, transforming his clothes. When the light dies down, the man is wearing black, skin tight, laceless dress shoes. Purple, almost skintight pants. He’s wearing a purple suit jacket and black latex-like gloves. The collar folds up at the front like a paper airplane, the broach sitting in the middle, two black, shimmering, almost rubber like lapels that start just below the paper airplane collar, form around it and go up to protrude from off the shoulders about 25 centimeters. His neck and face, save for the area around his mouth, is covered by a silver material. His eyes are violet. 

“From now on...” he looks at the big metal, circular window cover, his violet eyes glistening with malice. “I will be known as Hawkmoth!”

                                                     --------

Sleeping in the brass horn of the fake record player that houses the miracle box is a small green creature, with a head much larger than the rest of his body, who looks like a miniature turtle. His body is a light-ish green, with patches of darker green. His head has some subtle scales, but is mostly smooth. Its abdomen, and the back of his arms and legs are covered in dark green scales. A turtle shell rests on his back.

Something startles Wayzz from his peaceful sleep in the fake record player’s bell, his eyes shooting open and revealing that they are completely yellow with  dark green pupils. Something pulsates through the air, a powerful, corruptive wave of energy with a hint of something else behind it. 

It’s... an old, familiar energy. It pulsates through the air again before dissipating slightly, then pulsating again. Like a heartbeat. 

One that doesn’t bode well. 

This energy... it’s from Nooroo... but... it’s tainted. It might just be from time apart, that could be why his energy feels... wrong. 

Malicious. Cold. 

Unwelcome... 

But... it could also be something else... something far more terrible than someone accidentally picking up and activating It’s Miraculous. 

It’s an energy that accompanies An unwelcome wielder. It’s Nooroo’s distress call. 

Wayzz bursts from the fake record player’s bell and into Master Fu’s side, jolting him, stilling his fingers on his patient’s back. 

The little old man, wearing a red Hawaiian t-shirt, grey slacks and brown sandals, turns to the little green kwami. 

“What is it?” He whispers, his fingers returning to work at the young man’s back. 

“Master! I felt an odd energy.” 

Master Fu pauses in his work again, furrowing his brows in thought. After another second’s deliberation, he tells Wayzz to hide, then quickly ushers his patient out the door, promising to see him next week. 

With the door closed, he turns back to his kwami. “What kind of energy?” His tone is solemn and wary. 

“Master, it was Noroo’s. It was Nooroo’s distress call. It’s in trouble!” 

The old master’s eyes widen in shock, his mouth hanging open for a second before he sets it into a hard line. “Very well then, Wayzz. We must find him at once!” 

Wayzz winces for a split second, human’s have never understood how one can be referred to by pronouns other than he/him, or she/her, and the Master doesn’t seem to catch on to Wayzz calling Nooroo by It’s preferred pronouns. But Wayzz refuses to not use It’s preferred pronouns. He would never do that to his friend.

The old master stands up straight, holding up his right wrist, his other hand bracing it. “Time to transform... Wayzz-“

‘Crack!’

“Augh, oh...” Master Fu groans as he falls to the ground, muted groans escaping his throat. 

“Master, please be reasonable! You are-“ 

“Still young!” Fu cuts in, “ I’m only 186!...” he grunts as he stands back up. “but I can no longer do this alone... we will need help.” 

He walks over to the fake record player, and Wayzz looks away as Master Fu puts in the code to open up the record player. 

Within seconds, the middle slides open, and a black box with red, ornate, ancient Chinese characters on it is lifted from the cavity in the record player. 

Before he opens the box, he looks to Wayzz; the kwami has been with him for most of his life... they’ve been through a lot together. So, Wayzz is certain that they surely think the same thing. 

Allowing those Miraculous to be out in the open, even if it is just to recover Nooroo from its captor, it’s incredibly risky. But... Wayzz has a certain feeling about this, it may be a risky move, but it feels like the right one. If they are to recover Nooroo, and if It’s had Its powers abused by a corrupted heart, they will need to cleanse and balance it’s Miraculous; and only those of Creation and Destruction can do so.  As Fu takes out those two Miraculous, Wayzz nods his agreement. Hopefully... hopefully this doesn’t go wrong.

                                                   ----------- 

For the next few days, Fu looks for two people who fit the parameters for these two Miraculous. They need to be kind, and selfless... those two traits aren’t too hard to find. But for the Miraculous of Creation, he needs to find someone who has the mind to handle the complexity, the heart to consider the options, the soul to value everyone, the body to meet the physical requirements and the energy to withstand it all.

They need to be of the right age too, for if they are too young, their mind could snap, their heart could burst, their soul could be irreparably damaged, their body could shrivel… just like his did when he was a boy. 

Finding someone who meets all these requirements is grueling, but it’s the only way to make sure they don’t face life long detriments.  

Fu finds himself in a bakery, looking over everyone he can see as he simultaneously looks for what pastry to get for himself. The people he finds don’t fit what this Miraculous needs, and he gets no reaction from the box containing the being who embodies Creation itself. He is about to give up on his search for a suitable wielder for Tikki when a feeling of warmth pulsates through his body, emanating from the box Tikki’s Miraculous resides in. 

He looks up, and is greeted with the sight of the baker’s daughter, a young girl with black hair, Asian features, and beautiful grey eyes. She talks animatedly with the customers, smiling so brightly and with such warmth in her eyes, she makes it seem like she makes friends with everyone she meets. 

But she’s too young, she doesn’t look to be more that 14 years old, he will not put the stress of being the wielder of Creation on a child. His body was crippled when he wore his Miraculous when he was too young, and his Miraculous is substantially less powerful than Creation. He will not the the reason for the death of a child. 

He moves on. 

But Tikki is insistent, if the way the box burns in his pocket is any indication. 

Reluctantly, he turns to his kwami companion, Wayzz, and nods to him, making a mental note to have Wayzz watch this girl. He can only hope that he finds someone better suited for Creation. 

When out of the bakery, Wayzz whispers in his ear, “Are you sure giving a Miraculous — especially one of such magnitude — to a child is a good idea?”

Fu pulls out and bites into a pastry, his facial features dark. “I do not know, my friend. I refuse to give a Miraculous to someone so young, especially one that is so powerful. However, Tikki is insisting on this girl. I hope to find someone who is suited for Tikki, and is older, but we must be prepared for the event that we have to give this girl this responsibility.”

Wayzz sighs, “Alright, Master.” 

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

The next day, Fu makes his way to the bakery  — those pastries are to die for! — but he’s in a sour mood. He hasn’t been able to get Tikki to react to any other person, she is insistent on this bakery girl. He’s keeping an eye out for someone else, but he’s starting to believe he has no other choice. 

Just as he rounds the corner, the box that houses the Black Cat Miraculous of Destruction sends a chilling wave of energy through Fu’s body, and he stops in his tracks. Plagg has sensed someone he wants to choose. Fu starts looking around, going through all the parameters the wielder of Destruction needs to have: They need to have a mind strong enough to resist temptation, a heart kind enough to give mercy to those around them, a soul to see the good and bad, a body to withstand the effects the Miraculous of Destruction has on wielders, and the ability to rein in Plagg’s energy. 

Everyone he looks at is wrong, and they incite no reaction from Plagg, but then he sees a young man with blond hair, green eyes, and fair skin in the park. He’s sitting on a bench, looking crestfallen. To his right, cameras and photographers are setting up around him. There are other children playing at the park, and the young man is staring at them with a longing gaze. 

The hope in Fu’s eyes dies down as he realizes that Plagg’s chosen is one that is, once again, too young, 

He doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want to put them through this, but if Tikki won’t change her mind, Plagg most definitely wont. 

Resigned, Fu turns around and starts going to the bakery, making a note to look into this boy. He looks up and finds himself looking at a poster advertisement for Agreste Fashion, and the boy he was just looking at is on it. 

It seems finding information on this boy will not be as hard as he thought. 

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

As he continues to watch the bakery girl, he sees just how kind and selfless she is. She routinely offers help in the bakery as often as she can. She lights up talking to customers about fashion — apparently, she’s quite fond of fashion, especially the Agreste brand, how fascinating — how she lifts full bags of flour with only a few grunts and wobbles here and there. Fu’s found that she created the design for the bakery sign. As well as the menu board. She is truly creative. And, if his hearing does not fail him, she even bakes some of the pastries from time to time. 

Tikki grows more and more insistent on choosing this girl, and Fu has resigned himself to the fact that he will be putting them through things he never wished to put anyone through again. If he is going to give her the Miraculous of Creation, he must be there to mentor her. He must be able to guide her through all of this. Hopefully she can handle this and he isn’t sending her to her death. 

Now... the young man, the child model... he wasn’t quite sure at first, and he was getting ready to have a long argument with Plagg. He just seemed to be a boy longing for the time to play with others. But, as he continued to pursue knowledge about this boy -- his name being Adrien -- he’s found that he is praised for his kindness, and he’s seen that in video recordings of interviews with the boy. Wayzz has told him that when he has photoshoots at the park, when he sees kids fall down, he twitches almost imperceptibly. As though he wants to go over and pick them up. And when he watches parents with their difficult kids, he seems to want nothing more than to help. 

Fu has seen the way he smiles at his bodyguard, at his scheduler, the photographers, the other models, it seems to be completely genuine. 

He harbors a heart that wants to do good, that wants to do nothing but help, his soul longs for the freedom to be selfless, but it is unable to. And Plagg has latched onto this boy.

He must be able to guide these two young people. He must not allow them to go through this alone. 

Late at night in his apartment, Fu sits before two small pieces of paper on his kitchen table, writing two identical notes to put in the boxes containing the Black Cat Miraculous and the Ladybug Miraculous. 

They are to meet him at the base of the Effiel Tower at 22:00, but in order for this to work, he must give them the miraculous at the same time, which means he must execute his challenges before it is too late. 

Suddenly, Wayzz flies up to his face and bows before speaking. “Master! I just sensed Nooroo transform Its captor! It was powerful, whoever has Nooroo is powerful.”

Fu stops writing and strokes his goatee. If he remembers correctly, the first day of the French school year is in three, almost two days. This means that he doesn’t have much time to issue his challenges to these kids, and even less time to train them. He must act now. “Thank you, Wayzz, we must act soon, before it is too late!”

Fu finishes writing the notes and places them on top of the boxes containing the Miraculous of Destruction and Creation, before he goes to bed.

The next day, Fu makes his way to the bakery. He doesn’t know how to issue his challenge, but it will come to mind eventually. It is the day before the first day of school, and there will be no lack of heightened emotions, and paired with the power that Nooroo has over emotions, who knows when Nooroo’s captor will strike?

Suddenly, Adrien bursts through the bushes, sprinting his way to the school. He has a pleased smile on his face, and hope in his eyes. He reaches the school, and stops, looking up at it, sighing in admiration. 

A car passes by, Adrien whips around, looking at the car, but finds that it is not something he needs to worry about. He relaxes and starts to open the door to the school when three kids burst from the nearby park and speed their way on bikes across the street toward a nearby intersection. He looks at these kids, furrowing his brows. 

Then, a rumbling sounds, Adrien whips around to look, and there is a car coming down their way. And, by the looks of things, the car isn’t slowing down, and neither are the kids.

Fu waits in silence as Adrien seems more confused than ever, looking between the car and the kids, taking a few steps from the school toward the intersection. When it is evident that neither the kids nor the car will stop on their own, he takes action, rushing forward and waving his arms. 

Two of the kids look at him, then at the car coming down the road, and as though it is their first time seeing it, they skid to a stop. But the kid in the middle, a girl with pink hair keeps going, her head turned toward the two kids who stopped, hair whipping around under her helmet. She seems to glare at them and then at the oncoming car.  

Adrien seems to sigh, looking frantically between the rapidly approaching kid and car. 

He looks back to the pink haired girl, and sets his jaw. Clearly set on a course of action. He takes a few long steps toward the street just as she comes by and grabs her arm, forcing her to fall from her bike, but the bike continues onward into the street. 

Where it promptly gets crushed by the car, while the driver looks up from their phone and honks as they drive away.

As the pink haired girl sits there shocked, Adrien stands there awkwardly. But, after a second, the girl stands up and punches Adrien’s arm before seemingly telling him off. All Adrien does is furrow his brows, confused. 

Fu walks away with a small smile. 

He has a feeling this might actually work out well. 

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

An alarm jerks Marinette awake from her dreamless sleep. With a groan, she blindly gropes around her bed to find her phone, but when she finds it, she only manages to push it from her bed down onto the floor. 

The alarm doesn’t stop, and Marinette can’t decide if she should be relieved, or annoyed. 

With a resigned sigh, she slips from her bed, mourning the lost warmth of her covers, and climbs down her ladder. She picks up her phone and inspects it for cracks. 

Somehow, for some reason, it doesn’t have any. Thank the beings that rule the universe, her phone is indestructible! She doesn’t know how many times she’s dropped her phone, but it doesn’t even have a scratch!

Sluggishly, she goes to her closet, trying to decide on what to wear, looking over everything and battling that feeling of unease she feels every time she looks in her closest; but ultimately decides to put it aside, she’ll just eat breakfast in her pajamas. 

She doesn’t even want to look at her messy, black hair, her body, the bags that are surely to be under her eyes. She’s always loved her eyes, her Maman is from China and has grey eyes, while her Papa grew up locally in Paris with blue eyes; but her eyes are amazing, they’re grey with a ring of blue around the pupil. She can’t help but think of her parents when she looks into her eyes. She doesn’t have as much Asian features as she would like, but she has her eyes, her black hair, and a slight Asian facial bone structure. 

Rubbing sleep from her eyes she starts going downstairs, not really wanting to face the day. Not wanting to fight to feel good. 

It’s the first day of school. The first day of Collége. And, for some reason, Marinette has a strong feeling that Chloé Bourgeois is in her class again. 

One would think that the spoiled brat that is the daughter of the Mayor would be in private school. But, for some reason unknown to all but the two Bourgeois and the beings that rule the universe, she still attends public school; despite all of her complaining. And the bullying. 

She really, really does not want school to start. 

With a big yawn, she opens the trap door. 

“Marinette! School starts soon! You don’t want to be late for your first day back at school!” 

Wincing from the early morning yelling, Marinette suppresses another yawn, calling out a small “Coming...” before climbing down the stairs.

When she reaches the bottom, she finds her Maman smiling at her from the kitchen. She smiles back, already feeling the grasp of sleep start to slip away.  “There’s my beautiful girl!” 

Despite the warmth that fills her being when around her Maman, Marinette can’t help but feel uneasy with being called beautiful. It’s probably because of Chloe bullying her, she’ll get over it. 

