#crying thinking ab how she’d pin you………..also

[daysofourlivesrecaps]

Monday, 22 May 2023

Okay, let's get this one out of the way upfront since it doesn't go anywhere and every other storyline is actually connected: Nicole and EJ are not getting married. Or, at least, she didn't say yes to his hasty "let's get back at my brother" proposal, anyway.

Nicole calls EJ out for this, and backs up her "you pulled this moment out of your ass" case with the simple, observable fact that he's not even proposing with a ring. I hate being on Nicole's side for any reason, but she's got you there, Elvis.

He admits that this is somewhat true, but also confesses his genuine love to her. She is unable to reciprocate. Which typically would feel like an honest answer, but this is Nicole we're talking about so it's probably a lie built on another lie to hide six more lies. Nicole is like a slum lord who uses lies as the shoddy building material for the house that is her life. Which she then rents to herself.

Meanwhile, Colin is still up on that rooftop, waving a gun and threatening to throw Paulina off to her death. And it occurs to me: Jackée is, in the common parlance, a big beautiful woman. She's easily twice the size of this scrawn-job. So I'm not sure how he thinks he's going to —

Oh. Right. He can just threaten to shoot Chanel if Paulina doesn't jump. That actually makes a lot of sense.

Rafe tends to the rolling pinned Abe. Nothing new has been added to this situation since Friday but I'm still tickled by the idea that the mayor and the police commissioner are having a little lie-down on the floor of a bakery while the women sort all of this out.

Jada questions Sloan for her role in all of this (which is still none — *none role*)  but  is interrupted by a call from Talia, who's still ugly-crying about... [gestures to encompass the entirety of Talia's life since she arrived in Salem].  So Jada rushes off to help her and Sloan takes about eight seconds to work out that her shitty brother has been using Jada's sister as his accomplice.

She shares this information with Trask, who initially came here to do the two things she does best: ignore due process and gloat. And Trask is forced to concede that *okay, maybe Sloan didn't have anything to do with any of this, but when did that ever stop us from locking people up because we just don't like them?* Man, I want to like Trask. She's a fun character, played by a very capable performer. But sometimes this "overzealous DA" shit breaks me out of my soap bubble and harshes my buzz a little.

Jada confers with Talia and the two of them work out that Colin must be on the roof because Jada's a pretty good detective but also because *seriously there's only one hotel in town and he's been going on about rooftop tragedies and justice this entire time and can we just get on with this, please??*

So they head up there and we quickly find ourselves in a standoff: Jada holding a gun on Colin, with Talia flailing and weeping at her side. Colin still holding a gun on Paulina and ranting in Extreme British (eg, "oi, me mum's dead, innit!").

Chanel is also here. I guess.

At the hospital, Abe insists that Rafe find Paulina and then gives himself... I don't know, an aneurism or a stroke or something. And okay, it was a pretty intense line read, but that seems extreme.

Rafe discusses Abe's condition with an Actual New Doctor (Tripp is still out of town and Kayla's not in this one so I guess they had no choice) and she says the mayor will need surgery so can we please get his family to sign off on that? "Yeah, mentioning his family is kinda how we got in this situation in the first place," says Rafe. "Can I just call his son, who's offscreen in Johannesburg?"

Actual New Doctor knows this isn't, strictly speaking, the right way to handle this. But she'd also love to come back for more episodes so she says it's okay.

(Speaking of Quintessential Soap Moments, I bet if you asked ten people to draw what they think a soap opera is, like five of them would come up with something like this.)

And back on the rooftop, Talia charges Colin and they both plummet off the roof in an entirely plausible and completely-true-to-how-basic-physics-work moment.

(God, I'm glad I worked out how to do proper screencaps. I cannot imagine trying to convey this with a glare-filled camera-pointed-at-the-screen image.)

Sloan (whom Trask decided to release after all) and Eric are walking across the plaza with this very hotel in actual view. So I can only assume these two bodies are going to land right in front of them the next time we check back in on this plot.

But I know how this show works, and that probably won't be tomorrow because nothing exciting ever happens on a Wednesday.

EDIT: I have just been informed that, Lemon, today is only Monday. So maybe something will happen after all!

[firein-thesky]

thinking ab roughhousing w maki…………………she likes to wrestle w you……..

[quaememinisse]

Apple Of His Eye

Author’s note: I know no one reads anything I post here, but I’ll tell you about it anyway. This is a little vignette based off of my story Secrets Aren’t for Keeping (click for the story). I started watching The Falcon and The Winter Soldier a few days ago with my boyfriend. I love my boyfriend, and he is a sex god. I’ve never cum so much in my life, on God, as they say. I still write sexual stories because that’s my thing and it makes me happy and turns me on. Hopefully it does the same for you as a reader? Idk ‘cause NO ONE reads anything I write here!   ¯\_(-_-)_/¯

Warnings: dirty talk, cum fetish, impregnation, dubious consent, smut

Theme: Romance, Hurt/Comfort

          "God, I wanna cum inside of you, baby," Bucky explains, gazing down at her darkly. Utter lust clouds his vision. He often starts to talk dirty to her the closer he is to climax. 

          "No," Cherise lifts her head to pressure his lower abdomen where he thrusts roughly between her thighs. He moves her hands away, sighing with frustration. 

          "Why, Cherry? Aren't we trying to have a baby?" He slows his motions, anticipating her answer, cocking a chestnut eyebrow. She sighs.

          "I just don't want you to tonight."

Bucky frowns, picking up the pace to get her moaning again. 

          "Don't cum inside me," she breathes, pressing on his abs again as she begins to feel an orgasm approaching.

          "Let me..." Bucky exhales, losing rhythm slightly. She knew he was going to cum.

She shoves at him lightly.

          "Not inside me—"

          "Let me..."

Cherise's orgasm causes her to pause, and Bucky to moan with finality. To Bucky, it always felt good inside her, especially when she would orgasm. Her body spasms rhythmically around him, milking him. He had no choice but to ejaculate. Cherise felt a thick, wet spurt. It was more of a powerful splatter, coating her cervix. It was very hot in temperature, almost uncomfortable. Her eyes widen and she gasps. She could always tell when Bucky came inside of her. The sensation is unmistakable. His loads were always massive and filled her completely. She struggles immediately to start to position herself out from under him. But his weight pins her still as his body writhes in pleasure. As the series of powerful, hot, streams of pressure erupt inside her consecutively, Cherise gazes up at Bucky, his oceanic eyes rolling back and closing. She always finds this part to be such a turn on, despite not having wanted this ending tonight. The soldier would always grow weak all over when he came, falter such that even his bionic arm trembles and whirs mechanically.

          He wanted her to take all of it. He wanted to complete the mission. He always did eventually. Bucky's sperm was otherworldly. Cherise could never understand how there was always so much of it, yet she was still not getting pregnant. She glares up at him and he looks confused.

          "Don't you want that baby? ...Hmmm?" he inquires, cocking his eyebrow again, and this time his head, too. This expression irritates Cherise. It almost feels like he’s talking down to her. As if she doesn’t already know they should be having a lot of sex this week if they stand another chance of trying to conceive. If she hadn’t caught a glimpse of Bucky pulling her phone out of her purse earlier in the week to see where she was in her cycle (she used an app on her phone and diligently tracked her periods), she would have peacefully been sleeping by now. She dreads the coming early morning, knowing she has to catch up with Dr. Cho on some new projects. She moans, clutching at his taut pecks. Bucky's lips on her face cause Cherise to smile, regardless.

          "You're fertile today, remember? I had to," he breathes, clutching the back of her neck in his flesh hand, kissing her forehead lovingly. 

          "Try to stay on your back for a while. It’s worth a try," Bucky prompts when she tries to get up. He hadn't even pulled out yet, and his cum had only just begun to leak out a bit. 

          "I wanna get the wipes—"

          "No—baby, yuh gotta let my sperm travel. Relax for a bit, wouldja?" Bucky presses desperately. She sighs. He physically stops her when she tries to rise again.

          "Hey, I mean it. Maybe this is why you're not getting pregnant, Cherise.” She looks away from him, closing her eyes. He sounds irritated when he speaks again, “You always wanna go grab the wipes right after we finish." Cherise acknowledges this information by stopping her struggle against his bionic arm. He wasn't planning on letting her up. 

          "...Do you not like it when I cum inside you?"

          "I didn't say that."

Bucky sighs, wondering what he has done wrong. Lately, he feels as if he’s constantly bothering his wife. She has become less patient, less interested in making love. It’s unlike her.

           “You’re acting like it,” he explains.

           “…James…”

It had felt good, but she didn't like going to bed full of cum every night. She was tired of sex becoming more of a mandatory experience rather than for pleasure. She was tired of not getting pregnant when she and Bucky fucked like rabbits since the moment they got together. Bucky’s apologetic and confused expression makes her feel badly suddenly. He sighs. 

          "Do you not want to get pregnant?" he asks, "What's wrong?"

          “I didn’t say that, James.”

          “You just told me not to cum inside of you. You haven’t requested that since we decided to try and have a baby.”

          “Well, you did, didn’t you?”

Anger surfaces on his handsome face, the jaw tightening as he bites his teeth hard at the back of his mouth.

           “Don’t speak to me like that. What is the matter with you this week?” Bucky asks sincerely, meeting her eyes and trying to read them. She looks away from him, pushing up on his chest. He doesn’t budge. He removes her pressing hands away from his torso where they had wandered.

           “Can you respect me and just talk to me?” Bucky asks, cocking his head to the side.

          "...I'm frustrated. It’s not working, Bucky.”

He cups her chin, a lot less angry now.

          “It will…we just have to keep trying—”

          “It’s been six months, James. It’s not working! …I’m scared."

          "Scared? Why?"

Cherise closes her eyes. Bucky pulls out at last, but remains atop her, tresses of his thick brown hair falling free of the bun at the back of his head and dusting his chiseled cheek.

          "Scared of what, baby? I'm not gonna let anything happen to you—"

          "What if I just can’t get pregnant?"

Her eyes water. The soldier reaches for tissues on the night stand, keeping Cherise resting beneath his body. He wasn’t kidding about having her lie on her back after sex. Although she knew and had meant to inform him that this added no benefit in attempts to conceive, she gave up momentarily. A few tears escape Cherise’s eyes and he dabs them away, kissing her forehead repeatedly.

           “We went to the doctor last month, babe. They said things can take time and we should keep trying for a few more months…it’ll be okay, Cherry,” Bucky promises. She shakes her head.

           “You don’t know that. You can’t know that. What if I’m just infertile?”

           “Don’t say that, Cherry. We’ll figure it out.” He watches her close her eyes and begin to cry audibly. He sits up and pulls her into his arms. He was beginning to feel like a failure deep down, and it rubbed him the wrong way. Badly. It was part of the reason he would grab Cherise as soon as she got home at the end of the day. He wanted to know he was still virile. In that moment, he finds himself not feeling so. He had never tried to get a woman pregnant before, though he’d had many women. He couldn’t figure out why it was so difficult. He figured all he had to do was not pull out and it would simply happen. Easier said than done. He had seen Cherise cry over this a few times in the past month, but it becomes clearer to him now how much she’s struggling. The previous weekend, she had woken up crying in bed, and he had turned on the lamp to figure out what was wrong. She had recited to him in vivid and precise detail a dream she’d had about having twin girls. How happy it made her. The tears were for joy that something like that could happen, and also for pain, the fear that the crib they had set up in one of their house’s spare bedrooms may never be full.

           “I’m sorry,” Bucky says, meaning it. He was sure it was his fault. There were going to be lifelong effects from the serum Hydra had given him all those years ago. He figured it must have affected his fertility, too. They share silence for a moment. Bucky’s warm chest against Cherise’s ear has a calming effect. She stops crying shortly.

           “It’s just…I’m getting impatient. And I’m sore because we have sex so much.”

           “You’re sore? You shoulda told me,” Bucky explains, looking into her eyes apologetically. He was naturally horny every day. He often woke up like that for as long as he could possibly remember. Cherise’s libido matched his during the right phases of her cycle, but when he’d approached her after she showered and pulled off her robe, he could tell she wasn’t really in the mood tonight. It took coaxing, but he had managed to get her turned on enough to do the deed.

           “I do want a baby, James…it’s frustrating to me,” she admits.

           “I’m getting a little frustrated, too, doll. But I think we should keep trying naturally for a few more months. If you’re not pregnant by Christmas, then maybe we could try IVF—”

           “Do you know how much that would cost?”

Bucky sighs, “Money isn’t a factor, Cherry. You know I have the money from the VA, and what you make working for the Avengers, it wouldn’t be—”

           “I just don’t know if I could go through something like that,” Cherise explains, her voice breaking again.

           “Please don’t cry, babe,” Bucky says sweetly, kissing her forehead more, but she starts, and his heart shatters.

           “If we tried IVF and it still didn’t work—”

           “You gotta stop thinkin’ like that, doll. You’re stressing yourself out real bad…maybe that’s why we’re having so much trouble.”

Cherise shakes her head, not wanting to accept that maybe he’s right. Cherise rarely relaxed. She was always working. If she wasn’t working, she was working out. She liked to be a productive person and rarely ever even took time off.

           “I’ve been wanting you to take it easy on yourself. Stress can really mess with your hormones and your body.”

           “…I don’t know what to do with myself, James.”

He reaches for another tissue and she blows her nose.

           “Please, Cherry, take some time off. You know we can afford it. You don’t gotta be killing yourself with work.”

           “I know…but I’m used to being a hard worker.”

           “You don’t gotta do that, baby. ‘Cause I’m right here.”

Bucky’s hands rubbing her lower back and shoulders cause her to calm down some more. A wetness presents around her bottom and she pulls the covers back to find she and Bucky have made a mess of the sheets. She blushes furiously as Bucky’s eyes follow hers.

           “I’m sorry,” he says, “I just thought it’d be a good time to try,” he explains, gazing over at their calendar on the wall where Cherise started to write a giant star on the days she was supposed to be ovulating. Bucky checked the calendar religiously since she started doing it, peeking at her fertility app a few times a week on top of that. He stands up to grab the baby wipes she kept on the dresser. Cherise casually hands him three before tending to herself. They clean themselves in silence.

           “Have you ever thought about adoption?” Cherise asks. Bucky sits in front of her in bed. He gazes down, his eyebrows clenching, his hands massaging her lower back deeply.

           “It hasn’t really crossed my mind…I want you to have my baby,” he explains. Her heart nearly explodes at the desperation, the longing in his eyes and voice.

           “I—I want it to be ours,” Bucky explains, gripping her hips very tightly suddenly. A moment passes where she finds herself looking up at him. Bucky was territorial of her a lot of the time. He wanted her to be his in every way possible. Down to planting a part of himself within her and watching it grow. Cherise begins to understand how important it is for him to impregnate her himself. He wanted to feel like a man. It would make him feel in tune with his masculinity. It would make him feel as though he’d finally done something good in the past century.

           “I want that, too,” Cherise says dreamily, breathlessly. She kisses Bucky with meaning. His grin against her lips makes her happy.

           “So, speak to your supervisor. Tell them you need to take a sabbatical. We could even just…disappear somewhere nice. Just you and me, Cherry,” Bucky adds, his eyes wide suddenly, excited, his mechanical hand clutching her ankle, “Imagine how un-stressed you’d feel on an uncharted island. Huh, babe?” His arm whirs excitedly. He grins down at her and she nods.

           “Yeah, we could find a place…take a quinjet…I know the team wouldn’t mind. Hell, they’ll even help us find some nice remote place. Maybe just somethin’ like what Barton got for his family. For us. For our son, when you finally get pregnant with him.” The words spilling out of Bucky’s mouth sound like paradise to her. She traces her index and middle fingers down his mechanical arm.

           “Please, Cherise. Just take some time off. It’ll do you some good. It’ll do us some good. I know this is frustrating, and I don’t want us to turn against each other.”

Cherise starts to wonder if maybe she just didn’t listen to her husband often and well enough. He had asked her a few times in the past month to take a vacation. Even if it just meant that they’d stay home together. Bucky hated that many mornings, he would wake up to find Cherise already gone to work, and he himself was getting up as early as 5:30 in the morning to go and teach fitness classes to veterans, the side job he was passionate about doing even though he was technically retired.