She gives her maman a kiss on the cheek, leaning down just a bit. When she was younger, she wondered why she was taller than her maman. But, after an awkward talk with her parents, she’s realized that she just inherited the taller genes from her Papa, but got the skinnier genes from her Maman. 

“Good morning!” 

“Yeah...” she grumps, “I’ll bet you anything that Chloé is in my class again...”  she sighs as she sits down at the kitchen table, where her Maman has already set out a cereal bowl, a milk jug, spoon, her favorite cereal, and a bowl of fruit. Uncapping the milk jug, she pours it into the bowl.

“Four years in a row?! Is that possible?” Her Maman exclaims, putting something in the sink behind her. 

“Definitely... Lucky me!” Marinette rolls her eyes, pouring in some chocolate cereal flakes. 

“Oh! Don’t say that! It’s the start of a new year, I’m sure everything will be just fine!” Her Maman says resolutely, brushing a hand against her hair. And who can argue with such sound logic? Not Marinette.

Nodding, feeling her spirits rise just a bit, she places the tub of cereal flakes down. But, with just a slight miscalculation of how hard to set it down, a chain reaction of terrible, ill boding events happens. 

The vibrations send an orange rolling down a conveniently placed bread stick, right to and over another conveniently placed knife. Which then sends the orange into the milk jug, the knife into a bowl of sugar cubes; sending a few flying with such velocity that as it collides with the cereal tub, it tips it over. And, as her spirits plummet, the orange completes its journey by knocking into and tipping over a yogurt cup. She groans dejectedly, closing her eyes so as to block the situation from sight and in turn, her mind.

For a girl whose parents have always called their “lucky charm”, she sure isn’t all that lucky.  

As she cleans up the cereal tub mess, her Maman reaches a hand to her cheek, chuckling. Which, somehow, helps to lift her own spirits.

It’s weird how mothers can do that. “Go get dressed, honey, you’ll look beautiful. I’ve got this.” 

An hour later, Marinette is down in the bakery, dressed in her back-to-school-day clothes: tan/pink flats, pink Capris, white shirt with a flower pattern on her left collarbone, grey blazer and her very own, hand sewn, pink clutch. And yet, despite being proud of her work, she can’t find it in her to be proud of how she looks. 

Her Papa, humming a tune, presents a box of macarons to his daughter. A warm, gentle smile on his face: “There’s my gorgeous daughter!” There’s that uneasiness again...

“Papa! These are so awesome!” She exclaims, bouncing in place. “Thank you, Papa! My class will love them!” She looks up to him, adoration and love filling her eyes. 

“Glad you like them!” He ruffles her hair, chuckling as she smirks a bit under his huge hands, an almost mute “don’t mess up my hair!” coming from her.

“You look beautiful, my darling daughter” Her papa says with small tears in his eyes. 

“You’re the best!” she says, giving him a one armed hug, her smile falling as she tries to figure out how to get rid of the uneasy feeling in her gut. 

“We,” he pulls her close again with an arm, and angles his other in a ‘muscular, show-off’ manner, “are the best.” Marinette can’t help but giggle.

Giving both her parents goodbye kisses, she rushes out the door, intent on not being late for school on the first day. And, in her haste, almost rushes right into the path of an oncoming car. 

Breathing a sigh of relief that she isn’t splattered on the windshield of a car, she slouches a bit, before jolting ramrod straight as she sees an elderly man with a cane in a red hawiian shirt having trouble crossing the road, another car rushing toward the man, not slowing down at all. 

Marinette frantically looks back and forth between the two and decides, after a second, to rush out and save this man from meeting the very same fate she had just narrowly avoided moments before. 

Just as she pulls him to the sidewalk, her legendary clumsiness takes hold of her once more, and she trips onto the sidewalk, taking the man down with her; the box of macarons spilling. And, with horror, she watches as inconsiderate city people step on them, reducing them to nothing more than crumbs. The man’s “Thank you, miss” goes unheard. 

But, his “Oh, what a disaster” does not go unnoticed. Picking up what remains of the box and the macaroons, she tells him: “Don’t worry, I’m no stranger to disasters.” She holds the box to him. “Besides! There’s still a few left.” 

She smiles at this man, as he picks a macaron from the box and bites into it. Letting out a pleased “Delicious!” 

A bell across the street rings, signaling the start of school. Marinette looks to the school, to this man, back to the school and back to him again. While she’d rather not be late to school... well, she had just pulled this man from the street. The least she can do is walk him partially to where he is headed. 

“Go ahead.” The man says, his smile genuine, understanding and proud. ”You’ve saved my life, the least I can do is save you from getting into trouble! Now go!” He waves her off. 

She takes a moment of further deliberation before nodding, bowing, and rushing out “have-a-nice-day-sir!” Then she’s off, rushing to school. 

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

As the young woman runs to the school, Master Fu straightens up, putting his cane behind his back and holding up the box containing the Ladybug Miraculous. The box warms up and spreads warmth all throughout his body, confirming that this young woman is Tikki’s choice to be her wielder.

While he doesn’t want to put this stress on a child, he knows that there is no other solution, no way around this. He just has to be her mentor.

He walks to the bakery, allowing Wayzz to take the box to the girl’s room while he buys pastries for himself and his companion. 

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

Just as the custodian is closing the school’s front doors, Marinette slips in, not breaking from her near sprint. Rushing up the stairs, she bursts into the classroom, stumbling to not lose her balance. She’s hunched over, trying to catch her breath. 

“Nino,” the teacher calls out. She’s a tall woman with fire red hair, teal eyes, and a white pantsuit. Marinette doesn’t recognize her. The boy in question, Nino, has been in her classes for as long as she can remember. He’s a kind hearted, introverted kid with dark skin. He’s always wearing a red baseball cap and grey and orange headphones. 

She looks up and sees that Nino is sitting with his eyes wide behind his glasses from the back of the classroom. “Why don’t you sit in the front this year?” The teacher may have formed it as a question, but it was more of a polite command. 

Nino grumbles and stands up, his back and shoulders slouched. As he walks to the front of the classroom, on the side closest to the door, he groans. Before sliding into his position in the front of the classroom, right by the door. He pulls his headphones down and rests his elbows on the desk; his jaw resting on his knuckles with an annoyed look on his face. 

Though she’s been in the same class as Nino for years, she doesn’t know much about him, and she’s really regretting that now. Maybe this year will be different? 

She takes a moment to deliberate, but ultimately decides to sit on the row behind Nino, in her usual seat. She wants to sit by him but he doesn’t seem to want to talk to anyone. 

Shaking her head, still breathing with slight difficulty, she walks to her usual seat, the second row, left side of the classroom, right next to the aisle. Just behind and over Nino’s right shoulder.

Mylène, a timid girl, sits directly across the aisle from where Marinette’s seat is. She’s a shorter girl, with fair skin and long dreadlocks that are blonde at the roots but fade into multiple colors at the ends.  

Sitting on the next row up, just to the right of Mylène, is a dark skinned boy with a close cut afro hairstyle brown hair, a green polo and glasses. Max is your go-to kid for anything and everything that has to do with electronics. 

Sitting right next to Max is a tan skinned boy, Kim; he’s wearing a red, short sleeved hoodie, and sweat bands on his wrist. His black hair is up in a faux hawk style and he’s lounging back in his chair. He’s the class jock. (He tries to hide it by being a jerk and a goof, but he’s actually a good guy.) 

Kim is always next to Max, tells everyone that they’re best friends, and that he needs Max to help with homework, but Marinette knows better. She can see his eyes.

On the back row, sitting behind Max, is a girl named Rose. She’s a quiet girl, with her blonde hair in a pixie cut. She wears all pink and has an incredibly high voice. 

Just as Marinette sits down and starts to unpack, a pale hand, with yellow, perfectly manicured nails slams down on the desk before her, startling her. “Marinette,” the almost shill voice starts, “Du-pain-Cheng” it sneers her last name like it's an insult to it personally. (Which, if this is who she think it is, it most likely is an insult to her personally.) 

Chloé Bourgeois. The bratty daughter of the mayor. She’s wearing a yellow jacket, white pants, and a large, gold (not actually gold, it’d be too heavy for her skinny, fragile hips to support) plated belt. No wrinkles in sight on her clothes. Her golden locks are pulled into a high hanging ponytail. Blush, eye liner, magenta eyeshadow and pink lipstick on her face. It only serves to make her look that much more bratty. 

Her school bully.  

Marinette slouches, she knew it would happen. A weary, dejected, “Here we go again...” leaves her lips. 

“That’s my seat.” Chloé brings her hand from the desk to her chest. 

“But Chloé, this has always been my seat.” Marinette looks up to Chloé, grey-blue meeting dark, cruel blue. 

Chloe’s face scrunches up. “Not this year!” 

A sudden, but not unfamiliar voice cuts in. “New School, New Year, New seats.” Sabrina, Chloé’s lap dog slides into the desk beside Marinette, her orange/red hair in stark contrast with her teal-green eyes sparkling behind her glasses, and pale skin. She’s wearing a, quite frankly, ugly sweater vest. 

“So,” Chloé sneers again, “why don’t you just go and sit beside that new girl over there.” She turns to point at a girl she hadn’t seen walk into the room. 

She has darker skin like Nino, with long, curly, red-orange locks. She’s wearing a red-orange flannel short-sleeved shirt. At the mention of “New girl” she turns from her phone and her brown eyes glare behind glasses at Chloé. 

“But..” is all Marinette can think of in response. (She’s tired, and already feeling exhausted, she doesn’t want to move or think.)

Chloé turns back to Marinette, her hands on her hips, her face contorted in anger. “Listen, Adrien is arriving today, and since that’s,” she points to the seat beside Nino, “ going to be he— his seat, this is going to be my seat.” Chloé slams her hand down in front of Marinette again, then she turns toward her fully, slamming her other hand on the desk. “Get it?”

Adrien... who is this Adrien? And why is he friends with Chloé?

“Uh, who’s Adrien?” She asks Chloé. 

Two simultaneous gasps leave Chloé’s and Sabrina’s mouths. Then they burst out laughing in that ridiculous, annoying laugh, drawing Myléne’s attention. 

The laughing stops abruptly and Chloé speaks again. “Can you believe she doesn’t know who Adrien is?” She directs this at Sabrina. Then, to Marinette, Chloé scrunches her face in disgust and anger. “What rock have you been living under?” 

“He’s only a famous model!” Sabrina chimes in. 

“And I am his best friend.” Chloé begins again.

Marinette raises her eyebrows at this. None of that helps clarify who Adrien is. And, if he’s a famous model, why would any sane teacher let a man who is probably in his early/mid 20’s come to class with 14-15 year olds?! Why is a man who is in his mid 20’s still in middle school?!

“He adores me.” Chloé looks to Marinette, and scoffs when she sees that Marinette has not moved from her seat. “Uh, go on, move!” She emphasizes this with a thumb pointing toward the proposed seats. 

And all Marinette can think of is, is this Choe’s new scheme to get attention? Who would believe that a 20 something year old is hanging out with a 14 year old? They’d be all over the news. 

Suddenly, the new girl is behind Chloé, her voice strong and brave. A fatal mistake when talking to Chloé Bourgeois. “Back off, Brat.”

Chloé turns to the girl, anger and annoyance taking the wheel. She leans toward the new girl, making sure her tone is mocking and sarcastic. “Ooh, look, Sabrina, we got a little do-gooder in our classroom!” Chloé leans in further. “What’re you going to do, Super Newbie, shoot beams at me with your glasses.”

Marinette cringes, this is why it is best to stay docile around Chloé, if she senses any opposition at all, she’ll only cause a scene. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” The new girl sneers, her voice dark and dangerous. She pushes Chloé to the side and reaches for Marinette’s arm. “C’mon” she says as she grabs Marinette’s arm. Marinette barely has any time to grab her box of macarons and her bag before she’s being dragged from her seat. 

In her haste to steady herself, grab her stuff, and the new girl’s quick pace, Marinette misses a step on the way to her new seat and ends up falling; her box of macarons falling to the floor, where several are flung from the box and are crushed on the floor. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.” She mumbles as she cleans up and slides into her new seat for the year. Chloé’s and Sabrina’s laughing etching its way into her memory. 

“Chill-ax, girl, no biggie!” The new girl says, eyeing Marinette as she’s hunched over her almost empty box of macaroons. 

“Alright, has everyone found a seat?” The teacher asks the class as other kids file in, leaning her hands on the desk. The class speaking up behind them drowning out her voice. 

Marinette straightens up and looks to the new girl, “But I so wish I could handle Chloé the way you do.” The new girl raises an eyebrow, a corner of her lips quirking up. Not threatening, or suspicious, but curious and slightly confused. She reaches for her phone and unlocks it.

“You mean the way Majestia does it.” The new girl pulls up an image of a woman in a skin tight, blue suit, her shoulders, hands and face uncovered. She wears a fire truck red, sleeveless jacket with a ruffled coat tail, two thick, golden, zigzagging lines run across the bust, stars above the lines. Boots of the same shade reach to about her mid calf, the tops lined with the same type of lines as the jacket. “She says: All that is necessary for the triumph of Evil, is for Good to do nothing.” The new girl says proudly. 

She leans past Marinette, wrapping her left arm around her shoulders and pointing to Chloé with her right hand. “And that girl over there, is evil, and we,” she points to herself and Marinette, “are the good people. She has a smirk on her lips. “We can’t let her get away with it!” 

“That’s easier said than done...” Marinette hunches her shoulders a bit, her voice dejected. “She likes to make my life miserable.” 

“That’s easy to fix, girl, you just need more confidence!” The new girl says, conviction strong in her voice. 

Marinette smiles, and takes the last remaining macaron and breaks it in half, extending the other out to the new girl. 

“Marinette.” she says.

“Alya,” the new girl says in response, taking the half macaron. 

With this, they turn to the front, pleased smiles on their faces. 

Maybe... maybe this year isn’t going to be so bad?

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

“For those of you who don’t yet know me,” the teacher says, drawing all attention her way, “I’m Ms. Bustier.” 

As class starts, Chloé leans on her new desk, sadness in her face and eyes. Looking at the empty seat before her. “Ugh, he should have been here by now.” she says under her breath. 

She meant to have annoyance in her tone, and she does, but she can’t hide the underlying disappointment. 

Where is s— he?

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

Master Fu watches as Adrien rushes through the street, pressing against the bushes and trees, looking over his shoulder frequently, searching for something or someone. 

Fu smiles, it seems like this young man has decided to try to get some freedom. But, if the frantic look in his eyes means anything, it’ll most likely be short lived. 

The young man reaches the school grounds, and pauses next to a cologne ad poster that, coincidentally, has him on it. He looks over his shoulder again, and a smile finds his way into his face. He’s beaten the system, it would seem. For the time being.  