           “I don’t know if I want to go anywhere too far…”

           “Why not?” Bucky asks.

           “There’s so much to do—”

           “This is what I’m talking about, baby…you’re always working yourself insane.”

She knows he’s right.

           “Tell me how to get you to relax. Tell me how,” Bucky begs. She realizes that right now, he wants to have a child more than she does. He rarely begged her to do anything.

           “I don’t know, babe. I’m just very type A,” Cherise explains.

           “Boy, I know that,” he explains.

           “What if I’m just broken?” Cherise asks, her voice breaking again. Bucky clutches her face, shaking his head.

           “No,” he whispers, “That’s not true. Don’t say it.”

He spends time comforting her until she falls asleep against his chest. And after gently lying her head on the pillow without waking her, Bucky stares at her, crying quietly. He presses his flesh hand over her flat stomach a long moment, wishing and hoping that maybe he got it right this time…

                                                     PRESENT DAY

           Despite how much she hates being pregnant, Bucky can’t stop looking at Cherise and taking photos of her. He never would have thought she’d be coming to term for a second time. She pushes her hands up to shroud her face.

           “Damn it, James—I said no more photos,” Cherise explains in exasperation.

           “Please,” Bucky begs, “You look so beautiful right now. You don’t even know.”

           “I look like a balloon, James.”

He grins. At almost seven months pregnant with their son, Bucky knew Cherise’s energy wasn’t going to last the entire day, but Christina had really wanted to go apple picking as a family after having done it in school as a field trip, and neither Cherise nor Bucky planned on letting her miss out on that.

           “What about this one, mumma?!” Christina calls ahead of them, picking up an apple that had fallen on the ground. The fall wind whips Cherise’s hair out of her eyes long enough for Bucky to get a perfect shot of her face as she gazes in the direction their daughter had started running.

           “No running, peanut—there’s other people picking apples!” Cherise calls. But she doesn’t bother to run after the six-year-old. She hasn’t the energy. Bucky laughs as the child comes running back to them with a bright red apple in her small hands.

           “Very red, baby girl,” Cherise explains, taking the apple from her, “This one will go very well in a pie.”

Christina claps and smiles up at her mother, very proud of herself. She always basked in the light of Cherise’s approval. It made Bucky smile. Cherise places the apple into the growing bag he’s carrying with his bionic limb. Christina grabs Cherise’s hand and starts to lead her ahead.

           “Don’t forget the bag, daddy,” she explains, pausing to look back at him and make sure he still has it. Bucky laughs, “I got your apples, baby. Don’t worry.” Christina flashes her father a smile and he whips his phone out of his pocket again to photograph the trio walking together. The true apples of his eye.

[marie-in-the-hallway]

Watermelon Sugar pt 1

wc: 2.3k

warnings: minor sexual content, swearing

...

Jenna doesn't know how her life came to be like this.

She was a good person; she had partied hard in uni, yes, but she studied hard enough to make up for it. She's nice enough to leave at least a twenty percent tip every time she gets the check, and certainly nice enough to drop coins in the tip jars of the baristas who make her coffee. She calls her mum a lot and she loves her sisters and she takes good care of her plant, a cactus she'd named Steve. She’s hilarious and witty, her friends love her, and she makes a decent enough living.

So it doesn't explain why she's lying on the floor, with Harry Styles, of all people, planking on top of her.

As in, seventeenth most influential person in London, pop-star-turned-rock-star Harry Styles. The same Harry Styles who has had countless model girlfriends, left, right and centre. One right now, in fact: Camille Rowe.  Also  the same Harry Styles who has been the subject of Jenna’s sex dreams since she was about eighteen.

(What can she say, she's consistent. The kid might change her look every few years but the libido wants what it wants. Or something.)

Anyway, the point is that, currently, Jenna is looking straight into Harry's gorgeous green eyes and she can feel the heat of Harry's body radiating onto hers. She can also feel one of Harry's soft curls brushing against her forehead, and she knows that if she looked down, she'd see Harry's pink lips, quirked amusedly, like Jenna is something of a particularly endearing animal.

In summary, Harry looks like something straight out of Jenna’s masterbating vault, and Jenna is especially thankful at this moment that she does not have a cock because it would be hard as a rod at this very moment. 

"Do you, uh, work out a lot?" She blurts out, her mouth temporarily disconnecting from her brain, and she watches as Harry blinks, his long lashes brushing the tops of her cheekbones.

There's a pause, and then she hears a snort.

"Is this a dating show, mate?" Nick Grimshaw, the twat, says, half-laughing from his seat at the radio console. He raises his voice in a poor imitation of Jenna, stuttering out a ‘do you, uh, work out a lot’ in between his giggles.

Jenna turns her head to look at him and scowls. "Shut up," she says, trying to ignore the cute way Harry is giggling on top of her. It doesn't really work, but at least she tried.

Nick raises his hands defensively. "Hey, I'm bringing us back on track. You're supposed to be asking him questions about his new album, not asking him if he works out. You're tiring out the little pop star there."

"Nah," Jenna hears Harry's low voice drawl from above her, and she turns her attention back to the hot boy on top of him. "`m not tired yet. Besides, I'm kind of enjoying the view." He shoots Jenna a cheeky wink, and Jenna feels her face flush.

"Okay," she says loudly, mostly for the benefit of herself. She vaguely wonders how red she looks on camera, and whether or not she can get the ground to swallow her whole right about now. Maybe she should retire after this. Radio 1 would just have to look for another person who won't choke in the vicinity of Nick's hairspray fumes.

Every day at one to four pm, Nick and Jenna host "The Future is Now", a radio programme where they play music, talk about celebrity gossip and tease each other. It's supposedly nothing special, just two childhood friends making fun of each other and making fun of celebrities and their drama and occasionally talking about football, but apparently their banter has made it the most popular rated programme on BBC Radio 1. So popular that a few months ago, their producer sat them down and told them to "come up with more shenanigans", an order Jenna was happy to comply with. Her and Nick have then proceeded to do almost everything, from innuendo bingo with a twist to organizing a huge water fight in Radio 1.

Their latest shenanigan is interviewing their celebrity guests in the weirdest way they can, and last time Nick had interviewed Taylor Swift through trying to interpret her answers through drawing. It was massively funny, a huge failure, and also very exhausting, according to Nick, because who knew that Taylor was such a terrible artist?

Which is also why it's Jenna’s turn to do the interviewing this time.

However, she's ninety-nine point nine percent sure that Nick did this on purpose. Drunk Jenna might have let it slip a few weeks back that she has a not-so-small crush on a certain very famous Harry Styles, and Nick, because he was apparently close friends with Harry, invited him to plank over Jenna.

Jenna’s going to light a match near his hair and watch his twatty quiff burn down.

"Okay," Jenna says again, because no matter how much she wants to go back in time and ensure Nick was never born, Harry Styles with his hair and his dimples is still above her, smiling like it takes no effort to plank like this at all. He's the most attractive man Jenna has ever seen in her entire life. "We're going to have a quickie--" and she resolutely ignores Nick's sniggers from the console and the way his face heats up, "--which is like a lightning round of questions, until you feel you need to lower yourself down or until the timer runs out. Alright?"

Harry nods at her, grinning even wider, and Jenna decides to pin her focus on Harry's left dimple so as not to be distracted by the rest of his face.

"Nachos or Tacos?" She asks, starting the game immediately.

"Tacos."

"Red or Blue?"

"Blue."

"Favorite emoji to use in a text message?"

"The tongue and the peach." Jenna ignores the almost-obscene way Harry says it. She also ignores Nick's snorts from the table. She can do this. She just needs to ignore the way she’s wet from this small interaction and get this done like the professional she is, before she can go home and masterbate herself away to oblivion.

 "Favorite song from your new album?"

"Um," Harry says, and Jenna feels his forearms shift from where it's beside her head. "Watermelon Sugar?"

"Are you asking me or telling me?" Jenna asks Harry's left dimple. See, she can be normal.

"Watermelon Sugar." Harry repeats, much firmer. "It's about oral sex."

Jenna’s eyes fly off Harry's left dimple and into his eyes. "I don't think you can say that on radio."

Harry just shrugs, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "Sorry."

"Cheeky," Jenna mutters, before plunging on. "Most important feature of your ideal girlfriend?"

"I don't know if I can say it on radio," Harry shoots back almost immediately, his smile widening.

Somewhere from his place on the radio console, Nick cackles. Jenna hopes he chokes on his own saliva.

"Something radio friendly, then," Jenna answers, keeping her voice level.

"Well," Harry drawls out, seemingly lost in thought, "I'm much more of a bum kind of guy," and Nick's cackles get louder and louder. "I like a nice, firm, handful of bum. But if it has to be radio friendly, maybe the smile."

"I'm going to get suspended because of you," Jenna deadpans.

"`s the truth." Harry smiles innocently. He shifts on his forearms again, and his long curl brushes over Jenna’s eye. His cross necklace also falls out of his shirt, brushing against the hollow of Jenna’s throat.  "Do you like bums, Jenna?"

"I like mums? I like my mum," Jenna says absently, half blinded by Harry's curl. She feels more than hears Harry laugh from above her, his abs quivering from above her body. Which, hey. Why is Harry laughing at her? She’s just trying to keep this show together, for the sake of her job and her listeners and because Nick is a useless idiot.

She clears her throat. "Ideal date?" She asks, blinking her eye against Harry's rogue curl. She focuses on it, tries to get it off her eye with just the power of her blinks and her eye lid muscles. It doesn't really work.

Harry wiggles his eyebrows above her, and Jenna feels a slight sense of dread settle against him.

"A walk on the beach, then a candlelit dinner, then back to my place--"

"Favorite hobby?" Jenna interrupts, because she cannot do this. She can't. She’s two innuendos away from being soaked through her pants, and she’s positive there will be a wet spot if Harry continues to imply vaguely sexual things.

"I like to bake," Harry answers easily, as if he wasn't on the verge of saying obscene things a few seconds before. Jenna hates him. Jenna also kind of wants to suck his dick.

"Last thing that made you cry?"

"Um," Harry furrows his brow and bites at his bottom lip. Jenna can't stop staring. "I...fell?"

"Fell where?" Jenna asks.

"I was getting out of the shower," Harry answers slowly, still seeming deep in thought. Jenna tries not to imagine a naked Harry, with little droplets sliding down his skin. She mostly fails. "Then I, like, slipped and fell. There were a few tears."

Jenna makes a noise of sympathy, her eyes glued to Harry's lips. "What did you hurt?"

"My bum."

That makes Jenna tear her eyes away from Harry's lips and into his green eyes, which are already shining with mirth. "What is it with you and bums?"

"I told you, I'm a bum man." Harry winks. He shifts on his forearms, and Jenna realizes that the planking must already be taking a toll on him. He doesn't seem close to giving up though, and Jenna admires his determination. Her sex drive admires the rippling of the muscles in Harry's forearms and the strength of his core.

"You seem to be a little bum crazy to me."

"Heyyy," Harry says, a cute little pout making its way onto his face. "Only for certain bums. The nice ones."

Jenna doesn't answer. "Favorite app on your phone?"

"Instagram."

"Last photo you took?"

"It was, like, a photo of my sister's dog in, um, space buns."

"Space bums, nice," Jenna says, because she can. She might get suspended from radio for a few days, but she's already aroused on camera and they've been talking bums since a while ago, so.

"Yep," Harry says, playing along. "They were out of this world."

Jenna opens her mouth to ask another question when her phone starts ringing, signalling the end of their quickie. Harry unceremoniously drops himself down, his entire body now in contact with Jenna’s own. Jenna can feel her skin heat up from where Harry's touching her, their entire lower half aligned. She shifts in surprise, discovering Harry’s (not so) little problem, so Jenna just. Speaks.

“Did you know the average whale penis is ten feet long?” 

She wonders if she can probably retire gracefully and run away to Guam.

Nick is still cackling like a madman but ten times harder. Jenna doesn't think he's even stopped to take a breath since he started.

Good, she thinks viciously. Maybe he'll run out of oxygen.

"I did not," she hears Harry whisper to her, his voice almost drowned out by Nick's laughter.

"Fuck," Jenna whispers, without opening her eyes. "Leave me here to die." She can't believe she ended up here, embarrassed and horny in front of the guy she's been wanking to since she was eighteen. She doesn't think life can get much worse than this.

"It's okay, you know, I blurt out things all the time" Harry whispers, his breath ghosting over Jenna’s face. "Also, you're not allowed to say ‘cock’ on radio."

Oh, so now he's concerned about radio content. What is Harry Styles.

"Please do not try to make me feel better about this," Jenna says through her teeth, ignoring his second statement. They're going to get taken off air because of this interview, anyway. She raises an arm to cover her eyes. "Just....ignore it. Please."

Harry, because he's nice, doesn't say anything anymore, instead pulls himself off of Jenna, so that he's sitting on his knees beside Jenna on the carpeted floor. Jenna takes three deep breaths before she opens her eyes, sits up, and runs to the radio console, where Nick is still cackling obnoxiously. She lets Nick take care of the goodbyes, shakes Harry's hand once and refuses to meet his eyes, and doesn't say anything until Harry has left the room and Watermelon Sugar is playing on air.

"So?" Nick hedges, nudging Louis with an elbow. "That was fun right?"

"I'm going to murder you in your sleep," Jenna answers, glaring. "That was fucking humiliating."

"Oh come on, it wasn't that bad," Nick says, dismissively, wrapping an arm around Jenna’s shoulder. Jenna wants to saw it off his arm.

"You're not the one who started talking about whale cock in front of like, three cameras," Jenna hisses back at him.

"You could barely hear it anyway," Nick says, rolling his eyes.  He pinches Jenna’s shoulder, waggling his eyebrows . "But Harry, eh? That was some intense flirting you had going on there."

"Nick," Jenna says, deadpan. "He's not single. You should know this, he's one of your best friends."

Nick frowns, but before he can open his mouth to say something, Jenna beats him to it. "Never mind him. He's probably going to get us suspended anyway, with all his obscene answers and talk about bums."

Nick cackles again, with his head thrown back. "That was pretty funny."

"Yeah, well let's see how funny it is when we get taken off air for a week straight," Jenna answers, rolling her eyes, before reaching over to queue up the next song.

Nick, the twat, just keeps laughing.

[goodnightallwhites]

Daugherty's Daughter By BlackingPacking

Daugherty's Daughter 

By BlackingPacking 

Submitted: November 30, 2019 Updated: November 30, 2019 

Slutty white wife and mother, Charlotte Daugherty, cuckolds her husband Dan. He takes out his impotent sexual frustration on their daughter, who soon too becomes a slut for BBC 

Contains: NTR/Cuckolding, Interracial (Blacked/BBC), father-daughter incest, SPH, dubcon, very extreme 

Provided by Hentai Foundry.  

Chapter 1 - Cuckold's Frustrations 2 

Chapter 2 - Charlotte Gets What She Wants 11 

1 - Cuckold's Frustrations 

Dan Daugherty always got his wife everything she wanted. He worked for a large finance company, so he could definitely afford it. He and said wife, Charlotte, lived comfortably in their two story house with their beautiful young daughter, Phoebe. Charlotte was now nearing 40, the decade she often teased her scrawny, brown-haired husband, who was a few years older than her, for being. Still, she kept up with herself. She hadn’t worked for well over a decade, since Phoebe was born, and always spent her days at spas, salons, or get-togethers with her girlfriends. Sometimes for days on end. Dan payed for it all, of course. He was used to paying for women. 

It wasn’t only his wife. In his company, Dan was a middle ranking employee, with enough power to manage promotions that could get people higher, but he was never good enough at his job to manage much more. This meant that sometimes, timid little Dan got over his head, socially. 

This came in the form of a hot blonde girl with big dreams, big tits, a big ass, and a tiny waist. She had straight, strawberry blonde hair, and a little nametag saying Kara on her sweater. She’d work with Dan and saw how, whenever he had to talk to his wife, he never looked at ease. She took advantage of this, and eventually got him to let her suck him off. 

Under his desk, Kara put on her reddest lipstick she had on her fat, dick-sucking lips. Excited, she pulled down his pants to see... to see... 

Well, it sure was a penis. A short, needle-like one at that, nestled in some curly brown hair on his crotch, but none on his body or legs. Still, Kara wanted that raise. So she sucked him in between her lips, and not very far past, until he came in about a minute and a half. 