This is Fu’s chance to issue his Challenge, to see if he has the ability to wield the Miraculous of Destruction. He has the potential, when faced with no other option, but this will test whether he will choose to help others and not himself. To do what he feels is right, and forfeit what he wants. 

Just as Adrien reaches the steps, Fu launches his plan, clutching his back and falling to the ground, dropping his cane just out of his reach. Crying out in pain. 

This causes the boy pause, and he stands on the steps of the school, frozen in place. Trying to figure out what to do, looking between Fu and the school’s front door. 

Not a second later, he rushes to Fu, bringing his cane to his hands and helping him stand. 

“Thank you, young man!” He says, patting his arm. Adrien’s eyes cringe and he tenses before his entire face lights up. 

Huh, interesting... 

“Do you need help getting to where you’re going?” He asks, his green eyes hopeful. No doubt wanting to help out more. If only so he could get further away from whoever he’s running from. 

“No, I will be fine, but thank you for your kindness! Now, shoo, go to school!”

Adrien nods, the mention of school making his face light up even more. 

He turns and rushes to the steps, and, just before he reaches the door, a silver sedan screeches to a stop, a tall woman clad in a purple suit and red blouse, her black hair fading to red on the left side. “Adrien, please reconsider! You know what your father wants!” 

She walks slowly toward Adrien, as a large man steps out from the driver's seat, walking toward him with her. Adrien turns slowly toward them, his feet frozen in place, fear in his eyes. But only for a brief moment. 

“But this is what I want!” He says, the fear taking a back seat to hurt and anger. “I’m sick of being stuck at home. I want to be like a normal kid!” 

The woman shakes her head. “Adrien, you are not a normal kid, your father can’t afford to have you at public school!” 

Adrien scoffs, “We both know he has more than enough money to afford it.” 

“That’s not what I mean, Adrien. You know he only does this to keep you safe. He’s doing this for you.” 

At this, Adrien’s eyes soften, his posture drooping. “I know... I just... I want to be around others. Please don’t tell Father about this.”

The woman’s eyes soften as she puts a hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “I know, and I’m sorry. But you just can’t. Come, let’s go home.” 

As Adrien is led to the sedan, and is driven off back home, the second box pulsates in Fu’s pocket. 

This boy has the traits that are required for the use of this Miraculous, but he does not have the right life for it. Fu is unsure whether Adrien can handle it. Plagg seems set on this boy, however. And, if Adrien is going to learn and grow, there is only one other Miraculous that will do just as good a job, and he’s already found a match for Creation. 

He’ll just have to watch out for Plagg. With that, Fu swings his cane onto his shoulder and walks away whistling, following the sedan.

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

“Those of you who have P.E., Mr. D’Argencourt is expecting you at the stadium.” Ms. Bustier calls to the class as the bell rings and everyone packs up. 

As the kid named Ivan, A large, fair skinned boy, with short brown hair save for the small tuft of blond in the front, gets up Kim gives him a note. 

“The rest of you can head over to the library.”

A moment later, Ivan bursts out with an angry cry of “Kim!” He lurches toward Kim, an impish smirk on the lankier boy’s face. Ivan is cranking his fist back to slam it into Kim’s fragile face. 

“Ivan! What are you doing?!” Ms. Bustier exclaims, leaning over her desk in shock. Ivan looks to her in confusion, lowering his fist. 

“It’s Kim!” Ivan looks back at Kim, raising his fist again, and, for the first time, Kim is shocked and scared. “I’m so gonna—“ 

“Ivan! Go to the principal’s office!” Ms. Bustier cuts in, pointing out the door. 

At that, Ivan steps away from Kim, growling as he looks back down at the note Kim passed him. With anger rolling off him, Ivan crumples the note in his hand and storms out of the classroom, muttering to himself; leaving Kim to shake in his seat, and Ms. Bustier to wonder if she could have worked the situation out better. 

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

The man known as Hawkmoth stands in a large room, a metal, circular window cover sliding open, letting light pour into the room, sending pure white butterflies fluttering about. 

“Such powerful emotions. Anger. Frustration. Betrayal. And in a school no less, a perfect catalyst to test my limits.” He reaches for a butterfly, and clasps his hands around it. A second later, dark, purple energy seeps into the butterfly, and when he releases the butterfly, it is black with purple cracking apart the black, a violet mask-like pattern on it’s head and back, its legs a dark purple. “Burn a hole into his heart, little akuma, transform his anger into something more!”

The transformed butterfly, now an akuma, flies through the air, tracking down the boy with such anger and frustration with supernatural speed. 

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

Ivan opens the door to the principal’s office, but before he can take a step inside, the principal stops him. 

“Excuse me, young man! Hasn’t anyone taught you to knock?” The principle, a large, overweight, white man with a receding hairline and greying hair exclaims. This shocks Ivan, his anger and frustration building. “Go on, go again.” He says, leaning back in his decked out, rolling swivel chair. 

With a shake of his head and a growl, Ivan closes the door and turns around, raising a fist to knock.

Before he can put his fist to the wood, something stops him. A sound. The sound of something wet twisting and crawling. And suddenly, in his mind, there is a man floating in a grey space, his voice echoing all around his head. The principal’s “Go on, knock!” is ignored. 

The man before Ivan is wearing a dark purple suit, and it shines in a way cloth doesn’t, kind of like rubber. On his chest are two black wing like lapels, which just make whoever this guy is look weird. Covering his head is a grey mask, only his eyes, which are an unsettling violet, and mouth looking normal. He’s leaning on a cane. 

“Stoneheart.” the man says Ivan’s confusion at the name going unacknowledged. “I am Hawkmoth, I am giving you the strength and unstoppable power to seek revenge on those who have wronged you. To prove to them that you do have what it takes. All I need you to do is cause mayhem. Destroy all that you can.”

The power to get back at Kim? To prove that he does have what it takes? 

And all he needs to do is cause mayhem? 

Who can deny such a thing?

“Okay, I’ll do it.” Ivan says, a dark look on his face. 

The man smirks. 

Black and purple bubbles ripple over Ivan’s body, morphing his skin and bones.

When the bubbles disperse, Ivan is no more. Only Stoneheart remains. Standing at 2 meters tall, with cracked stone for skin and yellow eyes. He’s built like an athlete, and literally chiseled. Wrapped around his right hand is a purple fabric, like that a boxer would wear under their boxing glove. On his chest, the stone is jagged and protruding, right where his heart would be, like his heart had exploded. The cracks in the stone glow a faint yellow. 

“Well?” The principal asks, waiting for a response. 

Suddenly, the door is flung from its hinges, the principal only has enough time to move enough so that the door doesn’t slam into his head, but it still collides with his shoulder, sending him to the ground.

With an almighty roar, Stoneheart launches through the window, leaving an echo of “KIM!” behind as the entire wall crumbles to the street below.

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

In the library, a thunderous roar rattles the walls, then the whole building shakes, causing students to tumble to the ground. 

After a few seconds, Alya, Marinette’s new friend, grabs her from the ground and drags her to the TVs in the library, which are showing the security footage. 

A large, probably 2 meters tall, stone golem is walking down the street, the cracks in it’s stone skin glowing bright yellow. It roars in a voice so raspy and stiff, she wonders if it has vocal chords, and if so, how they’re working. 

“Wh-what’s going on? I thought it was an earthquake!” a random kid exclaims.

Alya turns to Marinette, her hands on her cheeks. “It’s a real life super villain!” Suddenly, Alya’s eyes glint and she pulls out her phone. “Battery, 80%, check! GPS, check! I am so outta here!” Then she’s off, leaving Marinette to marvel at her. 

“Wait! Hey, where’re you going?” 

Alya pauses only briefly before turning around and hopping backwards “Where there’s a super villain, there is always a superhero!” Then she’s through the doors. 

This is such a weird day...

Marinette looks back to the tv and jumps as the rock monster collides a car, the car crumbling and shattering. The yellow in the cracks of it’s skin glows brighter and- and she could have sworn it grew! It picks up what remains of the car with ease, and throws it at the school camera, and it goes to static. The building shakes again as crumbling brick and groaning metal reverberates through the school. 

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

Fu stops just outside the gates of a mansion. His eyes glinting with wonder and awe. 

This should provide good living conditions for a being with such a high cost diet. 

He hums in delight, letting Wayzz take the pulsating box up into the mansion.

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

Adrienne *hates* homeschooling. She’s alone, save for Nathalie, and has to stay in one place for at least 7 hours, sometimes more, depending on the lesson. And, most of the time, she’s in the dining hall, the cold, undecorated dining hall. She’s stuck hearing her father, Nathalie, the mansion staff, call her ”Adrien”. Call her a boy. She can’t talk to anyone, can’t have a break. It���s useless. 

“Who was the 1st president of the 5th French republic?” Nathalie walks up and down the length of the dining table. A tablet and pen in hand. 

And all Adrienne can do is lean against her hand, not even able to summon more than a bored, monotone voice. “Everyone thinks it was De Gaulle but it was actually René Coty before the first elections.” 

“Excellent, Adrien!” Nathalie exclaims. Turning around, a… pleased look on her face? ‘When did that happen?!’ Adrienne can’t help but think in shock. She opens her mouth to say something but a cold voice cuts through the room.

“Give me a minute would you, Nathalie?” Adrienne immediately tenses. It’s an involuntary reaction she has no control over. Not anymore. 

Her Father turns to look at Adrienne, his eyes cold, disappointed, disproving. Angry. But his face remains stoic. “You are not going to school. I have already told you.” 

Adrienne’s heart sinks. She looks to Nathalie, her eyes burning. She betrayed her. She- she does know what happens when she disobeys her Father, right?

Nathalie only lowers her head in shame. 

Adrienne looks back to her father. “But, Father-“ 

“Everything you need is right here, where I can keep an eye on you.” He cuts in, tone dark and dangerous. “I will not have you outside in that dangerous world.” 

“It’s not dangerous!” Adrienne tries, standing up from her seat, hands on the table. “I’m always stuck here by myself! Why can’t I go out and make friends just like everybody else?” She asks, pointing out the grand window to her left. 

“Because you are not everybody else! You are My son” Adrienne flinches, her body flinching as her gut falls. She hates it when he sounds like that, it makes her feel so small. She has to bite her tongue to keep herself from shaking at her father’s deep, angry voice. He’s using the tone that suggests that he will not allow for any more words to be said. 

Adrienne stands up straight, bowing her head, holding back tears that threaten to form. 

Always her... it’s always Adrienne who makes things difficult. Who makes Father angry. All Adrienne does is antagonize him. 

With that, Gabriel leaves, and Nathalie steps forward. “We can leave it there if you wan-“ 

Before she even finishes, Adrienne takes off running, hiding her— his face. Hiding his reddening eyes. 

As he runs to his room, he catches a brief glimpse of a painting of him, his father and his mother. 

But he can’t look at it for so long. It brings back too many bad memories. 

Once in his room, he lays down on his bed, Letting his pillow soak in all the tears leaking from his— her eyes. From her eyes. 

Why is Father like this? The thought bounces around in Adrienne’s head, it makes her dizzy. Why am I like this, if I’m really- if I’m really a girl, I wouldn’t revert to using those pronouns, to using “Adrien” when I’m stressed, would I? I wouldn’t do that when I anger Father, would I? How the hell am I a girl-

He doesn’t understand, Adrienne’s mother’s voice cuts through her spiraling thoughts. He probably never will. Your father is a stubborn man, and closed off in many ways. Just remember who you are, and that I’m here for you, my beautiful daughter.

This only makes Adrienne sadder. She isn’t here anymore. How can Adrienne keep going if she isn’t here? 

Suddenly, something shakes the mansion, sounding like a stampede. 

Curiosity takes over, and Adrienne takes off to go find out what’s happening. 

She opens the front doors of the mansion, and a large (probably 4 meters tall) rock person is stomping its way toward a police blockade. 

When the monster is within 10 meters, the police officer standing on top of a police car yells: “F-ire!” His voice cracks with fear and all the surrounding police officers fire off their guns. 

The rock monster holds up it’s arms, but instead of the bullets doing any harm, they make the cracks in between the monster’s skin glow brighter, and it grows to be 2 meters taller! The police officer that was on the car scrambles down and tries to get away, but the monster grabs the car the officer was previously standing on with one hand, shouts out an unintelligible word, then throws the car with ease at the police officer; who only just barely manages to get out of the way. 

Whatever this thing is, they sure are very, very angry. 

Adrienne sprints back to her room, and vaults over her sofa, turning on the TV to the news. 

“I’m asking all Parisians to stay inside until the situation’s under control.” Mayor Bourgeois says into the microphone, and Adrienne lets out a snort. Having everyone stay inside is the right call, don’t want anyone getting in the way... but, the man would be more than happy if he were the only one that stayed inside. And with the way that the situation is being handled, it isn’t going to be solved any time soon. 

Then it switches to the TVi news station, where Nadja Chamack reports. “As incredible as it seems, it has been confirmed that Paris is, indeed, being attacked by a monster. The police have been struggling to get the situation under control.” Up in the right corner, a camera still reports what the monster is doing. Which, by the looks of it, is picking up cars and throwing them at buildings, trees, and other cars, destroying buildings and otherwise just causing mayhem, carnage and... and death. 

It switches to another news camera, and it shows the police officer that was on the car in front of the gates, he’s getting his arm bandaged by a firefighter, speaking to an interviewer. “Be confident! The strong arm of-“ he cuts himself off as a painful crack is heard from the officer’s broken arm, his face contorting in pain. The firefighter then eases the arm down, and admonishes him for using his broken arm. “I meant to use the other arm...” the officer mumbles.

Blinking and shaking her head, Adrienne looks away, trying not to be too ashamed of Paris’s police force. From the looks of things, this monster is absorbing kinetic energy and using it to grow stronger. 

Then, out of the corner of her eye, something catches her attention. 

It’s a small box, with Chinese characters she doesn’t recognize on it. 

She diverts her full attention to this box, a confused: “What’s this doing here?” Leaving her lips. 

She picks it up, weighing it in her hand, moving it around and shaking it. It makes no noise. Shrugging, she opens it and finds a folded piece of paper. When she picks up the paper, she catches sight of a black ring, the corners of the face have silver raised points.

Suddenly, a bright green light glints off the ring, and a ball of green light bursts from it, temporarily blinding her, making her drop the paper, and box. 

When her vision returns, there is a small, black being laying down in the air. It has a body covered with smooth, black fur, with a slight green sheen to it. It has a puff of fur on both cheeks, with two long, black whiskers poking out of each puff. There are similar tufts of hair on the bendy points of its limbs and back where the limbs connect to it. It has an aura that surrounds it that makes everything seem darker around it. Light seems to bend around it, like a black hole. It has two long, thin, puffy tails. It has two little ears that are currently drooped lazily, and little wisps of hair poke out from the inside. It has a tiny nose and snout. It... looks like a small deformed cat. And is absolutely adorable!

Suddenly, it uprights itself, stretching its arms and legs, little claws extending from it’s limbs, and releases a huge yawn. Upon closer inspection, each limb ends with a little paw. Its mouth reveals tiny, tiny fangs and an emerald green hue on the inside of its mouth. It’s ears perk up. Once it’s done with the yawn, the ears drop down again, and it opens its eyes to reveal two neon green eyes with black, slitted pupils. 

“No way!” Adrienne exclaims. “This is so cool! You’re like the genie in the lamp!” She reaches a finger up to rub the little cat-genie’s forehead. 

The little cat-genie launches back. It’s eyes going wide, with…. fear? But the cat-genie quickly schools its adorable little face into calm, uninterested, unimpressed neutrality. 

“I met him once, so he grants wishes, big deal, I can do so much better and I'm personable!” The cat-genie crosses its nubs over its chest, claws extending slightly, spreading its leg nubs, like it’s pouting. Clearly trying to look intimidating, but Adrienne can see that it’s trying to gauge her reactions. 

Huh, so the cat-genie speaks... it... it’s awfully squeaky and nasal. 

It looks up to Adrienne, its eyes piercing into her soul. “Plagg, nice to meet ya.” 

With the one sided greetings out of the way, The cat-genie known as Plagg zooms into a swirl before zipping off to explore the room, startling Adrienne some. 

It lands on the foosball table, “Ooo, swanky!” Then it chomps down on a figure’s head, ignoring Adrienne’s “Don’t touch that!” by saying “Nope, not eatable.” 

Just as Adrienne is about to grab Plagg, it takes off again, Adrienne’s ”Hey! Get back here!” going unnoticed as it locks eyes on an arcade’s joystick. “It’s so shiny!” Plagg lands on the joystick, uttering a curious “Can you eat this?” Before clamping its mouth down on the joystick ball. 

Plagg turns away from it in disgust as it finds that it cannot, in fact, eat the joystick. “No, you can’t.” It says slightly dejectedly, then locks into something else and zooms away from Adrienne’s hand, leaving behind an excited “Ooh, what about this?”

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

Marinette hates back to school days. She makes sure to tell her computer screen just that as she watches the news. 

At the moment, Sabrina’s father is talking to a news reporter, having his arm wrapped up by a firefighter. “Be confident! The strong arm of-“ he cuts himself off as a painful crack is heard from Officer Roger’s arm, his face contorting in pain. The firefighter then eases the arm down, and admonishes him for using his broken arm. “I meant to use the other arm...” he mumbles. 

Marinette shakes her head. Officer Roger can be a... a special type of person sometimes. 

She glances down to her mouse to click away from the news station, but finds a black box with Chinese characters she doesn’t recognize. 

Picking it up, she opens it, and finds a folded up paper. When she removes it, she catches a glance of two red earrings with black spots on each stud before a bright red/pink light glints off of them and she is temporarily blinded. 

When it fades, Marinette’s jaw drops. So does the box and paper. 

Floating before her, with its head bowed, is a giant scarlet/pink, ladybug-like bug, with a head much larger than the rest of its body. It has two antennae coming from its forehead and droop toward its back. It has a large black dot on its forehead. On its back is a scarlet ladybug shell, with five small black spots. From this shell are some pink, translucent wings that aren’t moving. The light around it seems to be…. brighter. Its limbs are little, sectioned, black nubs. 

Suddenly its head shoots up, the light glinting off it’s large white eyes that have rings of blue in the center. 

“Haaweeelllp!” The word leaves her mouth in a shriek as she jumps back, tipping over her chair, getting as far away from this- this- this giant bug! “It’s a giant bug!...”

The bug, no not a bug, a mouse… “A mouse!”

No, a-a bug-mouse, “Bug-mouse!”

it slowly floats its way toward her. 

It continues to get closer. 

“A- an alien!” She almost shrieks. 

“Everything’s okay! Don’t be scared!” Its voice is high pitched, super high pitched, and slightly squeaky.

Marinette’s terrified, she does the only sensible thing. She grabs something behind her and chucks it at the bug-mouse-alien, eyes going wide, and it dodges her projectile. “Bug-mouse can talk! Bug-mouse talks!” She continues to throw things at the bug-mouse-alien, her terror only growing as it continues to dodge all of her projectiles. 

“Listen, Marinette...” the bug-mouse-alien continues to speak. “I know everything is strange...” 

As it talks and gets closer, Marinette can’t help but release terrified squeaks and whimpers as she gropes around for something to trap the bug-mouse thing under. 

Suddenly, her fingers find a cup, and delight shoots through her as she lunges at the bug-mouse, slamming the glass cup down around the little —giant?—   thing. She absently wonders why the glass didn’t shatter. 

It looks up at Marinette, its expression and eyes calm. “Okay, If this makes you feel safer.” 

It has no qualms about being stuck?! What can this thing do that makes it so that it isn’t scared of being trapped under something?! 

Marinette keeps the glass firmly on the ground. “What are you? How do you know my name?” She asks. 

“I’m a kwami,” the bug-mouse puts a nub on its chest. “And my name is Tikki!” it perks up as it says it’s name. “Now, just let me explain.” Its voice is slightly muffled by the glass. It makes the bug -Tikki- sound even weirder. 

“MAMAN, PAPA!” Marinette shouts, inching her way to her trap door. 

“No, no, no!” Tikki tries to warn her, pressing against the glass, but Marinette still ignores it. She puts a hand on the trap door and Tikki calls out again. “No!” It tries again, pushing against the glass, but Marinette keeps ignoring it.

 “MAMA-“ 

“Shhh, No!” Tikki cuts her off, phasing through the glass and floating in front of her face. “I’m your friend, Marinette, you can trust me.” 

Marinette narrows her gaze,

“Marinette?” comes the worried voice of her Maman, and Tikki and Marinette stare at eachother in tense silence. 

“...It’s nothing, Maman, sorry”

Marinette turns to Tikki, the talking bug-mouse-alien-- ahem, Kwami. “Explain.”

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

In such a big room, filled with so much stuff, the kid doesn’t even have any food to eat! Plagg’s tried so many things. Still, nothing edible! 

He could just use atrophy and siphon off some energy, but that requires effort, and he did not wake up from 250 years of being dormant only to have to do things as soon as he is activated! 

Plagg is zipping around this human child’s room and finds a semi-promising rectangle. Hopefully this works! 

He bites down, only for his fangs to meet hard, foul tasting material. Ugh, he should just Cataclysm this whole room... 

He drops the remote, and raises a paw, but the human-child drops from the ceiling and wraps her feeble, insufficient, human fingers around his body, which does not make him release an embarrassing yelp. Nope, not at all. It’s funny, how the human thinks she can keep him in place with just her fingers wrapped around his body, which is made from the very essence of chaos, destruction, bad luck and most importantly, if he does say so himself, death! 

...Eh, he’ll let the child have her victory. 

“Listen, I still don’t know what you’re doing here.” The child says, her tone stern. 

Ha! As if a human can intimidate him! 

This is really getting old, he just wants sustenance! Even mushrooms will do! Birds and fish are better, but they taste weird. Cheese is preferable, and Camembert is exquisite.

“Look, I’m a kwami. Kwamis grant powers.” Plagg narrows his eyes at this, this uninformed child. “Basic gist of mine is Destruction. Got it?” 

“Nuh-Uh.” The child shakes her head, her blonde locks swaying. The locks of hair that grab the light just right... that are probably super soft locks... Locks that would make for an amazing be—

Plagg shakes his head. No time to get distracted. He needs food. 

“Good.”, He looks around before looking into the child’s eyes and not the attention grabbing hair that looks like such a great spot to sleep in. “Got anything to eat, I’m starving!” 

The child narrows her eyes, staring at him. Plagg stares back, keeping his expression neutral. 

“Father’s pranking me, right?” The child stands up, leaning her massive, disgustingly proportionate, head over him. Plagg looks away, he does not want to see up that nose, no matter how clean it is. It’s gross. 

“Wait... that’s not possible, Father doesn’t have a sense of humor.” 

Plagg pulls himself from the human’s surprisingly tight grasp, spreading his limbs out wide. No matter what he thinks of this rule, the last time he didn’t obey it, Tikki ignored him for 500 years and his wielder caused Vesuvius, all because Tikki’s wielder, by extension, also ignored him. “Your dad must never know I exist. Or anyone for that matter.”

Adrienne tilts her head. Furrowing her eyebrows. “Plagg, I’m pretty sure Father already knows other humans exist...” 

Plagg raises his eyebrows. This kid might actually be fun to be around. “I meant no one else can know that I exist.” 

“Oh, yeah, that makes more sense.” 

“Anyway,” Plagg zips into the kids face. “Where. Is. The. Food?” The kid looks at him with the weirdest expression. 

“I only get to eat at breakfast, lunch and dinner. No snacks.” 

Plagg narrows his eyes. “That’s no way to live!” 

“Well It’s how I live.” 

Plagg drops his tone a bit. “It’s not a way that anyone should ever have to live.” 

The kid’s eyes go wide

Plagg stares into her eyes, cocking his head. “Well, time to get this out of the way.” Plagg suddenly zips from in front of Adrienne, and into her bathroom. “I’m a kwami, and I can grant you the ability to destroy anything you touch!” 

Plagg stops before a roll of paper, hanging above a , quite frankly disappointing, porcelain throne. He grabs and *nearly* lets out a delighted gasp. Such an amazing invention! He drops it to the ground before landing on it and it starts to unravel. FUN! 

“All you need to do is put on the ring! To be able to do anything, you call out “Claws Out” and to activate your power, call out Cataclysm, you’ll be able to destroy anything you touch!” He explains as he runs around the room on this roll of super soft paper. (Well, actually the powers that he can grant are much more than a mere Catalclysm, but the kid isn’t ready for that yet. Plus, Tikki’d kill him if he were to tell her that.)

“I can do that?” 

“Psssshhh, no, I can do that, I just allow you to be able to do that.” 

“What do I say again?” 

“Claws Out.” 

“Claws out?”

The ring sucks Plagg in and he’s getting ready to meld with the kid. Create what she wants subconsciously. In a flash, he’s inside her mind and he’s ready to shape her body to the way it’s supposed to be, but stops. It would make her happy, but she isn‘t ready for anyone else to know yet, she’d have a break down. And, probably worse. So, he lets her mind create her suit in accordance to what she wants right now.

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

Looking in her mirror, Marinette puts on the earrings. “So, you’re saying, you can give me the power to…. create anything—“ 

“At random, you won't be able to choose it!” 

“—and restore damage—“

“Only if you cast Lucky Charm! And it only restores damage dealt to people caused by a specific event that has happened recently.” 

“Okay, so, you can transform me into a ladybug styled superhero, with increased physical and mental capabilities-“ 

“Mental only in the fact that you’ll be able to take in more information and take it in faster, other than that, it’s all you!” 

“And I can create a random object by calling out Lucky Charm and restore damage dealt to living things caused by a specific event by calling out Miraculous Ladybug?” 

“Yep!” 

“And I can become this Ladybug by….” 

“Calling out ‘Spots On” Tikki looks into Marinette’s eyes, he doesn’t know it yet, he hasn’t realized it yet. 

Hopefully he will. She really doesn’t want Marinette to go through more of his life in unknown misery. Luckily, when the time comes, she can help! 

“Spots On?” 

“Wait I forgot—“

Melding with his mind, Tikki ignores the urge to shape Marinette’s body the way she knows he feels subconsciously like he should. He doesn’t know yet, and she doesn’t want to put that stress on him. But Sugar cookies she forgot to tell him about the ability to purify things! And that the way to take down this thing is to destroy the corrupted object, or that there is a corrupted object. Well, he’s her wielder, he’ll figure it out. 

Technically Tikky can give her wielders so much more power, but this is the first time being her wielder, so she’ll have to ease Marinette into this. 

[This is the image I used to base Nooroo’s, Tikki’s and Plagg’s designs on, I have also used it to alter Trixx’s, Wayzz’s, Pollen’s and Duusuu’s designs.] 

[fijiangecko]