“What an adorable little penis,” she told him, “I’m sure your wife doesn’t give that cute dick of yours the attention it deserves. Only I see how great it is.” She’s tell him things like that all the time, making him think she was in love, until she got promoted and forgot all about him. Now Kara was his boss, and made sure to always strut in her office skirt around him. She pinched his ass and called him ‘pin dick’ at the coffee machine. She was dating some black male model now, which she never failed to flaunt. “Ever hear of BBC?” She’d ask the young office girls like she was a fucking missionary. She knew she hated missionary. “The rumors are true,” she said. He’d heard one of the office girls got a tramp stamp larger than her hand about wanting to fuck black guys. He hated Kara now, but at least he was happy with his wife. 

One weekend though, Charlotte left the house on friday and didn’t respond to her husband 

until she strutted through the front door in a new white dress with gold jewelry and her blonde hair curled beautifully. In her cream-white stilettos she was at least Dan’s height, and he wasn’t physically imposing at all either way. Besides, her little hubby couldn’t stop staring at how her bouncy tits and impossibly sexy ass looked in that dress. How could he deny her. 

The next weekend, the same thing happened. That sunday evening she returned, she wore a sky blue dress, much shorter this time, and even bigger gold jewelry. It was so short that when she walked up the stairs, he could see right between her legs and her asscrack. He stared at them like a pervy little boy. 

When he tried to fuck her that night, she said she was too tired. Still, he hadn’t got to stick Danny Jr. inside any part of Charlotte since his birthday. He had to excuse himself to the bathroom, sitting his unremarkable body on the toilet and jerking his 4 inch dick off to his own wife a few meters away until he came into the bowl. 

She promised him she’d call the next weekend. They spoke exactly once, during her lunch on Sunday, when she said she’d be coming home. 

That night, in bed, she said she wasn’t horny again. He tried to touch her pussy, but she easily swatted away his thin-wristed arms. Still, he could’ve sworn he felt her wetness. That’s when he began to think she was cheating on him. 

He wasn’t willing to confront her, of course. He hoped it was something else. That Wednesday, Charlotte brought home a shopping bag. In it was a sex toy. She said she wanted to ‘spice up’ the bedroom. That meant that she got to fuck herself with that 8 inch blue silicone bullet, while he wrapped one small hand around his cock and jerked off on his half of the bed. He thought about her cheating on him with a guy that big. A guy twice his size. Unlike last week, he came buckets. 

She felt generous then, and actually let him fuck her on Thursday. She spread her full, curvy legs for him. Her lace panties dangled from one ankle. Thrilled at finally being allowed to have sex with his own wife, he grabbed onto her, buried his face in her big, soft jugs, and fucked her as hard as he could. It lasted all of two minutes. The rest of the night, she fucked herself with the dildo again. Friday was the same. She went out, bought some new makeup, ate at some overpriced hippie cafe, and fucked herself with her new dildo that night as her hubby curled up beside her. 

Charlotte was cheating on him, of course. She met up with a black young entrepreneur, Purcell, who owned one of the African fusion restaurants she frequented. He always talked about African culture, revitalizing black youth. He had posters of Black Panther and Creed on his loft bedroom walls. Charlotte often saw them when she was riding his 12+ inch monster of a dick. She couldn’t see them so well when her back was pushed into the mattress as he drilled her deep. She always squirted on those perfect abs of his. He made her a screamer. 

The loudest she screamed though was when he put it in her asshole. For the first few times, on her nights out before that first weekend, it would hurt when he’d simply fuck her pussy. He was 3 times bigger than the dick she was used to having, after all. But soon she got stretched out and used to it. A few weekends in, that was why she bought the dildo. Dan would definitely know something was up if he tried to fuck her before. She was being generous by getting a dildo halfway between the two men in her life’s size. When Dan felt stretching, he assumed it was the toy. 

Her birthday was coming up though. The big 4 0. Purcell had promised his busty, leggy girlfriend the time of her life that weekend. But Dan also wanted to give her a real treat too. Charlotte has to do the right thing. The Friday before her birthday, she was outside Purcell’s apartment complex around 6pm right when Dan was getting home from work. She wore jean hot pants and a tight crop top t-shirt that said ‘you aren’t big enough for these.’ What a total slut. She called her husband. 

“Hey Dan, it’s Lotte,” she said boredly as he picked up. 

“Oh- um, hey baby, how’s it going? Gonna be home soon?” 

“About that, honey...” she trailed off. 

“What? Hey, I know things have been a little rough between us, but-“ 

“What? I think we haven’t been happier in years, Danny.” 

“Oh-“ he paused. 

“Do you think I’m cheating on you?” She said curtly. 

“I- buh- duh- what? No, of course I don’t think you’re cheating on me. Why would I think that. I mean, sure... my mind wandered a little wondering why you’ve been spending weekends away, but-“ he didn’t finish his thought, just running his thin fingers through his pale brown side-parted hair. God, he was dense. 

“I have been." 

“I trust you enough tha- wait, what?!” He jumped 

“I’ve been cheating on you for a month and a half now. I love you, and I want the best for our daughter, but- I also met this guy. His names Purcell, and he’s black, and he owns a restaurant, and he’s huge- well, I already said he’s black,” she giggled. Dan was speechless. “But the point is... I love him too, and I really want his birthday gift for me. Not 

that I don’t want yours but... his dick makes me feel better than your little one ever has. You just can’t make me cum, you haven’t once since college... but I promise things’ll be as wonderful as they once were if you let me do this. And I know about Kara.” She paused for effect, “so- can I?” 

“I-I-I-“ he breathed, unable to make a sound. “Yes babe, of course.” He muttered. His default response when his wife asked for something. 

“Great! Love you hun, I’ll send you pics!” She hung up just like that. 

Dan wanted to throw a hissy fit. How could he be so weak willed? How could he let his wife walk right over him like that? How long had she known about Kara? Had that been why she had to leave him- cuckold him- with a black guy? He ran into his walk in closet, expecting to cry but instead jerking off. 

He shot his load onto the carpet, and kept stroking his little dick, imagining a huge black dick pile driving his wife’s pussy. He remembered her talking about her parties in high school, how she’d always let guys fuck her before she mellowed out her senior year. Was she like this even then? How many guys in her hometown were black? 

Suddenly, Phoebe walked in, wearing short shorts and a teal tank top. “Yeah, I don’t think dad’s home. Better that way, since my door doesn’t lock, and the water’s shut off to the other upstairs bathroom.” She was on the phone. “No, I don’t wanna do it downstairs! It’s.. weird if I do it in the guest bathroom. Especially if I’m thinking about my dad!” 

What was she talking about? “You’re lucky. You got to finger yourself to your dad with your door locked.” Fingering?! “You’ve done it downstairs- wait, but I always complain that Uncle Bryce’s downstairs didn’t lock. You fucking perv!” 

Bryce... that was Charlotte's brother! You knew that Phoebe was close to her cousin Martha, but was that who was on the phone? We’re they talking about- fingering, though? And what was that about dads... 

“Yeah, talk later Martha,” that confirmed it, “have fun flicking your bean in the guest toilet to your own fuckin dad like some weirdo. I’m gonna masturbate using my dads soap and shower head, like a normal girl.” He totally ignored how much trouble he should be putting his daughter in. Dan’s little dick was hard. “Oh shut up, you jilled off to your dad first. Well I think MY dad’s hotter. Whatever, Martha. Bye, have fun!” She hung up and turned the shower on. Dan, behind her, stepped out of the closet onto the marble tiled floor of their expensive bathroom. 

“Wha- DAD?!?” Phoebe jumped, terrified as she realized what she’d been caught saying. She already had her shirt and bra off, revealing her flat, underdeveloped tits. She didn’t look 

like she would inherit her mother’s tits or ass. She looked like a girl who wasn’t old enough to be masturbating, or shouldn’t be. Her height didn’t help either. 

“D-dad,” she spoke with fear and embarrassment. He reached out and turned off the loud shower. “I-I- this-“ 

“What were you saying about me?” Asked Dan. He was ecstatic- he lost his wife, but he’d been gifted his own daughter! Phoebe was often neglected. Charlotte, that materialist bitch, preceded to hire the maid to care for her daughter. But now, Dan has a chance to prove himself as the real patriarch of this family, not some- some- some nigger who Charlotte’s big tits here were wrapped around right now... 

The thought made Dan seethe. But now, he could take out all his impotent rage on his whorish wifes own daughter. Her tiny frame would easily be overwhelmed by even his small cock. It might not have even been incest. Phoebe probably wasn’t even his. He was going to make her his though, and Charlotte would regret messing with him. 

Finally, she answered. “I- I’m turned on by you, dad... when I see mom kiss you and when you tap her ass... I wanted that too and... I’ve been thinking about it for a while... I’ve really wanted you to fuck me,” she looked up at him, suddenly terrified again, “-a-as a fantasy though! Not as an actual thing I was planning on, I swear, daddy!” 

“Oh, but,” he growled, trying and failing to sound aggressive, “I want you too,” he grabbed her thin waist and pulled her close, making her jump a little. Her flat chest barely shook. 

She looked up at him with green, pretty eyes. His were hazel. He blamed his stupid slut wife. 

“Really?” Asked Phoebe, reaching out to touch his nonexistent pectoral. 

“Yes, Phoebe baby. Your mom and I..” he grit his teeth.. “aren’t doing too well. I think I need you to make me feel better. Can you do that?” He took his hand, walking backwards towards his room. 

Daddy’s little girl, Phoebe Daugherty nodded. “Y-yes daddy. I’ll make you feel good. I’ve never done anything with a boy but I’ve seen porn. I’ll try my best.” 

“Good girl,” he said, feeling more dominant than he ever did with Charlotte. He walked out onto the carpet of the master bedroom and sat down on the large chair on the left of the bathroom doorway. Dan pushed the footrest out of the way and had his daughter kneel there instead. His rage at his own impotence and his hatred for how Charlotte was cuckolding him right now made him forget that this was even his baby girl. 

Charlotte, as Dan undid his pants again, was miles away in the stylish, urbane, gray loft 

owned by Purcell. She strutted in happily, swaying her fat white ass in the shorts that barely covered it. Purcell was on the couch in front of a table of African artifacts. He got up and welcomed her with a deep, tonguey kiss and a slap on the ass. 

“Wanna give me my present now, babe?” She breathed hotly into his wide lips. He smiled and led her into his room, where she was shocked by the presence of three more black guys. Like him, they were all over 6 feet tall and muscular. They all wore some variation of a t short and running shorts that did nothing to hide their bulges, just like Charlotte’s tiny t-shirt did nothing to hide her cleavage, or her under boob, or her hard nipples. 

“Oh- oh, my!” Charlotte’s cock-needy lips and pretty blue eyes went wide seeing the display. While her friends had introduced her to BBC porn a full year ago, she had only ever actually slept with Purcell. Now she was getting 3 new hung black guys. 

“You like my friends babe?” He asked. She nodded, pulling up her red bikini bottoms she wore under her shorts. “Glad to hear,” she bit her lip. She was getting wet just by hearing him speak. “Ever had guys run train on you?” 

“I-“ she had been in a gangbang once, as a senior in high school. Those boys were all white though, and she wasn’t the only girl there. “No,” she decided that a half dozen white guys humping her legs until their little pink dicks turned purple and shot a load like she was a Barbie doll they got to undress didn’t count. “I’ve never. But I’d love too.” 

“Hear that, boys?” Purcell slapped Charlotte on her as. Charlotte took it with a smile. They smiled back as they took off their shirts, showing the kinds of muscles that were the reason Dan never took her to the beach. She took off her wedding ring and fell into their big, strong arms, letting them kiss her and grope her. She had to look straight up to make out with the tallest one, while the one made out with her neck and another literally tore her shirt off of the swinging spheres of her tits. She liked that shitt. But she liked how they pressed their huge bulges into her sides much more. 

Meanwhile, Dan was struggling to overpower his own tiny daughter, desperate to fuck her silly. His destroyed ego demanded that Phoebe fuck him, and, although she was planning to masturbate to that very thought before he grabbed her, she was resisting. 

“Daddy- unf~ Daddy!” she pushed his arm off her nonexistent tit, while his other one was down his pants, grabbing at his dick. “This is wrong! We shouldn’t do this!” she insisted 

“Phoebe! Phoebe, please!” He yelled. He had never yelled at his daughter. His hair and eyes made him look like a mess. “D-don’t you wanna make me feel good?” 

Phoebe did want to make her dad feel good... and cum... but she wasn’t sure. Sure, he was deciding for her basically, but he never acted like this around her. He was always very 

passive, never making her do anything. Now... this? With the drip of her pussy in those short shorts she was this close to taking off, she knew she wanted it too. 

“Okay Daddy...” she breathed, hoping to not make him angry, “I’ll make you feel good.” 

“Good girl,” breathed Dan. Instead of taking his dick out though, he felt up her chest again. She was still flat as a board, but whenever he thought of his ideal tit size, all he could think of was how Charlotte probably had a huge black rod between hers. She did. He just kept massaging his daughter. Those soft, sensitive, unmanly hands of his felt her sides, her hips, and, when he bent down so far that his face was in her neck, he felt the doughy softness of her asscheeks. She turned crimson. 

He breathed heavily, overcome with perverse lust. “D-daddy’s gonna bring out his cock now, sweetie,” he told her. She simply sat on her knees with her hands on her silky thighs. He fumbled on his pant’s buttons, desperately wanting them out. Eventually he got it, and in one swift movement, he pulled his pants down to his ankles. 

Phoebe, the incestous little slut, was face-to face with her father’s own tiny, white cock. Her eyes widened, and her pussy immediately dried up. 

“W-what is that?” she asked him. 

“My dick,” said Dan, sounding nothing like her father, even though she barely knew her father. He pushed the skinny thing towards her, “Suck it.” 

“B-but why is it so small?” Phoebe really wanted to pleasure her dad, to suck him off until he shot a huge load in her face. But... this? How could she love a cock that was barely larger, in any way, than her finger? If she made a fist, it was more than twice the size of his balls. 

To her shock, the then hit her face. Not hard, he wasn’t man enough to do that. But still, a slap was a slap. 

“What did you say?” he asked her, suddenly only seeing her mother in the beautiful young girl. 

“Y-your penis isn’t that big, daddy- I-I’ve seen much bigger in porn, I’m sorry-” 

He raised his hand again, “You’ve been watching porn?!” He knew that when his wife began masturbating by herself, it was all over for him. He couldn’t believe the same was happening to his daughter. 

“N-no! I- I meant good! Your dick is sooo good, daddy! Look-” almost crying, she began to suck it. It tasted strange- plain, not at all sexy. Once, she sucked her own virgin pussy juices, 

and that got her hotter than ever before. This did one of that, even when his precum started leaking, it just tasted like water. She sucked and sucked as well as she could. Phoebe had no idea how to suck a dick, but, at the very least, her dad’s was so small that it fit right in between her little lips. He didn’t have to worry about scraping on her teeth or choking her. 

She wrapped her tongue around the quivering little white pin she desperately tried to satisfy. Dan felt great by this. He leaned his head back, and finally relaxed, as if it wasn’t clear to everyone now that he was just a pathetic, creepy white guy. His own daughter wiggled her tongue around his pencil shaft. He wasn’t even into incest, but, the quickshot that he was, once her saliva-coated tongue finsihed licking the tip of his dick inside her mouth, he started cumming. 

His orgasm was drawn out, with thin ropes of cum spraying into his daughter’s mouth slowly. It had no power or force, nothing sexy at all. She would never masturbate to her dad ever again. Instead, she just spit his cum out on his hairless thigh. 

“You’re supposed to swallow!” he yelled. Not that Charlotte had ever swallowed his cum, since he usually popped his teeny top before he even shoved it in her mouth. Phoebe just looked grossed out. His dick, as much as she wanted to love it, was now an ugly, throbbing purple. It looked like it would pop, and it wasn’t big enough to look like it should be throbbing. She said nothing 

Back in the loft, Charlotte was getting absolutely rammed. She was on the red futon, getting to experience how it really felt for BBC to run train on her. A black guy was under her, slamming his dick deep in her babymaker with his balls slapping her taint. Two more were in front of her, making her stretch her cheeks out like a chipmunk to suck both of them off at once. She was terrified of what would happen when their monster dicks, big enough to dwarf rulers, would blast their cum in her gullet. It felt so good. 