Maintaining a New Life

Chapter 5 - The Point of No Return

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Read it on AO3 here

A/N: updating every two weeks-ish depending on school

~~~~~~

The car ride is silent the rest of the way back, tension thick and unsettling as the wind blows through the shattered back windshield. Iwaizumi takes the back roads to avoid police and mafia members, and it finally sets in that things aren’t going to be the same for you again. Everything you’ve built up over the past four and a half years is slipping through your fingers like wet sand. 

And you’re the one adding water to the mix.

All of the friends you’ve made; Bokuto, Akaashi, Kenma, Sawamura, Sugawara, Asahi, Noya, Tanaka and not to mention all of the little interns and secretaries you’ve learned to love. Takeda and Ukai, the two who helped you out of a dark place, unbeknownst to them, but desperate enough to give you a chance. 

Then there’s Kuroo, who’s sitting in the backseat right now. You don’t dare to look behind you to take a glance. You can’t imagine how he must feel. Betrayed. You both had grown to rely on one another and now he’s learning that you aren’t who you say you are. Just a liar disguised as someone who wants to help. While thinking, you absentmindedly push your cuticles back and stare straight ahead at the road. You trust that Oikawa and Iwa are looking out enough for you to clock out and realize the mess you’ve made, not only for yourself but for them as well.

Tendou didn’t seem to care about them, though. And he didn’t call them out by name so they can still get out of this. You stop messing with your hands and purse your lips. But that doesn’t explain how the three of us all worked together back there. Kuroo’s not dumb. He’ll figure it out.

You start to pick at your skin once more.

Numbness feels like pin pricks across your body as you sit and stare into the blank night. Time flies out of the window and what feels like seconds later the soft rumbling of the engine comes to a halt. You blink and take in the building in front of you.

A confused expression covers your face as you turn to Iwaizumi, silently asking why you’re here, why you’re home. He doesn’t answer, instead getting up and out of the seat. Oikawa follows him, each putting on their coats as a shield from the night air. Kuroo and yourself remain in the vehicle, wondering what the next step is.

With a heavy heart, you step out of the car and brace yourself for the cold blast. Hajime passes you the keys, fingers lingering on yours in a silent plea. You shake it off and proceed to the front door, listening for any sign that a certain someone was following behind. Light footsteps make your heart beat faster, keys slightly shaking as you force them into the lock.

“I think we’re gonna head back…” Hajime’s voice is soft as he leans in next to your ear, hot breath making shivers run down your spine. You turn to look at him, and nod.

“Are you gonna be okay?” Oikawa places his hand on your shoulder, worry crossing his face.

Kuroo stands behind everyone, watching the two crowd you as you stand meekly beside them. He doesn’t want to believe that you could have been, or are a part of any of these killings, but his gut is telling him that there’s more. That these two are involved as well, and that this is far from being over.

With one last nod, they back off and let you open your door. The two men flash a glance at Kuroo but quickly hurry off into the night. Slowly, as if there are chains wrap around his ankles, Kuroo places one foot in front of the other and walks closer into the apartment.

You’ve already taken off your shoes and shed your coat as well as your purse. You feel absolutely drained from the anticipation of this conversation. Kuroo felt the same force draining his energy as he removes his shoes and heads to the same table you were all working at just earlier that day.

The chair screeches against the floor when he yanks it from it’s position with a bit too much force. Your hands lay flat on the cool countertop and the thousand yard stare takes over your eyes, thoughts flying in and out of your headspace. Too much information and consideration to handle at once, you just let everything relax and let out a long, deep sigh.

“So…” His voice is gruff, low and drawn out as he stares at the wood grain on the table.

You snap out of your trance and turn your body, hips leaning against the granite. “So-” your voice shakes ever so slightly, but you continue, “-what do you want to know?” Arms fold around your chest in a form of both protection and comfort. His eyes meet yours for a split second when he tries to sneak a peek, but he returns to tracing the aged wood with his eyes.

It takes him a few moments to collect his thoughts. To be fair, the question you just asked was a loaded one, and you are putting him on the spot. “Y/N… I really don’t even know where to start.” His eyes shut and he tries to rub the tiredness out of them. He figures going for the lowest hanging fruit first would make it easier to get details. “Are you…still a member?”

“No, god no.” You take a seat directly in front of him, but still he refuses to look at you. Your fingers weave together and sit on top of the wood, softly squeezing. “I haven’t been for a long time.”

After a few moments of silence, you elaborate. “I left them about six months before Takeda and Ukai asked me to join them. I haven’t had any contact with the mafia since I’ve left and I never intended for anyone to find out.”

“You weren’t gonna tell me?” His golden eyes throw you into a haze when they meet your own. He looks hurt, even more betrayed if that was possible.

“No.” You take your time in responding, hoping that somewhere deep inside of him, Kuroo could find it in himself to understand you.. “It would’ve been safer for everyone if they didn’t know.”

“I thought you trusted me?” His voice cracked, as if he was crying out to you. The question shatters your heart, wanting nothing more than to comfort him and assure him. “I mean, it seems like Oikawa and Iwaizumi already know since they aren’t here.”

“I do trust you.” The response is immediate. His eyes tell you that he doesn’t fully believe you, and once more you have to explain. “And they know some things about my past but nothing like this, I told them we could talk tomorrow but I wanted to speak with you first.” 

He chews on the inside of his cheek. “It was safer when no one knew, and now that you’ve been seen with me we’re all in danger.”

“Do you think that I wouldn’t be able to handle myself? Or that the other two are incompetent of using their gifts?” The volume and conviction in his voice grows with each syllable. Disappointment quickly turns into agitation as his eyebrows twitch and mouth twists further into a frown.

“No, Kuroo, it’s just that-”

“Just what?!” You clench your jaw at the outburst. “You pretended for years to be one of us and not once did you think you would’ve been more trusted if you told us?!”

His fists flex on the tabletop, his knuckles turning white. He refuses to break eye contact and you sit there for a few seconds, realizing that this is not what you wanted to happen. You knew he would be angry, anyone in their right mind would be, but after working together for so long, you thought things might have been a little more civil. “Like I said, it was safer when no one kne-”

“Like hell Y/N!” Kuroo stands up and slams those clenched fists down. The booming from his fist pairs nicely with the sound of the chair toppling over, but you don’t flinch. Your thousand yard stare returns when it hits you that no matter what you say, he isn’t going to hear you out. “You just wanted to protect yourself from the Port Mafia and nothing else! The fact that your two ‘buddies’ already knew more than me is suspicious as fuck too!”

It’s not his fault. Pressure builds at your temples and your eyes hurt, the slow pulsating of your heartbeat grows louder and louder. You bring one hand up to rub your temples and take a few deep breaths. I would react the same.

“...you’re right...” It’s the only response you can think of. The only thing that can end this conversation as soon as possible. 

Kuroo’s face falls, his own little glimpse of hope shattered by those two words. He was thinking that this was somehow a misunderstanding. Maybe you had run into these guys before? Or maybe you knew them from your childhood? But your unwillingness to look at him paired with the confirmation of his accusation makes his stomach churn. “I trusted you!” His voice is much louder than the pounding in your head, and the message is clear. “I mean, what the fuck?! Were you just using us as a shield for the time being? Until they eventually found you?!”

Now he’s just shouting anything that comes to his head. His perception of you twisted into something sinister. Kuroo didn’t want to think about any of the good memories; the countless nights you spent at the office working on cases, teasing Kenma at the bars, having drinking contests with Bokuto, celebrating birthdays and agency anniversaries. All of them are tainted now, “knowing” that you were hiding something so huge and unforgiving from him.

On the other end of the table, you sit and in silence. Each word from him is like a stab to the back, each digging further into your body. This is it. They’re going to hunt him down if I leave and Oikawa and Iwaizumi are suspects. Everything I’ve worked so hard for. Down the drain.

He takes your silence as confirmation. “Fuck this. Fuck you.” 

With those final words, he starts to gather his belongings. You finally blink after what feels like hours and watch him. His movements stutter every now and then, telling you that he isn’t in full control of his emotions or motions. 

Right before he yanks the front door open, you stand at the end of the hall and speak ever so softly, weary of Kuroo’s response. “Please don’t tell the others…”

He fully stops his actions and head turns, holding a scornful gaze. “Don’t come back to the agency.” The threat is accentuated by the slam of the door which shakes the apartment.

Pin pricks wrack your body, a shiver runs down your spine and you sit there, numb. One of the only people you really cared for in this new life hates you now and deep down you know that this is the point of no return. The door has been locked behind you by a man with red hair and wants to ruin what you have.

Tendou knows. This thought finally crosses your mind. The Port Mafia knows that I’m alive and here in Yokohama. If that Miya boy remembers anything about you, then he might know about Oikawa and Iwaizumi. And even though Tendou doesn’t know who Kuroo is, he’s going to hunt him down now that you moved to protect him during the fight.

You stand in that hallway for hours, just thinking over your options and the thousands of possibilities that each decision would have. You only want to do what’s right. You have to fix the mess you’ve created. On its own, your body follows a procedure you’ve only done once before and you don’t sleep for the rest of the night.

Cold air settles low over the dimly lit streets, the soft rays of the morning sun warming whatever they touched. For all of the other members of the ADA, it was just another work day as they entered the office group by group. Hajime and Tooru enter roughly on time, nervousness bubbling in the pits of their stomachs as they watch the door carefully, waiting for their black haired friend to enter the office.

Normally, the work day starts around eight for preliminary paperwork and meetings, especially if you’re assigned to a big case. The clock now reads eight forty-five. Each time the hand moves, Oikawa feels like hurling. Neither you or Kuroo have shown up, and the interns have tried calling you both, but to no avail. 

Three minutes pass when the front door squeaks. The damn thing has been needing oil for months now, but Iwaizumi thanks whatever God there is that lets him know someone is here. He doesn’t turn immediately, knowing it would make him more of a suspect. Heavy footsteps tell him that it’s a man that has walked in, and much to his relief Kuroo is walking to his desk. Heavy bags fall under his eyes, dark circles enhancing the tired look adorning his face. 

“Hey Kuroo!” Bokuto, boisterous as ever, slaps his shoulder with a bright smile. When the feeling isn’t returned, his grin falters.

Kuroo continues to his desk and sits down with a huff, turning on his computer and minding his own damn business. Last night was awful, as he had gotten no sleep from his consistent tossing and turning from your conversation. He tried tea, warm milk, pills and all forms of home remedy but everything left a bad taste in his mouth. Something in the back of his keeps telling him that there’s more to your story.

“Um, sorry to bug you, Mr. Kuroo,” Hinata, one of the newest interns, stands next to the desk. “Have you heard from Y/N at all?” Whatever he was working on came to a halt, pen pushing hard into the paper.

Across the room, Iwaizumi and Oikawa listen closely to the encounter, having already told Hinata that they aren’t able to get a hold of you at all and that they assumed you would be arriving with Kuroo.

“No.” The pen scribbles once again.

Hinata continues to stand there, awkwardly looking around since his main task this morning was to make sure all reports from yesterday's investigation got submitted, and if you weren’t there then he wouldn’t be able to do anything. He swallows. “Would you happen to know where she is?”

“No.” Any idle chit chatter stops, and everyone turns to the scene. Hinata’s eyes go wide, and he quickly apologizes before scurrying off. The other detectives glare at Kuroo, wondering what his problem is. After his outburst, Kuroo looks directly at Oikawa and Iwaizumi, as if to threaten them, silently saying that he knows.

“Wake up on the wrong side of the bed?” Sawamura, ever the mediator, walks over to the group of desks and takes a seat in your chair.

“Not in the mood today.”

“I think we can all tell.” Sawamura smiles, trying his best to lighten the atmosphere. Everyone figures something finally happened between you two (since it was fairly obvious that something was growing) and it didn’t go down great. “Hinata’s just trying to make sure he can get his job done for the day, so don’t be too hard on him. If anything, all of us are wondering where Y/N is since she’s never late unless it’s an emergency.”

“Well, she is in the middle of something, but apparently none of us are good enough for her to tell us.” Each word stings the ears of the peeping toms across the pond. Kuroo did not take the news well, each of the men think and they start to text one another.

Kuroo’s statement left a large majority of the agency confused, Kenma, Sugawara, Asahi, Tanaka, Nishinoya and the interns keep an ear out for whatever’s happening. 

Oikawa and Iwaizumi continue to text one another, coming to the conclusion that they should go to your apartment and check on how you’re doing all things considered, but they sit and wait for the right moment to escape the tense situation.

Sawamura continues to push, not knowing about the cracks in the dam he’s forming. “You think she’s doing okay? I mean, she doesn’t talk about family all that much but if she’s missing work then something pretty bad probably happened.”

“I mean, Y/N’s pretty reasonable about work,” Sugawara pipes up. “If she was going through something then surely she must’ve told Takeda and Ukai.”

“You’d be surprised what she’s capable of hiding. I severely doubt that either of them know what’s up with her.” With Kuroo’s heavy insinuation that there’s something going on, and this makes everyone’s hearts skip a beat.

“What are you all talking about?” Disturbed by the ruckus, Ukai opens the door to his office and a plume of smoke leaves his lips. Annoyance lays heavy on his tone and he looks at the group that has gathered around Kuroo’s desk. The lit cigarette in his hand fills the agency with a sour smell, one that none of the crew is particularly fond of but it’s their boss. What can they say?

“Y/N hasn’t shown up yet,” Sugawara takes initiative. “And apparently Kuroo knows something that we don’t.” Rather than taking the depressing outlook, he quirks his brow and smiles jokingly, hoping to lighten the mood and clear the air.

The two that are out of the conversation start to gather their things, unbeknownst to them that Kuroo is keeping tabs on what they’ve been doing. He saw them texting and he figures they were planning to check up on you since you all are working on a case together, but his agitation grows larger with each person that enters the conversation.

Even though you did ask him not to tell anyone - to hell with your requests. You didn’t bother to let anyone in for years on this little secret, and at this point everyone deserves to know or they’ll just keep bothering him until he lets it out.

“Oh yeah?” Ukai prods as Iwa and Oikawa stand up and head for the door.

“Yeah. She lied to you all for years.” His voice is crisp and clear. Any sound that was present before stopped immediately, including the footsteps of your companions. They stop dead in their tracks, Oikawa’s hand on the door handle and they wait. “I don’t think she’ll be coming back.”

“The hell you talkin’ about, kid?” Ukai’s hand raises to his face, and he takes a long drag before slowly letting smoke pass through his lips as he looks across the room.

“Y/N was a member of the Port Mafia and you let her under your roof, let you work next to you. She lied to all of us.”

It feels like the world stopped. 

Everyone stops breathing collectively, skepticism clouding their minds. Y/N? She wouldn’t…. She wouldn’t have done that… would she?

Each detective and every intern takes a moment to think over the crazy accusation that Kuroo is throwing out there, seemingly without any evidence. Kenma, even though he was the closest with Kuroo, looks uneasy as he imagines you working with those bastards. Bokuto and Akaashi, each at their respective desks, face the accuser and furrow their brows. You four had so many memories, so many nights out laughing together.

Sugawara, Asahi and Sawamura all share a look. They’ve known you since the creation of the agency, and have only known you to be helpful in times of need. Not once had it crossed any of their minds that you could have ever worked alongside the mafia. You were just selfless and smart.

“Y/N… an ex-mafia member?” Thinking out loud, Ukai stares Kuroo down. He’s taking this as a sort of personal attack. Ukai was the one who sought you out and asked you to start this agency with Takeda and the three others. He saw something different in you, a natural sort of gift apart from the supernatural stuff you got going on. Ukai saw that you just wanted to help and in those days you struggled to communicate with the others. You closed yourself off for a long time, and his personal project for months was just to make you comfortable. And now Kuroo is saying that you used to work for people who killed and stole from those that you now help.

This better be a sick joke.

“Yeah, Oikawa and Iwaizumi could tell you all about it.” If this is a game of chess, that would’ve been a checkmate. “We ran into some mafia members last night and they started to talk with Y/N.” His eyes shift to Oikawas, whose hand is still on the door. “Right, guys?”

Knuckles turning white, Oikawa doesn’t dare to turn around and face a room full of prying eyes. Iwaizumis hands turn into fists, his jaw clenches and his shoulders tense. Everyone’s breaths hitch in their throats as they wait for any sort of confirmation.

They’re met with silence

Kuroo huffs, as if he’s won. The reality of the situation settles heavily on everyone’s shoulders and it drags their hearts down to the floor. Whoever they knew, whatever version of Y/N they thought they knew was just a phony. A constructed personality that you put up just to cover that you were part of a group that would murder and steal from people. 

As soon as everyone’s hearts shatter, Oikawa finally turns the handle on the door and walks out. He’s aware that people are still watching him, but the scenario has changed drastically in the last five minutes and the only thing on his mind is only on making sure that: one, you’re okay and two, that the mafia hasn’t already found your house.

The pair practically run to the station ignoring the curses from strangers that they bump into and shove past as they squeeze onto the next train.

Back in the office, no one dares to move an inch after the door slams shut. Ukai lets the cigarette sit loosely on his lips, almost falling out when he tries to speak.

“Listen,” his voice is shaking, “I’m sure this is just some sort of misunderstanding-”

“Not when she told me herself.” Kuroo refuses to let them be fooled anymore. He can’t bear to just let all of friends think that they know someone that they don’t. It’s not fair to them. These people have done nothing to deserve being led through the dark. Y/N had no right to hide this information and the fact she didn’t want anyone to know is unnerving.

“Why would she ever have been with them?” Ukai can’t take this shit. He won’t take this kind of slander. In the back of his mind, he’s always known that you had a story to tell, but he was never one to force things out of people. This was on a different level, but nonetheless he wasn’t just going to let Kuroo, one of your closer associates in the agency, try and give you hell for something that may or may not be true.

“I didn’t get that part, but none of us know anything about her from before she joined the agency if I’m not mistaken. She lied to all of us.” Kuroo’s conviction never faltered, not once did he stutter while speaking nor did he shy away from eye contact.

In the depths of his heart, locked under thousands of doors he has a yearning, wanting to understand why. Why didn’t you tell him? Why were you with them? Too bad all of the locks to get there were met with anger and irrationality. His emotions misguide him in this moment, and all he sees is red. It felt like he had been stabbed a million times over; he thought your relationship was going somewhere, that the trust you had built up was going to be worth something.

Everything’s shattered now.

“What if she changed? What if she just wanted to help people?” Ukai marches over to his desk and stares down. A challenge to what was previously a beat down.

“Why didn’t she just tell us? What was so hard about telling us so that we could help her?” Kuroo stands to look down on Ukai. “Huh!?” 

Both of the men have snarl’s etched into their faces. Both trying their best to understand how this all happened.

“He’s got a point, Ukai.” Sawamura speaks softly, grasping Ukai’s shoulder as if to tell him to back down. “We don’t know anything about Y/N.”

“So now you’re piling in?!” Ukai’s gaze shifts to Daichi’s. How could he? Being one of the original members alongside you, Ukai thought he would at least try and understand your point of view.

“I’m just saying that he’s making some decent points, and Kuroo hasn’t done me wrong yet. Y/N is a great detective, but none of us know anything about her.”

“Hey guys, what’s with all the ruckus?” The small figure of Takeda stands in the hallway, right outside of his office while he fidgets with his hands.

“Kuroo’s accusing Y/N of being an ex mafia member,” Ukai spits.

Eyes wide, Takeda glances around the office, taking note of who’s in the room. “Where is she?”

“No one knows. Iwaizumi and Oikawa just left.” Daichi doesn’t want to instigate further, only telling his boss what has happened.

“Well at least those two have decent heads on them. Instead of wondering and making accusations why don’t you all go ask her yourself.” This rarely happens. Takeda is usually optimistic and reasonable, but on rare occasions his face goes rigid and he loses his happy aura. “Kuroo’s words may be true, but aren’t you all detectives? Isn’t it your job to investigate accusations and figure out if they’re true or not?”

Everyone in the room knows he’s right, and they don’t dare try and talk back. Kuroo returns to his seat and watches as everyone wonders what to do next.

“If you aren’t going to go ask her yourself or are waiting for Iwaizumi and Oikawa to return please get back to work. We’ve lost valuable time and I’m sure this will all blow over soon.” The smile that crosses Takeda’s lips is forced, but it calms the overall anxiety trapped within the walls of the agency. “Ukai and Kuroo, would you mind meeting me in my office?”

The small chit chatter returns and blends with the sound of the A.C. unit as the three men walk down the hallway. It feels like it stretches with each step, and the tension rises as the blonde and black haired men both hold the anticipation of being scolded in their chests.

Never one to raise his voice, Takeda calmly sits them down and explains his disappointment. He expresses that he does not care what happened the previous night or if you truly were a member of the Port Mafia.

“Y/N is an adult, and she has a right to tell certain people certain things. It was highly immature and disrespectful of you to go around telling everyone her own business. Plus, that knowledge has serious implications, and if she told you then that means she trusted you a great deal considering none of us have ever heard such a thing.” Kuroo can’t tell what Takeda’s eyes hold as he speaks, but he knows that several of those doors unlocked with his small speech. “You still have a job to do. I expect you to work this out with her, Iwaizumi and Oikawa as well as finish the case the four of you were assigned.”

Takeda dismisses Kuroo without any more guidance, and he returns to his desk. Bokuto and Akaashi keep to themselves, almost afraid of what would happen if they asked or even looked at Kuroo. Your desk, which is directly in front of him, sits there. 

Empty

You never really bothered to decorate it with much. There were a few pens you really liked, Kuroo always noting the brand and buying you some for Christmas, but not much else. Well, besides the one picture propped up against the mug of pens. The one picture of everyone at the agency during the last Christmas party. Everyone’s faces slightly red from spending the night drinking, but big and bright smiles adorning everyone's features.

More doors unlock at the memory.

Running in work pants was never Iwaizumi’s favorite thing to do. He always favored a good pair of basketball shorts and a tank top for his runs, but today he didn’t have a choice. As soon as the chime for doors played over the subway speakers, he hit Oikawa on the shoulder and they both sprintined up the stairs, out onto the streets of Yokohama.

The morning breeze swept across the streets. You preferred living on the outskirts of the city, but not quite in the suburbs. The closest train station was about a twenty minute walk, and an eleven minute run if you were Tooru and Hajime.

The minute Kuroo started to spout the mafia rumors, their anxiety skyrocketed. Sure they trusted you, but they had no idea just how much you told him: like how they were ex-members just like you.

They assumed not, because Kuroo never lumped you in with them, but it still was concerning that he was just telling everyone your biggest secret like it was nothing. 

Both men have shed their jackets, choosing to carry them and flip their ties over their shoulders as they run. Pedestrians and drivers yelled at them as they crossed streets with red lights, but they didn’t have time to worry about that right now.

You weren’t responding to anyone’s messages and this was right after you not only told someone about your past, but right after you “reconnected” with an old friend after years. The last response either of them has gotten from you was a simple “yeah” after Tooru had asked if everything went okay.

After this morning, they knew that was a fucking lie.

Your apartment complex wasn’t gated, and the first thing they notice is the lack of your car in the parking lot. The next thing that catches their eyes is the metal barrel that was used for trash that had smoke coming from it.

The two slow their pace and approach the bin carefully, but when Hajime looks past the rim he recognizes some of your clothes, among other things like scraps of paper. Tooru looks to your apartment, and nudges Hajime with urgency. Looking at his partner, Hajime slowly turns to wherever Toory is facing.

“Fuck…” The door to your apartment is wide open, and from outside they can see it’s been torn to shreds. Furniture flipped over, lamps and light fixtures smashed and no lights.

A gaping hole replaces their stomachs, and for the first time in a long while neither of them has any clue what to do.

[insane-control-room]

migraine

Am I the only one I know waging a war behind their face and above their throat?

Written with @randomwriteronline

warnings: migraine, depression, suicidal feelings

ao3 version here

Thunder in his head. Lightning in his eyes, flashing and pulsing, black seeping and rising and falling, like tidal waves crashing onto his thoughts, shoulders hunching like a beast unable to escape an unseen assailant. It felt as though someone had shot an electrified crossbow bolt straight into the base of his skull, tearing past skin and bone and shocking his very brain. It caused painful shivers across his limbs and tightened around his ribs, constricting his breathing and making his heartbeat viscerally loud in his mind, feeling each and every pulsation roar in his ears and neck like unresting waves shaken by an oceanic earthquake. A bubble seemed to form around the sides of his head, frothing outwards from his very cochlea and stiff jaw. His forehead felt like someone had placed a boa constrictor around the perimeter of his skull and allowed it to squeeze until he would scream.

Joey had a migraine.

The bright glow shining directly into his sore eyes from the light table beneath his work did not help. In fact, one might say it was making it all the worse!

His head hurt, his legs ached, and his arms were stiff and unwilling to follow his requests.

An indiscernible mumble growled around him and slipped into his ears before expanding across his entire brain, emanating outwards through his spinal column, a full body tension unleashing like a rubberband suddenly yanked by two fingers and thus pushed to its absolute limit.

Thank goodness it was Friday, because Joey was going to snap soon if that grew much further.

His hand had let go of his pen, and he was hardly aware of its nails driving in repeatedly between his radius and ulna. Another rumble like a plane taking off right beside him, rattling him to his very atomic being, each quark screaming in protest, making everything even worse, despite how insane that seemed to be. He could hardly breathe. However, with Friday came the dread of Sunday-- the day he would be completely alone. Henry would be away at the clinic. The children would go out to extracurricular activities. No one would be in the building except for himself, his bees buzzing outside his window, and his demons.

He was not ready for that. He had never been ready for that, and would usually hide away on his computer to ignore that short walk up to the roof, not eat for fear of entering the kitchen and finding an object which would be used not by himself, not drink to avoid the easy escape of pills and the winding thoughts that brought him far, far, far away from sanity and drowned him within the liquid. And then, when his family would come home, he would lie about it by not saying anything at all.

Sometimes, when it would be dark outside and the air soothing him with storms and snow, he would think about telling Henry, writing it down and silently handing it to him so that he could read the truth himself, devoid of any more omissions, but he always stuffed those letters away into the vault, sealing them forever.

“Are you even listening to me?!”

Joey once again wished he was not ever there to hear those words, wishing himself to be blotted out of existence another time, if only for a single neverending moment. He found himself gaping wordlessly at the air, a fish desperate for water, suspended before Abby without any excuse for himself, unsure what the matter was that she would be so testy.

“Can I h-help you?” he asked, demure.

“I asked you that,” Abby stated, hands on her hips. “I asked if you were okay, and you didn’t answer. Multiple times. Could you tell me what’s the matter, Mr. Drew? Or is there none? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I just have been preoccupied with my depress…” Joey trailed on, trying to hide the panic in his eyes. His head hurt too much to filter, and his tongue had already slipped. “...ing thoughts.”

“We have a deadline for this episode, Mr. Drew,” she said, shrugging off his comment, “and we haven’t even gotten a storyline for it yet! Do you have writer’s block or something of the sort?”

His head shook almost bonelessly, carefully so as to not rattle his thoughts. Time seemed to be going so slowly, how long had he been sitting there working on that single frame? When was the last time that he had slept? Was he thinking or was he just moving along a sleepwalking path like a beast made of sludge and string? He blinked a few times and saw the drawings double as the rumble in his ears increased deafeningly.

“You don’t look so good.”

“I’m not as fine as I s-seem,” Joey said with a bright smile. He rose suddenly, the motion revolting to his body, and he nodded to her, still smiling, and he began walking out. “Pardon.”

He was outside, trying to use fresh air as a weapon against the pain. The roses were still just sticks, not yet able to blossom with greenery. His head was under his arms, and his ears twitched as they picked up the slightest change in notes that indicated an approach of someone, someone small.

Bendy crawled into his lap.

“See all those rose bushes, baby?” Joey whispered, holding him gently with his horned head pressed to his trapped chest. “That’s kinda how my head is right now.”

‘Ready to grow?’ Bendy asked, tilting his head. Joey smiled slightly, and corrected, “That’s a bit different then what I meant. I mean… don’t they l-look burnt?”

‘A little bit,’ Bendy answered, looking around. ‘But not really. No burns.’

“Mmm.”

The parent and child were quiet.

‘Do not forget this, Bendy,’ Joey silently remarked after a while, the sun moving by degrees across the sky so slightly it appeared to not go at all. ‘When I paint, I do not think, but I know what I do. I think behind my mind. Sometimes I draw things that are… disturbing, you know?’

‘Sometimes, but I think everyone does,’ Bendy replied. Joey wondered just where he could have gotten such a brilliant, compassionate and empathetic child from, what did he do to deserve him? ‘I think that drawings and writing are a peek into the door of a person's mind that shows things they usually would not share.’

‘Right you are.’ Joey sighed in amazement. He loved his little darling devil, even through the burning cloud of pain that stormed and shrieked like a thousand banshees in his head. ‘And some of those minds are like Pandora's box. Or worse. Even if you are curious, you should not open them. Ever.’

‘I do not think your mind is like that,’ Bendy remarked. Johan tried not to tremble.

“There’s flecks of… not good things.”

‘Still not bad.’

‘It’s a wreck, Benderoo.’

‘Not bad.’

“Oh, Bendy.”

Joey hugged him, closing his eyes.

“It’s v-violent in there, my dear.” he murmured. “I might be afraid of the o-ocean, but that surrounds the small spaces that I can stand upon. My thoughts are… are like tidal waves, Bendy. Ebb, flow.”

‘But that is how the world goes. We need the tides.’

“But sometimes the tide might try to swallow you. It might lunge for you, l-like a famished lion I must f-fight.” Johan shivered, not with the thought of a beast devouring him, but the mere idea of the sea. “Blood upon the maw and bones within it.”

Bendy played with his father's hand, the thin palm much larger than his own soft plasmic ink one, releasing it to respond.

‘You are good, Papi.’

“I truly hope so.”

‘You are, Papi.’ the little toon insisted. ‘I know you are. You are my Papi, which must be good, and you always do the right thing.’

Johan smiled wryly: “You are too kind with me, Bendibop. I don't deserve that.”

‘Of course you do, Papi.’

Johan caressed his child's little horns through those tufts of keratin so much like his own.

“You really think I can be deserving of that?” he asked softly. “Even as I am a weapon?”

‘You are doing what you can. Sometimes you need to fight.’ Bendy smiled, hugging him sideways. Thin dark arms wrapped around the little inky body and Johan tucked him a little closer to himself. His smile sweetened a bit. ‘You are not alone. You have us, and the studio. Your family.’

“I guess you’re right, d-darling,” he murmured, laying a kiss on his child's head. “I got used to bein’ alone a long time ago, I suppose it’s h-hard to remember that I’m not anymore.”

‘Maybe we should have a day off,’ Bendy suggested. ‘With everyone. And have a picnic. Take a picture of it to hold it forever.’

‘For what?’

‘To remind you that we have got hope and each other,’ Bendy answered innocuously.

Joey smiled.

“We’ve made it pretty far, kid.”

[destielstuffandthings]

For @danceworshipper #27- “Kiss me” (Angsty to fluffy Destiel but they aren’t together yet)

Dean sighed heavily behind the steering wheel of the Impala. He nervously wiped his palms on the top of his thighs as the pulsating neon lights of the bar---no, gay bar--danced across Baby’s hood.

“Dean?” 

Castiels voice jerked Dean back to reality. “Yeah?”

“Would you be more comfortable if Sam were here instead of me?” 

Yes, he thought to himself. Because an angel, his best friend, and the guy he’s been in love with for-fucking-ever was sitting next to him looking like pure sin.

Instead of his old trench coat, Cas was wearing dark blue jeans that hugged his body in ALL the right places and had borrowed one of Deans’ old Rolling Stones t-shirts. The black cotton barely contained the massive biceps Cas had been hiding God knows where. His hair was looked like he just rolled out of bed but somehow was still sexy as hell.

“Nah, man. I’m good. Just gotta---,” he looked Castiel up and down quickly, “think. Of a game plan. Gotta think of a game plan,” he trailed off, willing his eyes to peel themselves away from the angel next to him.

“Alright. We know for certain that the siren is here tonight. We blend in, find it, lure it outside and kill it. That---is that still the plan?”

“Yeah, Cas, that’s the damn plan,” Dean snipped. He shook his head and stared out the window. “Sorry, I just---there’s a lot on my mind lately.”

Castiel frowned and rested his hand on Dean’s leg. “You know you can talk to me about anything, Dean. Can I help?”

Dean froze, his eyes glued to the hand on his knee. Shoulder touches and back pats were nothing new. But this was new.

 Reading too much into it, man. It’s not like that. He doesn’t feel that way abou---

“Dean?”

He snapped his head up, eyes focusing on the worried looking angel next to him.

“M’fine. Let’s get in, get the job done and get the fuck outta here.” He swung the door open and slammed it shut. Rounding the car, he opened the trunk and pulled out two bronze daggers. He handed one to Cas carefully. He’d justify it as being cautious not to cut the angel, but in reality he knew what happened when he felt Cas’ skin touch his own. He didn’t have time to unpack that right now, so he ducked his head and headed towards the entrance.

“Uh, the siren,” Dean tried to hide the tremble in his voice, “they go after people who’re---like---they make them wanna kill someone they---fuck,” he shook his head, looking straight ahead.

“Dean, I understand how they work,” Castiel nodded. “I’ll watch over you. Just, maybe don’t kiss anyone while were here. That’s usually how they infect their prey.” The angel offered a small smile.

Dean pressed his lips together. “Won’t be a problem.”

Dean pushed the door open and was bombarded by thumping music and the smell of sweat and alcohol. There were people gathered on the dance floor, writhing to the beat enough to make Dean blush.

Castiel walked up to the bar and leaned his elbows on it, effectively making his ass stick out. The bartender’s eyes lit up as he sauntered over.

“What can I get for ya, angel?”

Dean smirked and suppressed a laugh.

“Vodka tonic and a whiskey with a beer back, please,” Castiel purred.

Jesus fuck, kill me now, Dean thought. Of course he’d know is drink order.

The bartender came back and handed them their drinks with a wink. “Have a great time tonight, fellas.”

“Oh, we will,” Castiel smiled and actually winked back at the guy.

Dean was in hell. Agonizing hell. Seeing Cas act human was not helping his situation. Choosing to ignore it, he turned and rested his back against the bar, surveilling the crowd. He felt something brush against his shoulder and turned his head.

Castiel was leaning in to say something directly into Dean’s ear but stopped. Their faces mere inches apart. Dean licked his lips, his eyes bouncing from the angels mouth to his eyes.

“I uh---so, what do we do now?” Castiel tilted his head, looking Dean in the eye.

“We---,” Deans heartbeat was rapidly increasing, “we do the job, Cas.” Dean took his shot of whiskey and slid it down on the bar, grabbed his beer and nodded for Castiel to follow him.

He walked out onto the dance floor and took a long drink of his beer before turning around.

It wasn’t fair. No one should look this good.

Castiel set his drink down on the bar and raised an eyebrow at Dean. He pushed off the bar and slowly walked towards Dean, hips swaying a little more than they usually do. The lights danced across his face and lit up his eyes that were staring at the man in front of him. He raised his hand slightly, resting it against Dean’s hip and pulled him in close.

“Blend in,” is all he said before his other hand laid on the back of Dean’s neck, running his fingers through the short hair. His hips started slow, moving to the beat of the music.

Dean took the hint and wrapped his arm around the angel, pressing his groin against the other mans hips. He felt himself moving without thinking, letting Castiel take charge.

Feeling his friend grind against his thigh and grip the back of his neck was overwhelming. He felt himself slowly getting hard between them and prayed Cas didn’t notice.

“Dean,” Castiel breathed against the mans ear.

“Cas,” Dean all but moaned, tightening his grip on the angels shirt

“Dean, the siren, it’s watching us.”

Dean’s blood ran cold. He’d totally forgot they were on a hunt and not just getting dirty on the dance floor.

“Good, ok. Good,” Dean huffed. “Who uh, who’s it lookin’ at more, you ‘r me?”

Castiel turned his head, baring his neck to Dean who wanted nothing more than to lick a stripe up it.

“Me,” he confirmed.

“’Course he is,” Dean whispered. How could anyone NOT look at Castiel? “K, well, let’s lure it out.”

Reluctantly, Dean let go of the angel and reached out his hand for Cas. Once he interlocked their fingers, he led him off the dance floor and out the back exit.

Dean looked back and smiled at Cas, also noticing that the siren was following them.

He pushed the back door open and was relieved when the cool night air touched his skin. The back alley was dark and dripping wet, it stunk of vomit and an overflowing dumpster but Dean welcomed it. Anything to get his mind off what just happened.

“It should be here any moment,” Castiel whispered, reaching behind his back and gripping the blade.

“Wait,” Dean held his hand out to stop the angel. “Might scare it off if we ambush it right out the gate. We should---we have to distract it. Make it think it’s got a chance at infecting you.”

Castiel tilted his head. “How?”

The handle of the door slowly turned down, the door was about to open.

“Kiss me.”

Castiels eyes flew open. In an instant, Dean was being shoved against the wet brick wall. The angels body pressed tightly against the other mans, fisting the side of Deans shirt. Their lips collided in a rough kiss, all tongue and teeth.

“Well isn’t this a sight,” a voice called from behind them.

Castiel pulled away then, watching Deans chest rapidly rise and fall. He was panting himself, trying to regain his composure. Dean looked over the angels shoulder to see a short blonde man standing there with his arms crossed and smiling.

“You get your kicks outta watchin’ two guys make out, buddy?”

The man smiled brightly. “Maybe I do. Or maybe I want to join the party.”

Don’t kiss anyone Castiels voice rang through Dean’s head.

“Do you, now,” Castiel’s voice was deep and sultry. Dean didn’t want to know where he’d learned how to talk like that. He stepped up to the siren, tilting his head. “Sorry, but my boyfriend doesn’t share.”

In a swift movement, Castiel pulled the knife out from it’s hiding place and thrust it up in the sirens throat. It’s eyes widened as it tried to scream but failed. The blonde man shifted and turned into a grotesque, hairless monster before their eyes. Castiel pulled the knife out slowly, letting the body drop to the ground.

He turned to Dean who was still pressed against the wall.

“Dean, are you alright?”

Dean nodded, trying to control his emotions. “Cas, that was---that was awesome,” he smiled.

Castiel shrugged his shoulders as he stowed his blade.

Dean smiled and pushed off the wall. “Seriously, man. You can act. Dancing, flirting, the uh---the kissing. Didn’t know you had it in ya.”

Castiel walked up to Dean and braced one of his hands against the wall beside Deans head, crowding into his personal space.

“I’m full of surprises,” he whispered. He watched Dean lick his lips, feeling the mans breath on his face. He leaned in and captured Dean’s lips in a soft kiss.

[anninhiliation]

Ours

Masterlist    Three-way-list     Requests Close Nov 10

Anon:  Wassup Girl!!!!! I don't know if you do threesomes but if you do can you do a Zabdiel and Chris threesome. You are in a poly three way relationship and you make them jealous and they teach you that you are theirs and only theirs. Tons of smut please!!!! If you are uncomfortable with the 3way thing you don't have to lol ❤️❤️❤️❤️

You were the biggest secret Chris and Zabdiel had, as their contracts strongly recommended they remain single to appeal to the public. They always presented you as a close friend and nothing more. Yet, fans had theories you were secretly seeing Chris or Zabdiel, but what no one knew or expected was that you were seeing both. 