Best of all, on top of her, with hands on her shoulders and arms on the armrest, Purcell was fucking her ass, raw. No matter what the others did to her, Purcell had stayed in her asshole the entire gangbang. His 40th birthday present was a 12 and a half inches (Charlotte liked to say 13) deep of rough anal sex. His cum had been churning deep in her guts, and his thrusts now had been picking it up and making it froth out like runny butter. She felt her whole asscrack, taint, and pussy feel covered in melted fluids. If it ever got too messy, she’d just lick it up herself. She loved it. 

Her husband, meanwhile, had grabbed their little daughter and bent her over the bed, facedown, ass up, despite her protests. Without even seeing his wife lover fuck her with his massive dark fuckmeat, BBC had already totally mindbroken the timid white man. Here he was, forcing his crying daughter’s face into his and his wife’s bed’s comfoters. He spread her legs apart, staring at her beautiful, but dry pussy. 

With his pinkish red dick standing as hard as a needle, he lowered his skinny torso into her slim thighs, taking his daughter for himself. He molested her with whiny grunts, the kind that Charlotte was absolutely done with. Frustration was something that Dan had been faced with all his life, and now he was letting it all out on Phoebe. The frustration he had since the first time he first found a porno mag with huge dicks when he was fourteen, all the girls he jerked off too but wouldn’t date him, to all the porn he watched when internet porn first got big in college, even when he was dating Charlotte. All of it, all directed in his pathetic thrusts into the tiny girl. 

As he raped his virgin daughter, she felt every twitch of his dick like only a girl her size could. Even though it felt far bigger in her than her mother would’ve felt it, she didn’t enjoy it one bit. He joylessly came in her pussy, shooting his white load into her just deep enough so that its small contents couldn’t even drip out of her. He told her to get out of his room, and he slept. 

Meanwhile, Purcell had finally taken his painfully hard cock, having cum in her anus 5 or 6 times, out from between her thick asscheeks, letting her suck the soaking member clean. He and his friends gathered around Charlotte as she kneeled on the floor. They jerked off and let her jerk them off and suck them off until she looked like a bukkakke porn star. Once they all came, she was exhausted, but they wanted more. They tossed her back on the futon and had their way with her. 

Purcell came deep in her pussy enough times with enough force to not only make her squirt hotly, but to get her pregnant too. 

She would be furious with Dan when she got home, but she didn’t know that yet. Even her daughter hated Dan's small, perverted white cock more than anything. For now though, Charlotte was blissfully having the best fucking sex of her entire life. 

To be continued... 

2 - Charlotte Gets What She Wants 

“You did WHAT to her?!” screamed Charlotte. Her big slutty tits swung with every word. 

Dan, emasculates and afraid, shrunk down onto the cushions of the light gray, modern style couch. On the other side of the coffee table, Phoebe was curled up. She looked at her father with nothing but hatred. 

“YOU SICK FUCKING FUCK,” Charlotte kept screaming, “WHAT THE FUCK DID YOUR STUPID PUSSY ASS DO TO OUR DAUGHTER? What the FUCK did you do?” 

“I-I-“ he backed up, scared of his adulterous wife. Dan was in a t-shirt and boxer underwear, while Charlotte was in a pink sundress, and Phoebe was in a tank top and volleyball shorts. 

“You AGREED I was going to have a FUCKING MARVELOUS weekend- and it’s all ruined this morning by a call from my FUCKING DAUGHTER about her IMPOTENT BITCH OF A DAD FUCKING RAPING HER WITH HIS STUPID TINY COCK! Am I WRONG?” She slammed her fist against the couch with every word. 

Dan was, as always, too wimpy to disagree. 

“Mom- wha- what’s going on?” Asked Phoebe. 

Charlotte turned to her beloved white daughter. She walked over and knelt in front of her, saying, “Oh, sweetie, it’s mommy’s business. Grown up stuff, nothing you’d understand.” 

“Mom,” said the girl who, even though she was babies, was still old enough to regularly watch porn and masturbate her smooth little cunt. 

“What? Yes, baby, mommy’s here,” Charlotte calmed her down, “mommy’s just, um, got a new boyfriend that’s all. And sometimes mommy goes and sees him. That’s okay, right?” 

“Mom,” grumbled Phoebe, “I’m not fucking 6. I know you cheated on him!” 

Charlotte looked back. She paused. “Alright, yes- mommy cheated on daddy. I’m a fucking whore, a total fucking SLUT cockwhore bitch. But you saw him! You saw that your dad is a sick, perverted, useless, weird piece of trash, right?” 

Phoebe nodded. “He’s so gross! I’ll never think the same way of him again! I mean, I guess it’s the same for you, mom, but at least you’ve got a reason. I... I’d wanna get f-fucked by a real man too! And he’s... hes just-” 

“A little fucking L O S E R?” her mom volunteered. Phoebe nodded along. 

“H-hey,” stuttered Dan. The scrawny white man crawled up from his fetal position, “S-she was on the phone, talking about sexual things with her cousin! About having sex with me and your brother! A-and she watches porn too!” 

“Didn’t I tell you to SHUT THE FUCK UP!?” screeched Charlotte. Her cuck hubby was soon put in his place. “So what? She’s young and stupid. We were too, remember? The difference is, when I had kinky fantasies, you were always too pathetic to do them! You’d fucking cum in a minute and then roll over and go to fucking sleep! If you wanted to rape someone, rape me ten years ago! Then I wouldn’t have become a fucking anal fuckslut! This is your fault!” 

With shaking arms, she turned to her daughter, “And of course I wouldn’t judge you for watching porn! That’d be such fucking hypocrisy! After all, I’m the one who had a train run on her with four fucking black cocks last night! The only problem Phoebe and her cousin has is they still think white BITCHBOYS can do it!” 

“F-four?” Dan sounded like he was tearing up. 

“Oh fuck yeah honey. My REAL man Purcell and three of his friends.” The room went quiet. “What? Oh, yeah, stay quiet. Because there’s nothing you can say about how I’m a fucking whore for biiiig, blaaack COCKS! I fucking fit four huge fucking black dicks up this asshole,” she pulled her dress up and showed her gaping anus to her husband and daughter, “They fucking shot their fucking cum all the way up my dirty fucking asshole. And it’s fucking thick too, unlike yours! I bet you fucking wish you could do that, huh? With that fucking little stupid 4 inch peice of shit! Do you wanna know how big my lovers were?” 

“H-how big?” asked Dan weakly as he was slumped on the couch. 

Charlotte noticed a tiny tent on her loser husband’s boxers. She wrinkled her nose at it, but then lunged at him. She grabbed at his underpants. Her boobs swung in his face. She easily overpowered him, throwing hus underwear on the floor. 

Exposed to his ruined family was Dan’s four inch skinny little white boy cocklet. It stood up straight and hard in the thin, soft bush that was his excuse for body hair. 

“Fucking fuck. Look at that pathetic LITTLE thing. My BULLS were fucking three times that big! The smallest was 10 inches, the biggest was fucking 13! THIRTEEN! How could your little fucking dick compare, huh? HUH?” 

She turned around. Phoebe was staring at his penis with disdain. Though neither girl thought penis was the best word. 

“Is that it, sweetie? That’s the thing that defiled you, right?” asked Charlotte. 

Phoebe nodded. “Yes, mom... it’s fucking gross. I can’t believe I had a fucking incest fetish...” 

“It’s alright baby- it’s alright. Look. Hey, BITCH!” She yelled at her husband, “I’m gonna get our fucking daughter some good porn with some good dicks so she can forget about your little loser thing, 

alright? And never touch her again, you- you- you fucking sick fucking fuck!” She punctuated her scolding with a few sharp kicks to his tiny, shaking balls. 

“AAAh! OW OW OW! H-HONEY- m- my-” 

“Your what? Your fucking little cuck balls? The ones that can’t produce enough fucking sperm to make a girl feel even fucking halfway filled! Look! Look...” she walked over to Phoebe. “Take your pants off, baby. I wanna show him how different cum can be. And how, even if this shitbag who owns our house took your virginity, your sex life can still be a fucking blast, alright baby?” She asked her daughter. Phoebe nodded and slipped off her leggings. Charlotte hiked her skirt all the way up. 

Both were smooth pussied, but Charlotte’s was shaved, with looser, darker lips, while Phoebe’s was natural. A pretty pink tight pussy. She might has well have been a virgin. 

“Now spread your legs,” instructed Charlotte. Phoebe obeyed. “Now look at the cum left over from last night.” The house’s matriarch fingered her daughter, eventually coaxing out a flow of sticky liquid which dripped onto her hand. Charlotte grabbed a china plate from the coffee table and smeared Dan’s cum on it. 

“Look at that,” whispered Charlotte mockingly, “look how thin it looks!” she was right. Dan’s shrivelled balls had given them watery, impotent cum of either a boy much younger or a man much older than him. It only even looked white when it was clumped together. 

“And now,” she said while standing up and spreading open her asscheeks right over the fancy plate, “mommy’s black boyfriend’s cum.” she pushed hard and stretched her asshole out with two fingers until eventually a big steady stream of smooth, thick, rich, creamy cum came out. All of it was plump and healthy. It landed with a splogsh and made a big, opaque puddle on the plate. It was almost yellowish it was so creamy. And it totally eclipsed Dan’s tiny load. 

“See who’s superior?” asked Charlotte. 

“T-that’s a wedding gift...” was all he could whimper about the show on the expensive plate. 

“Oh boo fucking hoo, I squirted black cum out of my ass onto our shitty wedding present,” she grabbed a matching china cup and brandished it, “What if I fucking pissed in this one and made you fucking drank it? How would you feel about that, huh?” she waved the cup around under her pale white crotch, “if you’re lucky maybe you’d fucking get to drink some of their delicious cum with my piss. How about fucking that? You should fucking respect what I do for you and listen to what I fucking say! Ungrateful little pervert piece of shit! Apologize!” 

“Yes,” he curled up again, this time closer to the edge of the couch. “I’m sorry Charlotte... I’m sorry Phoebe... for being a perverted POS.” 

“Good. Now I have an errand to run. Don’t you even dare fucking move. And don’t even FUCKING LOOK at Phoebe!” she pulled her skirt down, grabbed a coat and her purse, slipped back on her slutty high heels, and strutted out the door. 

Once she was gone, Phoebe got up. She sniffled a little. Even though her pussy’s wetness said that, like her mother, she got off on being a snowbunny dom, she was still upset at what happened to her family. 

“I hope you’re happy with mom only fucking black guys now. And never you, ever again,” she said as she took out her phone and opened it up. 

Dan sniffled too, sounding more like a bitching little dog than a man. He wasn’t the man of this house anymore. He hadn’t ever been, since Charlotte discovered black cock, but now he knew it. His head was buried in between his smooth, effeminate legs, and he was sitting on his scrawny ass and feet, with his tiny little balls poking out from his crotch. It looked like a pale hackeysack covered in thin straw. Wasn’t much bigger than one either. Over it hung the soft, impotent little worm that was his cock. Keyword was. Now it was a useless little twig of flesh. 

Dan pissed himself. His little dicklet perked up, and out of it came a steady, pale flow of piss from the organ which now was only for that. It tinkled all over his little balls. The hair got wet, but looked no thicker. Some got on his thighs, covering his pointless manhood in his cowardice. He was like a dying animal, emptying his bladder all over himself when he felt it was all over. It was, in a way, for him. He cried as he soaked the couch cushion. 

Phoebe walked over to the front entryway, on the side of which was a cushioned, round area to the left of the front door, bordered by windows. She sat down in it to talk on her phone. She’d already gone to contacts, and scrolled to the number for Kevin. 

Kevin Gold was a young white kid and a school friend of Phoebe’s. He was around her height, with light blonde hair with a touch of strawberry, smooth skin and a youthful face. He was average in body, but still rather attractive, and was madly in love with Phoebe Daugherty. Little did he know, she had a crush on him too. 

When he picked up the phone though, he answered as her best friend. 

“Hey, Phoebe. What’s up?” 

She sniffled, “I don’t know, Kev. My parents are fighting, and... I don’t know how to feel. My dad’s a piece of shit, but my mom’s... so different about it. I think I got it. But I think I’ll be fine. I just need someone to talk to. Can we talk? Not about me. About... about something else. Okay?” 

Kevin, of course, agreed. They talked for a bit, and Phoebe felt better. Kevin told her to just trust in herself. With some soul searching, Phoebe realized how different she felt. How her slutty black cock loving mom awakened something in her. Just then, Phoebe had to hang up, because her mom was back. 

She walked back into the living room. Her dad was still sitting on the couch, but not crying anymore. 

Charlotte burst through the door. Shopping bags were in her ams and a strange smile was on her face. It was a look she hadn’t had all day. From the moment she walked in and said, “Alright, my happy little white family, let’s see what the real world has for us,” both new something was up. 

Phoebe was getting excited. She was proud to be this woman’s daughter. While she had very quickly grown to despise her father, she replaced all of that with how, sexually, she admired her mom so much more. Her mother looked like a million bucks- she put some makeup on, maybe did her hair a little, but that wasn’t the point. If her hair was a rat’s nest she’d still be the same. Her sexy body filled out that lilac dress perfectly, and the way she carried herself made her tits and thighs ooze with sex appeal. She was a woman who knew and got what she wanted. Fuck whatever her disgusting, cuckold husband had to say about it. 

Charlotte looked down at Dan and saw how red his eyes were, and how the couch under him had a soaked puddle. 

She exploded. “WHAT THE FUCK, YOU PATHETIC LITTLE PEICE OF SHIT? DID YOU FUCKING PISS YOURSELF LIKE SOME FUCKING LITTLE BRAT? YOU PISSED YOURSELF AND ITS ALL OVER YOUR USELESS, UGLY LITTLE STUPID IMPOTENT DICKLET, UGH AND YOUR BALLS AND MOST IMPORTANTLY MY FUCKING COUCH? YOU’D BETTER CLEAN THAT UP!” 

Dan squeaked and got up, running to the kitchen to get paper towels and spray. 

“Good,” she hissed, “like a good little dog,” she turned to their daughter, “So, how are you feeling now?” 

Just as her mom was honest, Phoebe was too. “I like what you’re doing. Dad’s always been... a little weird. But now I realize it wasn’t the kind of weird that, um... gets me wet. But what you do, like, like, the way you take control? I like that. I wanna be like you. And this talk of black guys?” Charlotte grinned. “You like thinking of that. Those massive, throbbing, lengthy, hot black dongs? You ever seen porn with black guys?” Phoebe quickly turned beet red. Charlotte smiled, “It’s good if you have. I’m so fucking jealous that you’re already exposed to porn at your age. I didn’t even have the chance to get online porn until I was almost 20! And there wasn’t anywhere near as much Blacked stuff then.” 

Phoebe worked up the nerve to nod ‘yes’ to her mother. 

Another smile. “I’m so proud of you!” she beamed, like momma like daughter, Phoebe had more than enough for the seed of a braindead snowbunny slut to grow in her underdeveloped white little body. She might not have been as busty or curvy as her mother, but Phoebe promised there and then to be twice the alpha girl slut. 

And poor little Dan, having cleaned up his mess, tried to stand up to speak to his wife, but was soon knocked down. “NO! Me and my black bulls own this house now, not you! If you wanted to be a man, you shouldn’t have been so weak, or whiny like a baby. You should’ve been able to make me cum! But now I’ve got better men for that. And speaking of...” She took out her phone, turned on apple TV, and showed off her photo gallery. 432 pictures and videos were taken last night. A cache of amateur pornography featuring one Charlotte Daugherty and 4 black studs. 

She started playing the videos. First was one with her kissing the camera sluttily, then walking back to pose with Purcell in a wide variety of ways. The next video showed her pointing out the bulge in his 

pants, then taking his shirt off to make out with him and lick his hot black abs. He flexed a bit for the camera before going to the next vid. He took it out in that one, and Charlotte’s whole family got to see how it was as long as her arm. 

In the room, while a video of the other three guys unsheathing their meats played behind her, Charlotte stripped her dress of. Her perfectly smooth pussy and her bouncing tits were great, and she didn’t wear underwear, of course. She sung ‘happy birthday to me’, as the TV had her giving Dan the middle finger. 

“Come on!” Said today’s Charlotte, “let’s get some fun group stuff going. Family porn night! Starring mommy!” She grinned evily as she sat down next to Phoebe. She encouraged her daughter to strip. Her pants already had a dark stain. 

Dan and Phoebe began masturbating across the room to the TV showing Charlotte lick all around the heads of all their cocks. The lady of the house ran off upstairs to get her dildo. When she came back, Phoebe was lounging back, butt naked, and confidently flicking her little bean to her mom gasping at the huge loads of cum that were now getting dumped on her face. Meanwhile Dan was hunched over pathetically. He tugged his little cock hard. It’s tininess, along with his boring hairstyle and skinny bday, made him look like a child compared to his daughter. And forget his wife. 

“Oo, look at him!” Laughed Charlotte, tapping Phoebe’s shoulder to get her to look over, “little losers trying to tug that tiny thing! Isn’t that fucking pathetic? Can’t you see why I need this?” she laughed, pulling the thick dildo out of her. Phoebe laughed too. 

“But mom, you take a bigger one in the vid,” she pointed at her screen with her free hand. 

“True- this toys just to tide me over. Better than hubby, you know?” She thrusted it into her gaping pussy a few more times. Her nasty juices flew across the room with a loud shlicking sound. Phoebe’s only trickled down her taint and onto her little pink pucker butthole. Charlotte took out the plastic cock and handed it to her daughter, “wanna go?” 

Phoebe shook her head, “I can’t take that.” 

Her mom smiled, “You’d better learn soon baby girl, if you wanna get blacked.” 

She stared at the size of the thing. “Never seen one up close but... it’s scary,” she chuckled, “I’d rather just watch.” 

“Then you’ll get tons of live shows.” 

“Mmmm. I’m already loving this. Just as good as the pro stuff I watch.” Phoebe was referring to Charlotte getting her ass pounded and her blonde hair painted white by those black hunks. 

“Thats cuz they’re black,” giggled Charlotte, “white guys in porn always wear fake dicks, that shoot fake cum and all that. Interracial’s real though. No faked orgasms there.” Charlotte put her leg up on the coffee table and aggressively rubbed her clit, “and I’ll never have to again.” 

They kept watching as Charlotte deepthroated every black cock. Every vid ended with them cumming their manly loads into her throat. They led her to the bedroom, with the camera on her swaying ass, where she had a train run on each and every hole. She was made airtight, first by their huge cocks and then by their thick cum. 

They just kept going. Dan usually got petered out after he came once after a few minutes, then rolled over and slept as Charlotte uncomfortably masturbated until she fell asleep. These guys seemed to have infinitely full balls . After they made the bed dirty with spilling loads, they tossed the tired white whore onto the floor, jacking off over her. They set the foundation for a full body coat of thick black cum. 

With a pathetic groan and three fingers wrapped around his dick, Dan started cumming. Instead of shooting anything out of his needle-like pink dick, it just dribbled onto the floor. 

“Ch-Charlotte,” he groaned. 

“Shut the fuck up! Your daughter and I are trying to masturbate to PURCELL’s friends running train on me. Purcell could cum like 9 times last night without a problem. Can your stupid balls only muster one fucking load? Try and at least be man enough to make another load!” She shut him up. 

Then there were the ones on her face. Tons of cum was unloaded onto her cheeks, in her eyes, on her cleavage and hair. It just kept going, until she was barely even fucking them any more, and just being jacked off too. Soon, every inch of skin above her knees hand some sort of man juice on it. Mostly her pussy, under her ass, her tits, and her unrecognizable face. She got to the point where their fat loads of cum landing on her weak white skin made her cum. Every single time. 

“See Phoebe? That’s what real men do. Not like your dad over there, cumming into his hand.” 

Phoebe looked over. Her dad was leaking out thin white juices onto his scrawny fingers. “How’d you even get pregnant?” She asked her mom. She paused. “Is he really my dad?” 

Charlotte looked away from her husband as he collapsed exhausted on the ruined couch. “Well, I’m shocked he managed to get me pregnant even once. But you’re his alright. I’d never cheat with another white boy. But hey. You got my beautiful eyes.” 

“I kinda wish guys like, unf, unf, that,” she pointed to the TV, “were my dad.” 

To clean off, they dragged Charlotte to the shower, where she could barely stand. Instead she pumped their cocks, worshiped their balls, and even rimmed their assholes. All their cum newly clogged the drain. After, they made her dry them off, and then lick up their cum off the floor. 

At around 2 AM according to when the video was taken, she passed out when she was halfway done, facefirst into a puddle of cum. 

Phoebe came. 

“Aaah!” She yelled, thrusting her hips over the armrest of the white cushioned couch. Her orgasm squirted all over dad’s men’s health magazines that he never read. “They really did that, mom?” 

She nodded. “It’s weird telling you, sweetie, but yeah. Mommy’s a fucking abuse slut for big black cock.” 

“It’s hotter than weirder. God, that was the best I’ve ever cum.” 

“Well, that’s black guys. And now” she kept swiping through her phone, showing them photos of the bulls taking advantage of Charlotte’s unconscious body on the tv. Weird things were stuffed in her asshole, and she was fucked in multiple uncomfortable positions like a rag doll. 

“Fuck,” Charlotte bit her lip, “I didn’t know they did- did- did... did that!” Her pussy exploded with a waterfall of orgasm, even wetting the TV screen a little. 

“There it is!” She sat back and sighed, “it’s like every time I cum to black guys it’s better.” 

A bit after, she saw Dan getting up. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” She asked, less angry now. 

“C-cleaning up my mess?” 

She laughed, “your widdle loads? Barley a mess. And don’t do it with clothes on. Strip.” 

“I-“ 

“Did I fucking stutter?” 

He frowned and stripped. He prided himself on looking youthful, but honestly he just looked pathetic. Thin, featureless white skin, and a fitting tiny, soft little penis, barely poking out of his crotch. 

She smiled as she walked over to pick up her bag, “good, baby. We’re not going to pretend you’re not pathetic and inferior anymore in this house, alright sweetie?” 

“Yes, dear,” he got on all fours to wipe up god cum. She ran her foot up and down his effeminate asscrack possesively. 

“And we won’t be bringing what you did to Phoebe to the authorities because you’re going to admit that you’re a pathetic little cuckold, and us ladies are gonna be enjoying all the black cock we want now.” 

“W-what?” 

“Yes babe. Did you think I was gonna stop cheating on you? After realizing what a freak you are, I can barely stomach you now. But I might forgive you if you let me fuck all the black guys I want, when I want, where I want, and how I want. Not for some reward, but out of the goodness of your heart. Sound good?” 

He looked down at his flaccid manhood. It was as wimpy as he was. He nodded in agreement to her terms. 

“Great! That makes me so happy Dan, you don’t even know!” She dishes through her bag and got a box out. The back was legal fine print and faced Dan, “can you say it?” She asked. 

“I- I’m a white cuckold... I’m small...” 

“And?” 

“And pathetic, and I barely cum and can’t make my wife cum.” 

“And?” 

“And I’m a perv who r-raped his own daughter because... because I’m a white loser who was so insecure,...” 

“But now...?” 

“N-now I’m happy to let you f-fuck,” he started tearing up, “all the black c-c- guys you want.” 

“Good boy. Did you enjoy your orgasm?” 

“Yeah,” sniffled her submissive hubby. 

“Good,” she turned the box around, “because it’s the last you’ll have in a while.” The box had a picture of plastic in the shape of a small penis, titled ‘THE LOCK HIM UP CHASTITY CAGE- size small.’ 

“W-what?” 

“What what? I said I’d forgive you, but you have to make it up for me. So like a good little white cuckold, you’re going to be locked away in this little chastity cage. I’ll keep the key, and you can only cum when I say so. Agreed?” 

He nodded. Totally impotent. 

“Good,” she took it out, read the instructions, and started to put it on. Phoebe came over to watch. She slipped the cock ring over his tiny worm, then putting the cage over it, screwing it on, and finally locking it all together with a little gold padlock. 

Both Phoebe and Charlotte laughed at his baby dick all locked away in his new cuckold cage. It was a clear plastic tinted pink, fitting for the little bitch it was on. It was a little heavy, and pulled down his crotch a little. 

“And this thing scared me?” Laughed Phoebe, flicking it and watching it wiggle and twitch. 

“To think I married that thing,” replied Charlotte. Dan was still speechless. 

“Let’s sample our new life, how about that?” 

“Sample?” Asked Phoebe and Dan in unison. 

“That’s right,” smiled Charlotte, showing them both her phone. On it were recent texts from contacts Darnel, Jamie, Kyan, and Purcell. “I invited the guys over. We’re having another gangbang here, in one hour.” 

[henrikvanderswoon]

Double the Kill: A Nancy Drew Play Written by 12-year-old Yours Truly - Readthrough Reactions

Okay, guys, I went through two cups of super strong coffee reading through this thing and I think I can hear colors now so… Have fun reading this!

I sincerely haven’t read this thing in probably ten years and I legitimately forgot almost everything about this play I wrote for myself and my twin/two best friends to perform. We used to write plays for each other all the time, as well as play Nancy Drew games together, so… this was all very fitting.

Anyway, this is a super long one and I APOLOGIZE but also I hope you enjoy reading this thing as much as I enjoyed writing it 😂

Okay, for starters, this story is titled: “Double the Kill” for two reasons that I can remember: (1) someone actually gets murdered, and (2) someone beheaded the Lincoln Memorial statue. 

…

You know when you’re in middle school and you’re assigned some topic to research for a project and suddenly you have this stupid amount of knowledge about something you don’t know what to do with? 

That’s what happened here. 

Anyway.

So, apparently I didn’t know what the word “pervert” was when I was 12 (poor, sheltered creature) so I legitimately named a character Blake Pervey and I’m gonna fling myself into the sun. 

Oh my gosh, I wrote up a case profile for this, complete with character roles and everything. Incredible.  

Let’s provide that for you guys:

The Case: Billionaire Erving Nickels is holding a benefit concert at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington D.C., where the band “One Love” will be performing. Erv senses trouble, so he calls Nancy Drew and her best friend Bess Marvin to watch out for anything “suspicious.” But about an hour before the concert’s about to start, One Love’s lead singer Terri James is found dead near the Lincoln statue and the head of the statue is gone!

Contact: Erving Nickels - a billionaire who’d arranged the benefit concert. He asked Nancy to come and watch for anything “suspicious.” 

Suspects: 

Erving Nickels: Goes by Erv, for short. As it turns out, this man has actually gone bankrupt recently. Could he go to desperate measures to gain back his wealth?

Blake Pervey (I still want to die): One Love’s back-up singer. Terri had broken up with him recently because he’d attempted to cheat on her (huh, maybe he really is a pervert after all). Did he murder her to get revenge and take her place as the lead singer? 

Lyza Benton: The make-up artist. Lyza is always on the prowl for the next juicy gossip to spill to the press and gain publicity. Could she have killed Terri to create the ultimate story?

Myra “Ryan” Williams: One Love’s guitarist. She was the person Blake had attempted to cheat with, but she’d refused. Terri didn’t believe Ryan’s story and blamed her for everything, which caused the two women to hate each other.

Victim: Terry James

Okay. Already this is a little better than “Murder at Turquoise Inn,” because there are actual suspects with actual motives??? aMAZING. 

Wow, Nancy’s a bitch. She didn’t even tell Erving that Bess was coming along. 

Erv keeps saying that he thinks something bad is going to happen tonight, and Nancy and Bess are both like,“Can you please explain why?” And he’s like, “I just have a feeling.” Like boi, that’s sketch. 

Bess: “Sorry to change the subject, Mr. Nickels.” 

Erv: “Please, just call me Erv.” 

Bess: “No thank you.” 

Bess…I know Erv is a weird name, but…why? 

Mr. Nickels is taking Nancy and Bess on a tour, right? And I keep peppering in random facts about the Lincoln Memorial I learned for school and it’s SENDING ME. 

“I’ll watch and wait for our groovy band to arrive, while you girls split up and watch for suspicious activity. Now, let’s boogie!”

Asfbadka Erv, no one talks liKE That! 

I would just like to take a moment to preface the rest of this post with the fact that I wrote this for me and my friends, and we were always writing the stupidest dialogue for each other because we thought it was hilarious. Um…which hopefully explains lines like these: 

(1) No one calls Erv Nickels, the handsome billionaire, “Darling.” Except his mother.

(2) [We’re going to change.] No, don’t change. We like you guys just the way you are. *laughs obnoxiously* 

…

I hate myself. 

So Blake and Terri arrive in the limo and let me tell ya’ll Blake is definitely flirting with Erv right now and I’m so fucking confused. 

Terri: That man’s got problems. I guess money does that to people. 

Blake: But we have money and we don’t have problems. 

Terri: Maybe it only happens to men.” 

Blake: But… I am a man. 

Terri: Exactly.

Okay, you can tell my love for writing banter was here from the fuckin get-go. 

Oh god, now Blake is flirting with Nancy. Fuckin hell. I may not have known what the word “pervert” was when I was 12, but this man was aptly named. 

Suspicious, suspicious.*Mocking* ‘Can you girls watch for anything suspicious?’ Something suspicious, yeah right. Oh look! A BUG. Oh, soooo suspicious.

Bess…. I love you. 

Okay, as dumb as everything is in this thing, some of this dialogue is fucking cracking me up so hard.

Bess: No! Honestly. I swear, it’s almost like he’s trying to keep us busy so something bad can happen.

*A faraway scream cuts in from offstage*

*Nancy and Bess look off in the direction it came from, way too casual*

Bess: What was that?

Nancy: I dunno. 

*They pause, then their eyes widen in realization* 

Nancy: Oh crap.

Listen, I know I’m a comedic genius, but this is getting out of hand. Dsbfsjkdsjfbk

Bess: Mr. Nickels! What woman was screaming so high like that?

Erv: That was me. 

I CAN’T BREATHE. 

I saw Terri lying there on the floor, apparently dead. 

Erving… the woman is DEAD. What do you mean “apparently?” 

Nancy and Bess find a letter Terri was going to give to Erving to tell him she can’t do the concert because she also felt like something terrible was going to happen to her, and all Bess can do is repeatedly laugh at the word, “Flee.” 

Hey, too bad “Honest Abe” is missing his head, otherwise he could tell us whodunnit.

Wow, yall. Bess is my favorite. 

You know, the funniest thing about this is that you can definitely tell how many of the games I played between writing my horrible novel at the age of ten and writing this. If this thing had better dialogue and more fleshed out story/characterization, I could picture this as an actual game, not gonna lie. 

And… maybe if it didn’t involve removing the whole-ass head of the Lincoln statue…

Yanno, tiny details like that.

Lyza: *laughing* Scared you, didn’t I? 

Bess: Oh, “scared’"is such a strong word. I’d say more… "severely startled.”

So Erving reveals to Nancy that he’s actually not dumb as bricks, but puts up the facade because he’s broke and doesn’t want anyone thinking he’s not still super rich and air-headed. I’m crying. 

You sensed something bad was going to happen. You should have called the police to stand guard! Not some amatuer teenager who calls herself a detective and her little friend!

…. The pervert has a point. 

So Lyza likes to meddle in people’s business. Ryan had written about Blake’s advances in her journal and Lyza blackmailed her about it, Terri blamed Ryan for Blake’s attempted cheating. Blake tried to bribe Ryan into going out with him by telling her he’d discovered a way to get his hands on a fabulous collection of priceless jewels, and Terri broke it off with him. He’s upset, Ryan’s pissed that Terri thinks she went along with Blake, Erving borrowed money to organize the benefit concert (in order to benefit himself) and now he’s in even deeper debt because the concert has been cancelled and Lyza is having a fuckin field day. 

BOY AM I ON BOARD FOR THIS SHIT.

Before he came into wealth, Erving worked in a museum in Chicago, and Bess finds a piece of paper on the floor of Ryan’s trailer with the phone number to this exact museum. Nancy calls to see if there is any connection between that museum and the Lincoln Memorial and apparently there’s a theory that the head of the Lincoln statue contains jewels that the museum talks about in a part of their exhibit. 

*kronk’s face* Oh yeah. It’s all coming together.

Nancy: For all I know, you could be the murderer. 