~~~~~~~~~

We were headed to a club tonight to celebrate the new EP and I was feeling bold. Chris and Zabdiel sat on the bus with Zabdiel sitting in front of me and Chris sitting next to me. I made sure to act normal until I entered the club. We were ushered to the VIP section which was upstairs, and I made my way to the bar ordering a sex on the beach. The DJ introduced himself quickly distracting the boys making everyone’s back turn to me. As the boys put on their stories their EP being played at the club I snuck into the general public. People were packed in tightly together making it difficult to find an easy spot for the boys to find me in. As I reached a spot where the lights often would fall upon and a few guys were close by for my own convenience. I watched the boys smile and laugh putting themselves on their stories until Zabdiel’s smile quickly changed. He was the first to notice I snuck away as he always liked to keep me within peripheral vision. I watched from the first floor as he lightly tapped Chris getting his attention and eyeing around hinting to my missing presence. Chris’s expression fell into a serious tone as he leaned on the railing looking into the mass of people. I took that as my cue to find the closest guy and dance against him. It was perfect timing as the lights shined on me long enough for them to notice. Zabdiel leaned on the railing next to Chris as he pointed in my direction. I raised my drink in the air, smirking as I locked eyes with the both of them. I grinded against the stranger as his hands held my hips helpping me dance to the music. If looks could kill, the death stares that Zabdiel and Chris were giving me would have sent me straight to the I.C.U. Zabdiel was the first to break the stare as he whispered something to Chris and walked away. Chris watched me as I grew bored of the first man and found a different one, My dancing didn’t last long as a familiar cologne pierced my senses. I felt the guy be shoved off me as Zabdiel wrapped his body around mine. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He hissed in my ear with his thick Puerto Rican accent as his palm rested dangerously close to my upper thigh, slowly approaching closer to my clothed soaked entrance. 

“I was just dancing papi” I innocently purred as I grinded against his upper thigh.

“You better beg for forgiveness niña or you won’t like us when we get you alone,” Zabdiel warned 

“Make me” I chuckled as I peeled myself out of Zabdiels hold and disappeared into the crowd.

I noticed Chris was no longer leaning on the railing watching, making a wave of heat build-up between my thighs. I pushed my way towards the stairs as someone grabbed me and pushed me out of the back exit of the club. Chris pinned me against the wall, as his chocolate eyes darkened with lust.

“I don’t think Zabdiel dismissed you, little girl” He growled as his arms caged me in

My entrance pulsated as my legs turned to jello knowing what I was in for. But I was feeling bratty tonight, and a brat does what a brat does best; disobey.

“He didn’t but I did” I taunted as I heard the metal door slam open

“Ella dijo make me” Zabdiel snarled as he approached the two of us

Chris looked over at me and smirked “Make me? Nena is looking for a punishment Zab” 

Chris moved his hand down from the brick wall and slid his hand to my hip and down to my thigh, sliding under my dress. His fingers moved the fabric of my panties to the side and teased my wet folds. Chris groaned as he looked over at Zabdiel and pulled his fingers out showing his glossed fingers to the tall blonde Puerto Rican.

“Mira she likes this. She wants this” He taunted as Zabdiel grabbed my chin and made me look at him 

“She needs a punishment to fit the crime” Zabdiel taunted licking his lips

“I guess we should go back to the hotel then” I chimed in 

The two men looked at each other as a devilish smile formed around Chris’s lips. 

“We are taking care of this here” he ordered looking back at me

“What? Estan loco wha-” I protested

“Bad behavior needs punishments immediately” Zabdiel explained

“On your knees” Chris ordered

“B-” I protested as Zabdiel pushed the back of my legs with his foot.

I let out a yelp as my legs bent sending me falling to my knees on the hard surface.

“La próxima vez obedece sin ayuda” Zabdiel barked as I looked at the two of them

“Crawl over to Zab and beg for forgiveness” Chris instructed cutting me off from being able to sass back

On all fours I crawled in front of Zabdiel, wincing at the cold rugged concrete pierced my knees. Yet, my underwear soaked up as Zabdiel watched my every movement. I sat up sitting on my calves looking at him directly in the eyes, as his lust-filled chocolate eyes pierced through my soul.

“Papi I’m sorry” I purred biting my lower lip

“Puedes hacer mejor que eso” Zabdiel taunted as he bent down wrapping his large hand around my throat 

He applied light pressure as a warning, waiting for me to try again. My bottom lip quivered as my entrance created its own heartbeat.

“Papi lo siento perdoname no tienia derecho” I pleaded as I heard Chris chuckling in the background

“Not good enough” Zabdiel groaned as he let go of my throat and pulled me to my feet. 

I yelped as Chris swatted my ass before pulling up my dress. 

“You like playing with strangers nena?” He hissed

The cold air nipped my freshly exposed skin as Chris swatted my ass again. I let out a moan as his hand came into contact with my skin. 

“Answer him” Zabdiel huffed as his hand wrapped around my neck again

“Mmm Y- yes” I instigated as Zabdiel tightened his grip

“Who do you belong to nena?” Chris asked as his hands snaked around my chest, and pulled in my nipples through the thin fabric.

I whimpered and squirmed as both men held me tightly in their grip. 

“Vos y Zab” I whined 

“¿Y que hiciste?” Chris continued

“I disobeyed” I whimpered

Zabdiel groaned as he let go of my neck and Chris let go of my hardened buds. I was turned around by Chris as he lifted my dress further up my body exposing my black lacy thong. Zabdiel smacked my ass and pulled my underwear down exposing my soaked core. 

“Carajo shes loving this” Zabdiel hissed as he teased my pearl

I bucked my hips as he pulled his fingers away making me whimper. 

“Fuck me’ I begged as Chris cupped my breasts

“Or we could leave you like this and go back inside” Chris recommended 

“No! Please papi no” I urged 

“I think that’s a good punishment, look how needy she is, we should just leave her in her own mess” Zabdiel taunted

“I’ll be good I promise, just fuck me” I insisted

Zabdiels hands slithered back down to my core and teased it. 

“Who does this cunt belong to?” He questioned as slipped two fingers in my tight soaked hole

“Vos y Chris” I moaned out as Chris marked my neck

Chris’s hands squeezed my breasts as Zabdiel curled his fingers. The double stimulation sent heat to rise from my body as my breath hitched. 