Erv: Why would I do that? I needed the money from the concert!

Nancy: No you didn’t. You could’ve just–I dunno–stolen the head of Abe over there in search for the ALLEGED JEWELS INSIDE.

Ya’ll… please don’t ask me how the FUCK one person would get tools to remove that head without anyone noticing. Please. 

Blake: Hey, guys, have you seen Ryan anywhere? 

Nancy: Why? You gonna ask her out again?

Kjdbfisfdosidnf FUCKIN’ SAVAGE, NANCE. 

oH MY GOD THE CULPRIT SLIPPED UP SO EASILY I’M SCREAMING. 

oH my god, Nancy told Erving they needed something to pick the lock on one of the trailers and he’s all: “Like a bobby pin?” And just takes off his hat, removes a bobby pin, and “lets his long hair cascade down and over his shoulders like a waterfall” and I’m crying. I can’t fuckin’ breathe.

Oh shit, wait… the first culprit was actually covering for the real culprit all along I’m losing my mind. My twelve-year-old brain was so advanced I just threw a curveball at myself sjdbfshdbfagh

Okay, so I’m not gonna spoil anything because I think it’s hilarious to keep you all wondering what the fuck is going on and who the hell did it and why, but I would just like you all to know that this play literally ends with one of the characters singing Hannah Montana’s “The Best of Both Worlds” completely off key because I thought it would be hilarious and I think that really tells you a lot about who I am as a person.

[comeoncomeout41]

Bringing this back from the dead after I started writing it 3 years ago and let it sit in my drafts. It originally had Maggie instead of Kelly as Alex’s girlfriend, but in this house it’s 2020, and we stan Dansen, so I changed that. Just thought it was pretty wild that I predicted Supergirl would use contact lens technology back during season 3. Also added somewhat of an ending to this so I could publish it. 

This night was no different than any other night. Lena curled up against Kara's side, crying silent tears at the romantic comedy Kara had insisted on watching. The movie had long since ended by now, the credits still rolling. Yet they remained still neither wanting to break from their bubble.

There's only so long two people can straddle that line between friendship and something more. And this was the moment that had become commonplace for them in the last five months, three weeks, and four days. Not that Lena was counting per say, but it's hard to forget the moment your best friend kisses your cheek goodnight out of the blue like that's something best friends do, something she and Kara have always done.

Kara's fingers begin their journey underneath Lena's t-shirt tracing her hips. As if by muscle memory, a habitual behavior Lena has developed over these many evenings, she rests her hand on her best friend's abs. Her fingertips run across the toned muscles, feeling what she's never seen. There's a boundary they haven't crossed. Some exploration occurs but always within their safe zones, always within the borders of chaste friendship.

Kara hasn't kissed her again since that one night or anywhere else that she wants to be kissed. Not her lips, her neck, and well Lena hasn't reciprocated herself, so why should she expect Kara to do so? They haven't spoken of it, and Lena's not willing to ask what it meant or what all of this confined touching means. Because to accept that it's happening means to accept that it could stop happening, and Lena's not sure she could handle losing it, losing Kara.

Except maybe tonight is different because, "Did you just flex?" Lena quips, and she's smirking at Kara, but internally she can't believe she actually asked that out loud.

Kara dips her head back with a full laugh, "Absolutely not."

"Hmm sure." Because now she's started, and she can't control the easy flirting, "I think you were showing off."

Kara licks her bottom lip. She's staring at Lena's lips when her hand wraps around Lena's belly, slightly below the usual imaginary boundary line. The touch is less lingering, more certain, and the moment feels different than before. Tonight could be different.

In a soft whisper, "Maybe I was showing off a little," Kara answers back nervously.

The knock at Kara's door quickly breaks them apart. Lena sits up to adjust herself as if they were actually in the middle of something, something that may have or may not have started in the first place. Kara stands with a huff and walks to the door as the sound of jingling keys reverberates the awkwardly quiet room.

Deus ex machina big sister and her girlfriend waltz through the front door shattering any chance of ending this hopeless cycle of will they, won't they? Lena and Kara have been playing together. Still, Lena is anything but poised. Years of living with Lillian Luthor stuck with her more than she would care to admit. She manages to exchange pleasantries for thirty minutes before finding her exit.

Alex and Kelly are playfully arguing, and Kara hasn't taken her eyes off of her for the past half hour. With the conversation shifting away from Lena's lessened workload at LCorp and her new initiatives at CatCo, Lena chances a side glance in Kara's direction before checking her watch. Lena sighs in resignation to the fact that her and Kara are still at this standstill with no hope of Alex or Kelly leaving anytime soon, with a freshly opened bottle of wine in front of them.

"I hate to dip out so soon, but I have a project to check in on at LCorp early tomorrow morning. It was great to see you Alex, Kelly."

Lena nods at both women as a collective unrest of no's come at her from all angles (none as insistent as Kara's, but maybe that's Lena putting her hopes a little higher than she can confess aloud.)

"It's been fun, but I really have to get home."

Alex raises her glass, "Next time we'll try to come earlier then."

Kara raises her head to the ceiling as if asking her Kryptonian God to have mercy on her for once in her life.

Kara practically snarls in her sister's direction, "Really Lena, Alex and Kelly were just leaving."

Lena laughs awkwardly, dips her head to hide her blush, then slips her hand into Kara's with a quick squeeze before letting go, "Any other day, but I have that meeting with Snapper and James at 9, and this project first thing tomorrow."

Kara bites her lip, "I'll walk you out."

"No." Lena rasps then clears her throat, "I mean, I'm good."

Kara hugs her in goodbye at the door with a promised lunch date the next day. No cheek kiss again, not that she's surprised. She's already on pins and needles as is. The moment the elevator doors close in front of her, she reaches into her purse to grab her inhaler and wonders how when the moment comes, if the moment ever comes that she'll be able to handle Kara's lips on her again. On her cheek, on her lips, on that spot on her ribs Kara's fingers always seem to find and linger on that makes her dizzy, makes her want that something more.

Lena doesn't know why Kara seems to be holding back. They've always been able to communicate with one another. If Kara wants her, then why doesn't she say anything?

But she supposes she's not saying anything either. And then there's the chance that Lena is simply reading into something that she wants to be there, that's not really there at all. If she could see into the mind of the Girl of Steel for one day, then maybe she'd know for sure. If only, then she could end this tip toeing around and just kiss Kara senseless the way she's wanted to since the day both Supers walked into her office.

—

"Miss Luthor, the prototype passed all of our human trials. We need your approval to bring it to market."

Lena admired the small contact lens, transparent gold at her fingertips, truly, "And there were no problems with syncing the lenses to any of the devices in the trials?"

Lena had read the reports. She knew the product could stand more tests. As she was about to ask, Sam cleared her throat, "Miss Luthor, if I may."

Lena casts a sideways smile to her acting CEO, "Sam, you know you can call me Lena."

With a nod Sam answers, "Lena, there was an issue when tested with a certain brand of devices. It caused the lens to reach higher temperatures than expected. The images were also distorted slightly. We did discover that our human test subject was in fact, not human which may have altered the results.”

Lena was glad that her faith in Sam had not been misplaced, "Thank you. Did our team complete a human trial for those devices?"

Lena already knew the answer but, "Of course Miss," Sam corrects herself, "Lena, but I think it would be imperative to create a device that is market ready not only for humans."

"But for aliens as well, yes. I agree with you. Have we considered frames to market as well for a temporary solution until we can complete all of the necessary alien trials?"

"We'll get on that right away Miss Luthor," and with that her R&D team excused themselves in single file.

Lena lets out a long sigh, "Can't you see Supergirl wearing these? They'd really bring out the blue in her eyes."

Sam respectfully ignores Lena's comment and asks, "Do you want to try them?"

With the lenses LCorp had dubbed L-Vision in place, Lena stepped out of the elevator at CatCo to try out her new project for herself. Eve greeted her with a cup of steaming black coffee in hand, and L-Vision registered the face of the other woman.

Eve Tessmacher in pristine white text bubbled above blonde hair.

Lena made a point to remember all of her employees names, but she had to admit this feature would be a lifesaver at her next gala fundraiser. She could never keep up with every seemingly important white man's latest younger wife or mistress attending as just his secretary, nor did she truly care to do so.

She caught a glimpse of Kara from her desk in the bullpen. Her eyes widened when she saw the heart emoji next to Kara's name appear above her beaming smile.

And as if that wasn’t enough of an oddity, she heard Kara’s voice, in a whisper yet still clear, despite that they were across the room from one another, and Kara’s lips weren’t moving.

She looks good enough to eat.

Lena’s knees shook and her heartbeat was definitely loud enough for Kara’s super hearing to pick up. And then Kara started walking towards her, and she heard Kara’s voice again.

Come on Kara, act cool, keep smiling. Keep it together. She’s your best friend, you absolute creep. Stop looking at her boobs, stop it.

Ducking her head with an awkward wave, Lena darts to the conference room for her meeting with James, already digging through her purse to call Sam. She’ll deal with Kara after she makes sure these contact lenses go through another trial.

[omgjasminesimone]

Would they hate-fuck if they were mad at one another? if they had a falling out? for bryce x mc pretty please?

Author’s Note: This one turned into a full blown fic. It required a lot of backstory to explain why Bryce and Casey would be having hate sex! 😂

Masters of Sex

Bryce x MC

Word Count: 2000

NSFW

Follow-up: Part 2

“Do you want something to eat?” Bryce asks, shuffling around inthe kitchen of his one-bedroom apartment.

“No, I want to get this done and get out of here.” Casey responds shortly.

There was a time when she would have welcomed home cooked dinner at Bryce’s place, but that was before their “relationship” (or maybe just friends with benefits, or more crudely, fuck buddies situation) ended badly.

Although they’d never explicitly said that they were exclusive, Casey felt it was strongly implied when they both agreed their hook ups weren’t casual, that it meant something to them. She wasn’t sleeping with anyone else, and she was blind sighted when she found out Bryce was.

She didn’t even hear it from him. She overheard the young pretty hospital pharmacist telling her friend about hooking up with Dr. Lahela after last call at Donahue’s the night before.

He’d invited Casey to come out with him that night, but she’d declined so she could get a good night’s rest before her first day as chief resident. It made her blood boil to know he had some pharmacist booty call contingency plan.

She’d just barely kept herself from confronting him in the hospital and causing a huge scene. Instead, she texted an expletive laden diatribe which she concluded with ‘we’re done.’

He’d called her almost immediately, but she declined all his calls. She did read his text, where he said he was sorry, and that he really cared about her, and that they’d never said they were exclusive.

Casey felt that this was no excuse. Anytime he tried to corner her between his surgeries and her rounds she’d shake him off and refuse to speak to him.

Their friends were really tested in the break-up. They didn’t really seem to think Casey’s anger was justified since they’d never said they were exclusive. But they supported her anyway as her roommates, no longer inviting Bryce over to the house. But she did see them interacting with him at the hospital in a friendly manner. That was annoying.

Eventually, Bryce stopped being sorry and started to return her anger. She was being completely unreasonable. And her refusal to even consider talking it out was childish. Eventually, he just stopped trying.

So, they gave each other space. They didn’t interact unless it was professionally necessary. Like this new project Dr. Ramsey had assigned them both to.

Casey wanted to protest when she was given the assignment, but she couldn’t do that without explaining her history with Bryce to Ethan. She didn’t want to discuss her personal life with her boss, so she was forced to suck it up.

She had hoped Bryce might refuse, but she should have known better. He would never turn down a research opportunity that might get him into some cool surgeries.

“Fine, hope you don’t mind if I eat then.” He throws something into the microwave.

“It’s a free country.” Casey retorts, opening up her hospital issued laptop. She pulls up the Masters and Johnson video files they’re supposed to review. Ethan wants to run a similar MRI study, although his isn’t sex related. There is also a neurosurgery component, and as Edenbrook’s premiere neurosurgery resident, Bryce was welcomed to the team.

Bryce sits on the couch beside her, eating his lean cuisine meal as William Masters and Virginia Johnson go over some dry study background on the screen.

“You know they got divorced in ‘93?” Bryce asks. He’s just a wealth of knowledge on worthless trivia.

“I’m trying to work.” Casey snaps back. Just because the only free time they could find to do this was 10:30 pm, which made it more convenient to do at one of their places, doesn’t mean he should act like this is some social visit.

Bryce rolls his eyes. “Fine, be a bitch then.” He retorts.

“Fuck you Bryce.” She replies, flipping him the finger.

He purses his lips and doesn’t try to speak to her again, attention focused on the laptop.

Eventually, the video gets to the actual sex. And even though the participants are covered in transmitters to measure their responses, and being recorded for science in a clinical setting, it still spurs a reaction in Casey.

She and Bryce have been broken up for 3 months, and although she did have a one-night stand to attempt to get over him, it left her unsatisfied and missing Bryce Lahela and his skilled hands even more.

She shifts uncomfortably on the couch where Bryce has had her every which way. She chances a glance over at him. He seems unaffected, diligently taking notes in the margin of his anatomy textbook.

God he’s so annoying. So dedicated and smart.

Casey turns her attention back to the video, where the female participant is about to reach her orgasm. Her brain imaging lights up as she reaches her peak, moaning loudly. Damn, she could use one of those. She knows she’s been a bitch lately, even to her friends. An outlet to release some frustration would do wonders for her mood. 

Casey looks over at Bryce again, and this time he’s looking at her too. 

“Fuck it.” Casey mutters, moving to straddle Bryce. 

His eyes widen in surprise as her knees land on either side of his outer thighs.“What are you doing?” He asks. 

She grounds her hips against him, and he lets out a low groan as his fingers dig into the skin of her yoga pants clad ass instinctively.

Casey doesn’t answer, leaning down to kiss him roughly. She bites down on his bottom lip, harder than is nice but Bryce doesn’t seem to mind if his quickly hardening erection is any indication. 

Casey pulls back to pull his white t-shirt off, leaving him in just the grey low riding grey sweatpants that look so great on him. 

“Casey, does this mean anything?” He asks softly when she leans in to kiss him again. 

Casey leans back, taken aback by the question. She quickly shakes herself out of it, discarding her own shirt as Bryce watches hungrily. 

“It’s just sex, it doesn’t mean anything. A familiar concept for you, right?” She can’t help that last dig, echoing what he’d told her about his time with the pharmacist. 

Bryce sighs. “Casey, how can you be mad when-” He starts, but Casey shakes her head. 

“Stop talking before I change my mind.” She warns. 

Bryce looks like he wants to say something else, but ultimately thinks better of it and puts his mouth to better use, trailing kisses over the parts of her breasts not covered by her black lacy bra. 

He returns his attention to her lips as he stands from the couch, her legs wrapping around his waist in a familiar manner as he carries her to his bedroom. 

“I’m sorry I called you a bitch before.” He apologizes as theyreach his doorway. 

“What part of no talking did you not understand?” Casey replies. 

He deposits her on his bed, and they both strip out of the rest of their clothes without exchanging anymore words. Bryce crawls on top of her and tries to kiss her again, but she stops him with a hand to his well sculpted chest. She pushes him into a reclining position beneath her, and slowly lowers herself onto him. 

Bryce’s head falls back into the pillow as he lets out a pleased groan as she slowly rocks on top of him. His fingers dig into her hips, and he starts to push up into her. 

“Mmm….Bryce…..that’s good.” Casey can’t help but mutter as she braces one hand on Bryce’s abs as he increases his pace. He’s being rougher with her than usual, and she really likes it. 

“Just good?” He asks mischievously before slamming up into her, causing Casey to cry out at the sensation.

“It’s…great…so great.” She admits as she increases her movements to match his pace, circling slightly the way she knows he likes. 

“Fuck, you’re amazing.” Bryce exclaims when she starts to bounce on top of him. One of his hands leaves her hips, where he’s definitely leaving bruises, to squeeze at her breast. 

“Was it this good with the pharmacist? Was it worth it?” Casey asks bitterly. Damn it, why can’t she stop bringing it up? Why does she still care? 

Bryce’s eyes narrow as he regards her. 

“She didn’t mean anything to me Casey.” 

“That doesn’t make it any better.” Casey insists, eyes closing as she nears her release. 

Bryce stops moving.“You’re mad at me for breaking a rule I didn’t know we had. I can’t read your mind Casey. If you wanted to be exclusive, you should have said so.” He argues. 

“Stop talking.” She orders, doubling her efforts as she chases the relief that only he can give her. 

Suddenly, Bryce flips them so he’s on top, pinning both her wrists with one hand as he peers down at her. 

He pulls out of her, and Casey fights not to let out a whimper at the loss of contact. 

“What are you doing?” She asks incredulously. 

“Talking.” Bryce responds. 

“I don’t want to talk to you. And I was close.” Casey complains. 

“Too bad, because I do want to talk. And I was close too, but this is important.” Bryce responds. 

Casey tries to wiggle her wrists free. If they’re not havingsex, then she doesn’t need to be here. But he holds firm. “Let me go.” Casey orders. 

“No, you’re going to listen. I was afraid to ask you what wewere, what we were doing. My last girlfriend said I needed too much attention, like a golden retriever. I didn’t want to scare you off, come off as too needy. So, when I thought you didn’t want labels, exclusivity, I rolled with it Casey.” 

“Yeah, you rolled right into that pharmacist’s bed.” Caseyreplies, rolling her eyes. 

“Fuck Casey, how many times do I have to say I’m sorry?! Inever wanted to hurt you. I didn’t know that you wanted to be exclusive. Hell, I thought you were sleeping with Rafael.” 

To be honest, it’s not like Casey hadn’t wanted to sleepwith Rafael, but she didn’t. Because she was with Bryce. “I wasn’t sleeping with anyone besides you. I would never do that to you.” Casey responds. 

“You’re trying to make it sound like I cheated, but I didn’t. We never said we were together, that we were exclusive. All you had to do was say the word and I would have jumped at the chance Casey.” 

“I shouldn’t have had to say anything!” Casey shouts back. 

Bryce seems to be surprised at the vehemence of her response,and his grip on her wrists weakens. She wrenches her hands away and sits up,covering herself with his sheets. “Casey-“ Bryce begins. 

“You shouldn’t have wanted anyone else, regardless of whether we said we were exclusive or not. It shouldn’t have even occurred to you to go home with her if you really cared about me.” Casey insists. 

“I did care about you. I do care about you. Casey, I made a mistake. Please let me fix this. I’m sorry, and I love you.” Bryce swears. 

Casey shakes her head vehemently, this isn’t the way she envisioned him saying those three words for the first time. Casey stands fromthe bed and starts to redress. “You don’t love me Bryce.” Casey says sadly. 

“I do love you Casey. And if you love me, you’ll give meanother chance and I’ll show you that I mean it. Please baby.” He pleads, reaching for her hand. 

Casey just shakes her head sadly, reaching for her pants onthe floor instead of his hand. “I have to go.” She mutters, heading to the living room to get her shirt before slipping out of his apartment. 

…

Author’s Note: Went heavy on the angst with this one aftermaking too many happy angsty relationship asks

Taglist:

@octobereighth  @akrenich  @lovehugsandcandy @regina-and-happiness  @brightpinkpeppercorn  @choicesarehard  @lizeboredom   @desiree-0816  @hellooliviaolivia @dreaming-of-movies  @friedherringclodthing  @weaving-in-words  @fairydustandsarcasm  @goldenjellyfish12   @pessimystic-fangirl  @mimikoasahina  @srta-give-me-my-jax-rl   @god-save-the-keen  @caroldxnvxrs  @cora-nova @emceesynonymroll @choicesgremlin @anxious-arliah @cordoniasmost @lahelable @ohsnapitzlovehacker

[missbugaboo]

That Other Guy (8)

“Why does it matter so much to you? What’s so terrible about Adrien Agreste that you can’t stand him as your competition – even though it changes absolutely nothing for you? What in magic’s name makes him such a hateful rival?” Or, Chat Noir finally learns who Ladybug’s dream guy is, but somehow, he’s not pleased at all. For more reasons than one.

LadyNoir, Adrienette.

fanfiction.net / AO3

Previous chapter | Next chapter

Chapter 8: An Assault

Now, there were few things Adrien was ready for, when he left the locker room at last and headed towards the stairs that led to Miss Bustier's classroom.

First, after the disastrous photo shoot that morning, he knew better than to pretend to be completely alright – he was well aware that he'd looked like a shadow of his usual self ever since he'd first got up that day, as well as he must have looked about a dozen times worse after the conversation he'd just had with Plagg. For that reason, he was perfectly prepared for the questions considering his well-being and so when Nathaniel treated him with one, he smiled reassuringly and replied that it was all due to a rather tough, sleepless night.

So yeah, that was one.

He also realised – that was the second, much more anxiety-causing thing – that he would have to face Marinette as soon as he stepped over the classroom's threshold, as she usually stayed inside during the breaks, unless of course she was bound to change rooms. The thought of seeing her for the first time since last night still made his head spin; yet even though he still had no idea what to say to her or how to behave, he at least knew what level of emotionality he'd be in when they'd finally meet face to face.

He didn't know if he'd be sad or angry or maybe even relieved by the sight of her: she'd always been too unpredictable, as was the effect she'd always had on him, be it intentional or not. The only thing he could be certain of was that the encounter was sure as hell going to leave him confused.

It wasn't much, but at least it was something.

What he had not expected however, was being ambushed by a furious Alya the moment his foot had moved away from the final step of the stairs as she pinned him to the railing with her arms set firmly on both sides of him. His eyes widened in shock and then grew wider still when he met her vicious glare – and not even the arrival of Nino a second later was enough to make him calm down.

Quite frankly, at the moment he was sure his heart would jump out of his chest or maybe stop beating altogether, no matter how many Ninos came to help him out.

Sweet miraculous, what was Alya's problem with him now?

"Babe, let the dude breathe, okay?" he heard his best friend mutter as he came close to them and put his hand on one of his girlfriend's. "He's on the verge of a heart attack, you keep him locked like that and he'll collapse right into your arms. Or right under your feet, perhaps, since judging by your expression, I doubt you'd like to actually catch him."

"You bet I wouldn't," Alya drawled, pushing his hand away and then grasping the rail tightly again. "Not until I know for sure that he's got nothing to do with this. Or until he spills the beans and admit that he does as I believe it's more probable, and then proves that he can fix it."

She shifted her eyes back to Adrien. "And I don't mean a simple 'I'm sorry', Agreste."

Again, before Adrien could as much as open his mouth, he was cut off by Nino coming to his defence.

"She told you it's not his fault," the latter said with a weary sigh. "I think you should at least consider Marinette's opinion on the subject before you avenge her and hurt someone who's not even the main suspect of the crime, and much against Marinette's will."

"Well, you can believe that crap if you wish, but I'm not buying it," Alya retorted. "It's obvious she was hiding something, given the way she was and since she did mention that the heartless idiot who'd made her so was in fact 'her best friend', the chance that it had to do with the sunshine boy here is more than fat. Even if Marinette claims otherwise."

"Well, that's a nice way of viewing evidence," Adrien managed to break in at last, feeling the anger rise in him once more; he wasn't sure if it was Alya or Marinette (again) he was vexed with, but that he would determine later. "I suppose it doesn't matter what I have got to say about all this, either?"

Alya's eyes narrowed in concentration. "So you do know what I'm talking about."

"I have no idea," he corrected her. "All I know is that you're furious with me for some reason and that it is connected to Marinette and myself in some way, but at the same time, you're clearly not interested in what either of us has to say about the subject. So if you were so kind as to at least tell me what the heck it's all about, that would be wildly appreciated."

He saw the look of astonishment reflect on the countenances of both oh his friends and realised that it was probably the first time when he had ever spoken to them as harshly - and as coldly – as he'd done just now.

Somehow, the sight made him swell with satisfaction.

Guess it's really not Marinette I'm angry with, after all.

"So?" he picked up, seeing that he was not going to receive an answer without another push on his part. "Are you going to explain why you've assaulted me like that or will we just stay like this until Miss Bustier drags us back to class?"

With an angry huff, Alya surrendered to his wish and let go of the rail, before stepping back. As if sensing the potential danger, Nino wrapped his arm around her shoulders and nodded at Adrien reassuringly.

The other boy smiled and returned the nod, relieved. It was good to know that someone was on his side in all this, whatever it actually was.

Even though he certainly did have an idea as to what might be the issue here.

He simply couldn't let them know that he did.

"Thank you," he said calmly, even though he knew it was nothing but a sham; if he hadn't been relaxed on that rooftop he could hardly be expected to feel serene now? "Now, would you please tell me what's going on in here? Why is Nino talking about 'avenging Marinette' and how is it the reason for you to be angry with me? And first and foremost: where is Marinette?"

Again, he had to wait for their answer, unless he was to count Alya's annoyed yet somehow resigned sigh and Nino's tightened jaw as one. All of the sudden he thought that the matter might be a whole lot more serious, despite the rather childish display he'd just been treated with.

If the last night's event had taken such a great toll on him...

...could Marinette be as affected by it as well?

No, definitely not as much, he tried to convince himself quietly. Of course she would take some of it too heart, she's not some kind of an unfeeling mutant; she's the opposite of that. Still, our argument can hardly compare to all the things I've had to face and accept since we parted, so surely, it can't be that bad.

Right?

"She's not at school," he was snatched from his meditation when Alya finally decided to share her information with him. "She came in the morning and pretended to be alright, except we all saw that she wasn't. So Miss Bustier sent her back home."

"Just like that?" Adrien asked instantly. "I mean... Your reaction from earlier suggests there was much more to it. Like you two have actually had a chance to talk."

"We did," Alya confirmed. "Or more like, I tried to talk to her while she kept dodging it, feigning good spirits and refusing to answer my questions."

"Have you attacked her in the same way you did me just now? Cause I think that might explain her reluctance."

Alya's glare became murderous again. "Of course I didn't, stupid. I was as discreet as possible and only asked about most basic things. Like you know, why did she had those dark bags under her eyes or why her hands were trembling all the time. Stuff like that."

"Look, dude, I know my girl can be pushy sometimes," Nino supplied readily. "But it was not the case this time. Those inquiries were what we would have asked her on any other day – the difference was in how Marinette responded to them."

Alya let out another sigh, one that was much less warlike this time. "When I asked her, I fully expected her to shrug and then complain about another all-nighter she'd pulled off because of a new idea for a design. Or maybe to say that she'd fallen asleep over homework, or a book, or maybe had just lost herself in daydreams for too long last evening and gone to bed late as a result. Normal Marinette stuff. Instead, I got clenched fists and teary eyes and that was long before she actually broke down."

Now Adrien's heart seemed to stop for real.

"Broke... down?"

"You really don't know anything, do you?" Alya's gaze was full of genuine surprise now. She shook her head adamantly. "Okay, so maybe I have jumped to conclusions too fast. The thing is, I'm really worried about her and since she wouldn't speak openly, I was left wondering. And you are one of her closest friends so if you had hurt her... She would've been devastated by it. Just like she was today."

"But why?" Adrien asked again, desperately. "And how can you know all that if she left as soon as you said she did? She's always late for class, so you couldn't have talked much before -"

"She didn't leave at once," Nino explained. "She got to school a few minutes before eight and hardly spoke to anyone. We noticed she wasn't fully herself, but as Al said, we blamed it on the lack of sleep, because we all know it happens to her a lot. That is, until Alya did ask her and Marinette began to avoid the questions she'd asked."

Alya nodded in confirmation. "It went on for three long hours, both in class and in between... and then on the third break she lost it. No sign, no warning. She just crumbled down, turned into a crying, suffocating mess. It was horrible."

"Yeah. it was."

For the umpteenth time in the last fourteen hours Adrien felt an infinite, mind-boggling, absolutely devastating terror come over him. The idea of Marinette being so unwell that it could be referred to as crumbling down and a suffocating mess would have been enough to make his inside twist on its own, without the extra confirmation in the looks Alya and Nino wore while telling him about it. Those two things mixed and additionally supported by the memory of Alya's most recent attack and rage...

Good Heaven, he needed some answers.

And now.

"Guys, I need details," he forced his mouth to say even though the rest of his body seemed inches away from falling apart in the same way that Marinette's had. "Tell me what it was. How she looked, what she said. Especially what she said."

Alya and Nino exchanged looks and for a second, Adrien was sure that they would decide he was not worthy of being entrusted with the knowledge he so craved. He couldn't blame them if they had – yet at the same time, he begged God that they would be generous this time.

He had to know now.

"Alright, so basically, she'd been gloomy from the start, but we've already told you that," Alya began after a while and Adrien was ready to kiss her in thanks. "Again, it appeared to be a simple exhaustion and that's what we took it for. Then Marinette got all weird about it though, yada yada yada... and then I decided to confront her. Probably not the best of my moves but it still seemed like a better idea than letting her go through that whole ordeal alone, whatever it was.

"So I dragged her to the bathroom and made sure no one was there to overhear us. I asked some more questions, Marinette dodged each and every one of them. She kept doing that... until I asked her if it had anything to do with you.

"That's why I was so sure it was you who'd hurt her," she picked up after a pause, during which Adrien was certain he would die of guilt and shame before Alya might decide to speak again. "As soon as I pronounced your name she burst into tears. She was on her knees a moment later, trying desperately to calm down again but failing completely... And then all of a sudden she began to tell me how it was not your fault at all."

"She did?" Adrien whispered, his own eyes beginning to sting. He blinked rapidly, hoping his friends had not noticed the change in him, although at the same time he was beginning to realise that he hardly cared if they had. "I mean, it's good to know I haven't done something unintentionally..."

Gosh, what an idiot he was. What a perfect, absolute moron.

What a damn jerk.

Of course it was him who'd done it, on both sides of the mask.

As if to confirm his thesis, Alya added, "She said it was another friend of hers, someone we don't know but who, apparently, means a great deal to her. She said they'd argued on the previous eve and that it'd been rougher than ever before, and that it had kept her awake for half of the night even though she'd managed to fall asleep without much trouble at first. She mentioned something about it being her fault but then contradicted herself and cried that it was not her fault at all, but that it was still so hard and confusing and that it hurt so much to have him think badly of her...

"I don't know, Adrien," she concluded with yet another sigh. "Quite frankly, I got lost after about fifteen seconds into her monologue. But I do know this: whoever that scoundrel is, he'd hurt my best friend in a way no one ever had before. And I can't just forgive that."

Adrien could swear his legs were turning to jelly right there and then.

"Was it really that bad?" he managed to ask, his voice barely above whisper. "Could it really have been the worst you've seen? I don't want to deem it unimportant or say that you're hyperbolising, only that -"

"Adrien," Nino cut off unexpectedly. "Remember when Marinette broke up with Luka last year and we found her crying in the park?"

Adrien's face turned pale as a sheet.

"I do," he stammered, appalled. "Of course I do."

"It was worse. And I only saw her after she'd left the bathroom."

All of the sudden, his mind was made up. He wasn't sure why or how, except that the image of Marinette's ugly crying – the image he remembered so well from all those months ago, now intensified tenfold by Nino's words and his own shattering feeling of guilt – had a major role in deciding that. That image itself would have been enough to make him crack; now it was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back.

Coward or not, ready or not, he could no longer stay and pretend that things would somehow fix themselves on their own. There was no miraculous cure – except for the work he might still do.

No matter how horribly impossible the task still seemed in his eyes.

"Bro? You're alright?"

"I'm sorry guys," he replied automatically, shifting his gaze back to the pair before him. "I can't stay. If things really are as bad as you say they are... I just need to talk to Marinette and as soon as I can. She probably won't let me in; she's been through hell and back and unwanted company is probably the last thing she needs. But... but I believe I may be of some help if she does."

Alya raised an eyebrow at him, mistrust painted all over her face. "No offence Agreste, but why should you be the one able to help her out now?"

"Because I know the bastard who'd hurt her."

[kate-sinclaire]

moving on (Levi x mc)

Book:
 Mother of the Year Pairing: 
(Levi x mc) (Jessica Day) Rating:
 Mature; ends with a sex scene.

TAGS: @furiouscloddonutpeanut

Summary: Jessica Day goes to clean up yet another mess left by her ex-husband after the confrontation between him and Levi. I won’t say more than that because that would be spoiling. Enjoy :)

Disclaimer: All characters minus my own belong to Pixelberry Studios. Jessica Day is primarily my own character, but she also has ties to PB as well. The image does not belong to me, it was found here.