“Fuck baby” Chris huffed 

He pulled away and unzipped his pants making my mouth water as Zabdiel pulled out and brought me to my knees. The Puerto Rican quickly unzipped his pants too as I encircled Chris’s tip cleaning up his pre-cum making him moan. I massaged the other shaft as I bobbed my head alternating between both. Drool pooled around my mouth and dripped down my chin as I gagged on Zabdiel. Choking for air as I came up, Chris quickly shoved himself in. I gagged as I rested my hands on Chris’s thighs until he pulled me out. As I choked on my own spit, Zabdiel lifted me up and without warning fully inserted himself in my wet folds. He kissed my neck and collar bone as Chris aligned himself with my tighter hole. Zabdiel slowed down, letting Chris slip in as I arched my back leaning on Chris. 

“Who do you belong to?” Chris grunted 

“Vos y Zabdiel” I moaned out as Chris massaged my breasts

The double stimulation had sent me flying into the clouds as both men grunted profanities. A knot built up in my stomach as Zabdiel grunted how I belonged to them and only them. My walls hugged Zabdiel as I fought my bodily desires. 

“Fuck papis im close” I whimpered 

“Cum all over Zabdiel nena” Chris groaned as he slapped my ass

I let the knot snap as my thighs shook around both men. My head leaned on Chris’s shoulder as my eyes rolled back. My body entered into a state of sweet ecstasy as I was ridden out on both ends. Chris and Zabdiel quickly followed, filling my holes to the brim as the two let out a string of Spanish curses. They both slowly pulled out satisfied with the amount of cum dripping down my leg. As I went to grab my underwear from the ground, Zabdiel quickly stepped on it.

“You have to spend the rest of the night with our cum dripping down your thighs so people know you’re ours,” Zabdiel instructed 

[iffyswriting]

Leave Em Alone (Dababy)

Pairing: Dababy x Black! Thick! OC

Genre: smut ofc

Summary: Sweet and simple.

Word Count: 1286.

Note: Soft as fuck and something that's been written. I'm going to try and start posting on here more, I super duper promise.

"So, you blew my phone up just to come over and cuddle me?" The gentle glow of the TV outlined their shadows against the wall. The TV served simply as background noise their attention solely on each other.

"Mhmm." Jonathan's eyes were closed but she could tell he wasn't really sleeping or as tired as he was trying to portray. His arms tightened around her waist, his head nuzzled into her neck as he inhaled her scent.

"If you wanted a teddy bear you could've just gone to Walgreens."

"Why would I do that when I got you?"

"Boy-" Before she could start, he leaned his head upwards and pressed his lips against hers enticing her into a kiss. An innocent pecked turned into something more as he slipped his tongue into her mouth, a pleasing smile quirking on his lips when he finished.

"You're not slick." She whispered breathlessly, her eyes hazing over in lust.

"Wasn't tryna be." He returned easily, his growing erection becoming more visible to both of them.

"I'ma take care of you." She said coyly, moving downwards towards his boxers her hands rubbing all over his member. Pulling it out gently, she pumped him slightly, letting his hand cover her's.

"Poke out them pretty plump ass lips." He took his thumb and edged her mouth open, her big brown eyes staring up at him as he rubbed his tip on her mouth. She gently lapped at his head, savoring the taste of his precum.

Suddenly she felt as if she had to go harder, letting her tongue slide down his length all the way down to his balls. She repeated this motion, moving all the way back up to his tip, giving it a peck. She teased his tip more with soft suckles, deciding to play around.

Feeling unsatisfied with her pace, Jonathan gripped her hair harder forcing her all the way down. She gagged automatically at the suddenness of his movements and bobbed her neck accordingly to meet his faster thrusts. Slobber dripped down the side of her mouth as she began to hum sending vibrations to his dick.

Niecy inwardly smirked at his raspy groans feeling pride in making him shiver. Her pussy throbbed against the confines of her panties as she kept direct eye contact with him, her stomach twisting into knots at his lustful glare.

She slurped up all his dripping cum, puckering her lips as she went even faster. He whimpered slightly and feeling as if she had him, she wrapped her hand around him jacking him off. Removing her hand once more, she went all the way down letting his dick hit the back of her throat.

He pulled her back panting slightly, unable to handle these sensations for so long. He tilted up her chin, biting his lip at how messy her mouth looked splattered with her spit and his kids. Niecy got up and slid onto his lap, her chest in full view.

"Let me see ya titties." Giving a crooked grin, he easily, plucked away the thin straps of her bra, letting her breasts topple out. He began to fondle them, his hands molding the flesh as it was clay. Tweaking with her nipples, he kissed her neck sucking at the skin with want.

Gasping, Niecy leaned her forehead against his, letting her head trail back towards his dick. She pumped him with ease, letting her thumb swipe over his tip it becoming sticky with his cum. She removed her hand moving back, pressing her covered pussy directly against his manhood.

Swiping her thumb against her tongue for a quick taste she began to grind on him, his hands gripping her thick hips his pulsating dick thudding against her soaked pussy. He attempted to hold her still but she continued her torturous movements, her pace tantalizingly slow.

"You such a tease." He breathed out, Niecy giving a light chuckle, her hooded eyes making him moan lowly.

"When we beg for what we want, we get it faster. I thought, we learned this lesson before?" She cooed out, his cute pout making her own lips upturn. His pout flipped into a smirk as his fingers circled her underwear.

He moved her panties to the side, slipping inside of her quickly. They hissed in unison, Niecy dug her nails into his shoulder blades as he stretched her out thoroughly. Her stomach began to flutter as he let his hands slide down from her hips to her thighs.

"Oh fuck-" She quivered, clenching around him immediately. He gripped her thighs, picking her up only to slam her right back down on to his length, his strokes unyielding and harsh. The noises they made were competing with the TV, as they increased in volume slowly drowning it out.

Resituating their bodies He put his arm around her neck and began to drill her from the back, he tugged at her ear as he fucked her and she cried out, the over sensations edging her on. Niecy whimpered, her eyes doting with tears as her breasts bounced up and down feverishly.

Things began to slow down as he flipped her over letting her back hit the soaked sheets as he propped her legs up, slipping in again easily. Instead of how rough he was before he was much more tender in how he moved.

"Gimme a kiss." He whispered as he deepened his strokes, his hand firmly around her neck. He looked straight into her eyes, fucking her harder with each breath. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him in deeper as she tilted her head up for a passionate kiss.

She could feel her orgasm pushing forward, a low rumble of a moan exiting her throat as she spilled everywhere, bliss dotting her brain.

His movements became extra sloppy as he found himself unable to hold back. Feeling him begin to unravel, Niecy kept up her eye contact, dragging her nails against his back their bond making him spill deep inside of her. Twitching slightly at being filled up, Niecy's chest heaved up and down as he slid out of her.

"If you wanna keep cumming in me, you're going to have to pitch in on this birth control." She whispered slightly fatigued as his head returned to its place back into her neck.

"You don't wanna have my baby?"

"That's not what I said-I mean could you see me as anyone's mother?" Niecy said jokingly, chewing on her bottom lip in a nervous laugh.

"Yeah, the mother of my child." Her face softened at his serious tone and she couldn't fight back her toothy smile as she kissed his forehead.

"You can be so cute when you want to be."

"I'm not cute, I'm fucking handsome."

"You my baby so you automatically cute."

"I'm going to sleep, so Ion have to listen to you no more." He made himself more comfortable tightening his hold on her waist. Niecy nodded her head, her solemn heartbeat not matching with the racing thoughts that were going on in her head.

"Mhmm."

[vaultgirl2077]

This was the one, she could feel it.

But more importantly - this was her mission and in all honesty? Maya was glad she was going alone.

It may have been a rash decision, but there was no way she was going to put anyone she cared about at the mercy of the Institute's best weapon. There were no regrets. Even if her heartbeat was beating so erratically that she feared it would stop, in these moments she was grateful for the freedom of being able to run wild without the concern of someone getting hurt. 

As she crossed the bridge over the remains of the old USS Riptide and approached the CIT ruins, Maya tuned her radio into the courser signal. Just as she had suspected, the beeping began, telling her there was one in the area. With the psycho kicking in, she began anxiously firing off random rounds into anything even remotely questionable that she came across. No matter how many bullets she pumped into the countless raiders, not an ounce of fear left her.

After some initial confusion as she tried to determine the direction where the signal was coming from, she eventually tracked it to Greenetech Genetics just off to the east. With the outside threat eliminated, she popped a stealth boy that she’d picked up at HQ and used her catlike reflexes to quickly slip inside. 

Despite her almost paranoid caution to avoid any Gunners she encountered, there were more than a platoon scattered throughout the building. Way more than she was used to encountering at random in the wastes.

The thing that put her off the most was that when she got to the higher floors, their numbers had depleted to almost nothing, just the occasional scream from above as they begged the machine to spare them. A gruff but calm voice could be heard asking barely intelligible questions to the remaining mercenaries before silencing shots would follow. 

Some eavesdropping told Maya all that she needed to know - The courser was here for an escaped synth that the Gunners had been stupid enough to take captive. They had been foolish enough to believe there was strength in numbers and had underestimated it when it ambushed them

After witnessing the carnage first hand, it was no wonder why the Coursers were so feared. With hardly any effort it had single-handedly ripped apart a small army. Such excellent precision and ruthlessness that she knew it would be stupid to attempt a full frontal assault.

While it was distracted looting the bodies of it’s latest prey, Maya decided her only chance would be to hide out in one of the abandoned offices and watch its movements in the hope she could come up with a somewhat feasible plan.

Careful to make sure that her breathing was as quiet as possible, she monitored the onslaught and noticed that the synth had a pattern of using stealthboys to gain a seemingly perfect advantage over its prey.

While ensuring that she was covered by the turned over metal desk, she readied her pistol while the synth's back was turned and fired three perfect shots into the back of its head.

The action barely seemed phase it.

The Courser merely grumbled at the inconvenience and switched on its stealthboy, its skin turning a shimmering camouflage and all but the outline of its body vanished. Without a moment's hesitation bolts of electricity flew across the air and fired at Maya as if it could see through the barriers. For all she knew it probably could...

"You've been following me. Are you here for the synth?"

She remained silent but convinced that the painful thudding in her chest was giving her away regardless.

As she rummaged in her bag for her grenade, Maya darted across the floor and slipped around the door frame. She peeked her head around to try and catch any changes in the light that would give its position away so she could gain the advantage.

But the moment she saw it, it was too late. The synth was on top of her in seconds, picking her up by her throat and lifting her into the air as if she were a Mr Jangles doll.

Maya gasped for breath as she kicked it with all the strength she had, but its iron grip only tightened.

The chems burned through her system and gave her extra strength, but it still wasn't enough as the synth's own stamina outmatched her's entirely.

As white spots started take over her pulsating and fading vision, Maya pulled her last trump card and brought her fist into the air and in line with its head, revealing the metallic gleam of the powerfist attached to her arm.

The courser barely had time to open his mouth before the fist came down on him and he was forced to release the grip around her neck. It stumbled backwards and reached for its gun again, but Maya was too quick -  She staggered into the wall behind her, gasping for breath as she pulled the peg of the explosive still clutched in her free hand.

Even then, it didn’t stop. Not even with the synthetic skin melting off its exoskeleton as it rose from the flames. Still it readied its gun.

Maya’s face was a mask of pure horror, shell shocked at what she was witnessing coupled with the uncanny deja vu of an old world movie she’d seen with Nate.

An electric blue laser skimmed the tail of her coat, missing her by a fraction of an inch and jolting her back to reality.

There was no way that Courser would have missed. Though the explosion hadn’t downed her enemy entirely, at the very least it had clearly fried its aiming module. Lady Luck was her name for a reason and today it was proved once more.

Before it had the chance to re-calibrate, Maya fired her own gun repeatedly at each limb. The final bullet hit a vulnerable point in the armor, directly on the kneecap and sending the courser to the floor at last. Using the momentary collapse to her advantage, Maya pulled ammunition from her coat pocket and reloaded.

Almost at the exact moment that the synth had managed to reach its gun - she emptied the fresh barrel into its back.

The courser went completely limp on the ground, the rifle tumbling out of his hand and skidding across the floor. The dull thud the perfect coda of the battle. Silence performed an encore as the dust settled.

Nothing but the Sole survivor, stood amongst the sea of bodies, remained. Maya blinked repeatedly at the carnage, not being able to believe the odds that the countless mercenaries had been here to weaken it before she arrived.

“He...He deserved to die…” A small voice called out from across the hall.

Maya shot her eyes in the direction of it, only now noticing the girl locked away behind the glass who had obviously been observing the battle from her hiding place. 

“I know you’re not here for me, but… I can’t get out. Not on my own.”

Maya approached the room slowly as the girl spoke. 

“I’m going to have to trust you to help me.”

“Relax, it’s going to be okay.” Maya reassured as she examined the terminal outside the door.

“If you can’t open it, the guard put the password in a toolbox over there under the stairs.” She bit her thumb nail anxiously. “I saw him do it. He could never remember it.”

Deciding that there was no point wasting time with a hack, Maya located the toolbox and a few moments later had opened the door. The terrified girl couldn’t get out of there quick enough. She made sure she was close to the elevator before daring to address her savior again. 

“Thank you. I don’t know what to say.”

“Hey wait a second. Are you going to be okay? Who even are you?” Maya took a step towards her but backed up again once she noticed the girl’s clear discomfort. 

“My... Institute designation is K1-98,” She winced as if the designation itself caused her pain. “But I prefer Jenny. So yes, I’m a synth. If you hadn’t already guessed.” Jenny finally looked Maya in the eyes. “I knew they’d send a Courser. I just… didn’t think he’d find me so fast. I think I could have lost him too. But then I was captured by these...mercenaries. And all this happened.”

“Are you...going to be okay? Did they hur-” Maya began but Jenny pressed the button to call the elevator, cutting her off.

“Thanks again for your help. I’m gonna look for supplies before heading out.”

“I can give you some supplies, There’s a place that you can go, where all syn-”

“Before you finish that sentence, no, I don’t need any more help. The Commonwealth is unforgiving. I need to make it on my own or I’m dead.” A loud ding and the elevator doors opened behind her. “Maybe we’ll meet again, under better circumstances. I hope we do.” With a tired smile, Jenny entered the elevator and left.

Once more Maya was alone in the eerie silence. Each step through the rubble echoed as she approached the fallen hunter. It was so quiet that you could almost hear the sun rise in the morning sky. 

With her bag set down near its head, Maya retrieved a scalpel and set her equipment up with a little too much care for what she was about to do, even going through the effort of arranging the tools in order of size. A strange preparation ritual, but she wasn’t exactly sure how one was meant to prepare themselves mentally  when it came to cutting open a head and digging around.

 After taking a deep breath, she wrinkled her nose and made the first incision, though not before she turned his ruined face into the ground so he wouldn’t be able to look at her.