Author’s Note: This takes place in Chapter 5 after the Levi and Guy confrontation. It literally broke my heart that MC didn’t stand up for him further or go talk to him afterward. So, here it is. I’m going to be making this a series, so the prequel to this chapter will be written next. Of course, this isn’t a canon scene, and the other ones that I’ll be writing likely won’t be, either.

--

Jessica stared at her ex-husband with what could only be described as pure hate. “What?” he asked, glancing at his girlfriend for support. She didn’t give it, but rather looked at Jessica with a soft amount of sympathy (which was almost worse).

“That wasn’t nice, Dad,” Zoey chimed in, smoothing out her dress self-consciously. “Levi is cool. He taught us how to make Ruga-aruga-roogo-” she paused and took in a breath. “He taught us how to make his grandma’s cookies. And he calls me Rocket.” Jessica smiled proudly, pulling her daughter in a gentle side hug.

A flicker of rage darted across his features. “You let him near my daughter?”

“How about you go inside and work on your homework?” Jessica suggested coldly, flashbacks of all the angry arguments and screaming matches replaying vividly in the back of her mind.

Zoey nodded in understanding and disappeared behind the door. Jessica’s eyes flashed to Guy. “You’ve got some nerve showing up after all this time and lecturing me on parenting,” she snapped, closing the distance between them.

“Jessica-”

“No, you are not going to interrupt me,” her finger jabbed at his chest, the anger of the past four years bubbling to the surface. “And you are not going to regard Zoey as your daughter now when you were developing a fucking food app while she was crying herself to sleep every night wondering what she did wrong for her daddy to leave her.”

“You are being-”

“I told you not to interrupt me,” she practically growled, staring directly into those emotionless eyes; the same eyes that had so obviously enjoyed toying with her and beating down her confidence day after day over a span of years. The same ones that watched as Zoey attached herself to his leg, begging him to stay. “You may have been able to control me when we were together, but you sure as hell don’t get to control me now. I will see who I want when I want however I want, especially when they make my daughter happy. Is that clear?”

“You need to-”

“Is. That. Clear?” She was fuming, her hands were shaking, and she was sure that her face was a tomato red, but she didn’t care. Part of her wanted to murder him right here in this hallway, but then she’d go to prison. Mom’s don’t have rights in prison.

“Crystal,” he seethed.

“Good, now get out,” she ordered, but not before looking at Faye and plastering on a friendly smile. “It was lovely to meet you.”

“You too,” she repeated, clearly shocked and a little afraid. “Come on, sweetie...let’s go...” Watching as they walked away, Jessica slowly opened the door from behind her and slid herself in, her heart pounding hard against her chest.

She tapped on Zoey’s shut bedroom door and let herself in. She was doing homework. Of course, she was. “Hi pretty girl,” she murmured, leaning on the

Zoey’s eyes flashed over, and she offered a nervous smile. “Are you mad at me?”

“What?” Jessica sat down on the edge of Zoey’s bed and rested her hand on her knee. “Why would you think that?”

“Because I was happy that Daddy came back,” she replied, setting her textbook aside. Guilt welled up in Jessica’s chest.

“Sweetheart, I know you love your Dad. And I know you love me. Just because you love both of us doesn’t mean you love me any less, does it?” Zoey shook her head and swiveled beside her, wrapping her arms around her mom’s waist.

“I just don’t want to hurt your feelings.”

“You didn’t,” Jessica promised. “I will never ever be mad at you for loving your father. Just because I’m angry with him doesn’t mean that I expect you to feel the same way.”

“I love you, Mama.”

“I know you do, and I love you back,” she smiled, brushing a strand of Zoey’s hair out from her eyes. “Now, you finish your homework and treat yourself to a cupcake when you’re done. I’m going to have Alma come over so I can see if Levi’s okay.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “Daddy was really mean to him.”

At least they agreed on that. “Yes, he was. I’ll be back soon, okay?” After letting Alma in and thanking her profusely, Jessica knocked on Levi’s door. It took a minute before the guitar music stopped, and the mechanisms of the door began to shift.

“Hey,” Jessica offered weakly.

“You didn’t have to check up on me,” he sighed, clearly embarrassed with the situation. “I’m fine.”

“Maybe I didn’t come to check up on you,” she countered with a smirk. He raised an eyebrow. “What? Maybe I came to fix your oven this time.”

“Do you even know how to do that?” he chuckled, the light coming back into his brown eyes.

“Ah, you got me,” she grinned. “Can I come in?”

“It’s a mess,” he warned but stepped aside anyway. “Do you want anything? Coffee? Tea? Uh...” he paused, checking a relatively empty cupboard. “Whiskey?”

“Yes, that. So much that,” she replied, taking a seat on a barstool. He nodded and slid over a glass for her and then pulled out one for himself. She winced as she allowed the fiery liquid to coat her throat. “I heard you playing.”

“Yeah? I’m sorry,” he scoffed.

“Don’t do that,” she murmured. His eyes gazed behind her, the light gone again. She placed a hand over his, and he looked over, surprised. “Don’t let that walking talking douchebag get to you. He’s destroyed way too much confidence in his life already.”

“Thanks, Day,” he replied, running his hand through his hair.

“Zoey stuck up for you, you know,” Jessica mentioned. His expression softened as a smile tempted his lips. “Said that you’re real cool.” Aaaand there it was. It sent butterflies in her stomach, something she hadn’t felt in years.

“I mean, I am pretty cool,” he laughed, taking another sip of his drink. “She’s a sweet kid. Nothing like her dad.”

“I like to think she takes after me,” she winked, prompting another smile.

“I think that seems the most likely,” he agreed, his eyes gazing into hers before glancing down at their still entwined hands. Every logical part of her told her to pull back, to back off, but she held herself there and watched as Levi ran the back of his thumb over her knuckles. “So, you heard me play.”

“I heard you play,” she confirmed, her eyes watching as he made his way from behind the kitchen counter to only inches away, his hand still holding hers.

“It sounds a hell of a lot better when there isn’t a wall between you and the guitar,” he murmured, his eyes glancing from Jessica to the bedroom. Her heart raced at the subtextual offer and she bit down on her bottom lip in a vain attempt to contain herself.

“Then what are you waiting for?” she whispered, allowing him to wrap her arms around his neck as he lifted her up from the stool and pressed her thighs to his waist. For a moment they just breathed each other in, taking in each other’s gazes and the heat of their emotions.

And then he kissed her. Hard.

His tongue explored and sought, and his spare hand ran under her shirt, feeling, and molding. She let out a moan as he pinned her to the wall, his lips tracing her neck urgently and passionately. She felt him harden underneath her as his hand moved down her abdomen.

“Bedroom,” she whispered. “Please.”

He chuckled a little and obeyed, sweeping the pamphlets of music and his...guitar? Did he just toss his guitar on the ground? Before she could inquire further, he slid off her underwear and eagerly made his way up her thighs, kissing and sucking. She let out another moan, guiding his head as he worshipped her.

“L-Levi,” she stammered, kissing him aggressively as he moved to her lips. Somehow her dress and everything else was off, and she was on top, taking off his shirt and fumbling with the buckle of his pants.

“Oh Jessica,” he groaned, flipping over and quickly putting on a condom. “You’re so beautiful, oh my God.”

“More,” she begged, unable to control herself as the pleasure built up. Her hands roamed his ab muscles, and he shuddered. “Please.”

“Jessica,” he purred as he filled her, running his tongue along her neck. She shook, her nails scraping his back which only sent him over the edge. “God, yes.”

“Levi,” she murmured/whimpered.

--

When it was all said and done, Jessica lay wrapped in Levi's warm embrace. She glanced up at him, and he smiled sleepily as he ran his fingers up and down her arm. "That was..."

"Amazing," he finished, kissing the top of her head. "It was amazing."

"It was," she agreed. "Didn't hear much guitar playing though."

He chuckled. "Maybe another time."

"I'd like that," she replied, feeling at peace for the first time in a long time.

"Me too.”

[tetrakys]

Dragons and Daemons - part 1

👀👀👀

Prologue

—

I couldn’t stop thinking about my dreams.

I wasn’t doing it on purpose, it just kept happening out of nowhere. I could be in the middle of the most mundane task and my mind suddenly drifted to those images.

Those two big, powerful, bodies pressing against mine.

Their hands on me, on my hips and my face.

If I closed my eyes, I could actually feel their touches as if they were right there next to me.

It felt so real I was struggling to tell dreams and reality apart.

“If they only raised their voices a bit, I could clearly hear what they are saying about the crystal!”

Karen whispered excited. She’d convinced me to spy on the Light guard again. There was something they were keeping from us and she really wanted to know. Well… I wanted to know too, but my mind was a little preoccupied at the moment.

“Cough cough.”

A suggestive coughing sound came from behind our backs and we both froze on the spot.

Busted.

“I would say I’m surprised… but actually I’m not.”

I turned to find the expressionless face of Valkyon staring at us, his arms crossed on his chest, in a resigned rather than annoyed pose.

“We’re sorry Valkyon,” Karen said lowering her gaze to the floor.

“I should report you both to Miiko.”

“We’re never going to do it again,” she pleaded in the most unconvincingly penitent tone.

“Of course you won’t.”

A few moments of silence went by as he apparently made up his mind about our punishment.

“Go away Karen, you’re in the Shadow guard, Nevra is going to deal with you.”

She disappeared before he even finished his sentence, probably counting her blessings. She knew her brother was never going to punish her.

“Does this mean that I am your responsibility, then?” I asked the leader of the Obsidian guard.

“You are.”

“Mmm… is there anything I can do to show you how repentant I am?” I added taking a step towards him. Laying a single finger on his waist, I started drawing the shape of his abs, that his shameless outfit left exposed to everyone’s gaze.

I felt his muscles contract at my touch, and his gaze grow really dark. Looking around briefly to make sure we were alone, he grabbed me by the arm and pushed me inside his room, that was conveniently close to the crystal one.

The moment he locked the door he was on me, attacking my mouth with his own.

This wasn’t the first time. Since we’d been possessed by the spirits of Yeu and Tihn we’d both been very confused about our feelings for each other, and what better way to figure things out other than experiment a little?

So, we’d started sneaking around from time to time. I wasn’t yet completely sure if what I felt for him was just physical attraction or something more, but in that moment it really didn’t matter. Since these dreams had started, I’d been constantly turned on and needed to relieve all this pent-up stress.

And Valkyon was a great stress reliever. Let’s just say the guy was good, he definitely knew what he was doing.

Pushing me against the door, he roughly pulled my hair to raise my head towards his. I instinctively cried out in pain, but my sounds died the moment he took possess of my lips with his again, owning my mouth over and over again.

Our high difference was too big though, so soon enough he grabbed me by the hips and raised me with ease, my legs immediately coming around his waist.

I wanted… no, I needed more. He must have thought the same because, two seconds later, I felt my tunic rip at the front and my chest completely exposed to his hungry gaze.

Grabbing my neck with one hand to keep me pinned against the door, he looked at me with challenge in his eyes, before lowering his head to my chest. The moment he took one nipple in his mouth I closed my eyes and moaned in pleasure.

“It looks like you’re having fun.”

I snapped my eyes back open.

Ashkore was right there, in the middle of the room, staring at us, unperturbed.

“What the…” I was about to cry out for Valkyon to stop when I realised that something was off.

Ashkore was there… but also he wasn’t. Like in my dreams, he wasn’t physically there, Valkyon couldn’t perceive his presence, the fact that he was still happily devouring my breasts none the wiser was proof enough. Was he just in my head?

“Maybe yes, maybe not…” he said mysteriously, but he could hear my thoughts so that was probably the case.

Valkyon’s hold around my neck was tight, making it a little difficult to properly breath. But this, combined with his biting and licking and the delicious rubbing of his bulge against my most sensitive spot, sent waves of pleasure rushing inside me.

And all this, combined with the stare of those deep, empty red orbs? Was making me go completely crazy.

“I can’t wait a minute longer…” Valkyon grunted pushing my underwear to the side and slipping inside me with one abrupt movement.

The initial discomfort quickly morphed into exquisite pleasure as he started pumping inside me like a mad man.

“Change position,” Ashkore said in a seemingly bored tone, but from the hoarseness of his voice I could tell he was more affected than he cared to admit. Also, I realised that from the way Valkyon kept me pinned to the door, he could barely see anything.

“Shut up,” I muttered in a feeble tone.

“What?” Valkyon asked without slowing his peace.

Damn… I couldn’t say a word.

“If you don’t want me to mess up with your head girl, I’d suggest you do as you’re told,” Ashkore added in a menacing tone.

I knew I should’ve stopped everything and said something. Even tell the whole guard there was something wrong going on here. Something wrong with me.

But fuck if I didn’t want to keep doing exactly what I was doing. With Ashkore’s eyes on me while Valkyon was inside me.

“T-Take me from behind,” I told Valkion while panting hard.

He didn’t need to be told twice. The moment my feet touched ground, he came behind and entered me again, one hand gabbing my hips with strength, probably leaving bruises with each of his finger, the other fisting my hair to balance me and ride me with powerful thrusts.

I knew that now Ashkore had a perfect view of us, and my body… thanks to the completely open tunic.

His hands behind his back, head slightly tilted as if he was observing some kind of strange experiment, he stared at me, and slowly moved closer and closer.

Would he be able to touch me? If this was only happening in my head he probably wouldn’t, and I definitely shouldn’t be able to feel him.

But I realised how wrong I was the moment he grabbed me by the chin and forced me to look into his mask.

“You feel me all right girl,” he grunted. Valkyon still grabbing me by the hair kept me flushed against him, so I was basically standing in front of Ashkore almost completely naked, so close my breasts almost touched his chest every time Valkyon pumped into me.

Pushing his index finger in my mouth, I could taste the leather of his glove, as he started moving it in and out, playing with my tongue and my mind.

Soon though, he slipped it lower and lower on my body, caressing my exposed skin, from my throat, to my chest between my breasts, and lower to my belly down to…

“Fuck,” I whispered once he reached my clit.

He stepped even closer so that now I was claustrophobically squeezed between those two strong bodies. One hand pulling my hair, one grabbing my neck and chin, one holding my hip and one devilishly moving on my nub, making me completely lose any focus and scrap of rationality I had left.

“Erika…” Valkyon grunted as he started moving even more frantically.

“Tell him,” Ashkore ordered, and I didn’t need to read his mind to know what he wanted me to say.

“I-I’m coming…”

An earth-shattering orgasm that made me roll my eyes in my head and weak in my knees, leading to Valkyon spilling himself inside me.

With my eyes closed, I felt myself being carried and laid on the bed. I had no idea what the hell had just happened, if any of that with Ashkore had been real or just in my mind. Reality and dreams mixing up in the worst possible way… or the best possible way.

Dammit! I was going completely crazy.

I opened my eyes to see Valkyon’s beautiful face right next to mine, looking at me with lust and adoration.

“It’s been amazing…” he whispered caressing my cheek, shifting back to the sweet, aloof man he usually was when he wasn’t moved by passion and need.

It had been amazing. It always was between us.

But this time… I had no words to properly describe what it had been.

I looked around the room trying to find the source of my uneasiness.

Ashkore had disappeared.

[proseandpeonies]

Prompt: Rowaelin! College au, she runs into him at a bar, they have a one night stand, and the next day she finds out he’s the grad student TA for her class. Or anything with rowaelin and college

@aelin-godkiller you have no idea how much joy answering this gives me! This is my first completed work since August, I think… idk. Also, this is about 2/3 smut so I hope you enjoy.

My Writing

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aelin was truly, deeply fucked. The tall, silver-haired manacross the bar had been checking her out every five minutes (she’d been doingthe same, if not more frequently), and if one of them didn’t get the balls toapproach the other in the next minute, Aelin was going to scream. He sat at atall table, occasionally talking to the equally handsome man across from him. Aelinhad thought initially that they were on a date, but then Tall and Handsome hadkept looking her over with a gaze that was simply indecent. Aelin had met hisgaze a few times, even raising her drink at him when she had been feelingparticularly ballsy.

She’d pointedly ignoredevery other invitation to dance the whole evening, from men and women and thosein between, but still, she hadn’t gotten the nerve to approach him. It wasn’tthat she was scared of his rejection, no one in recent memory had turned downone of her prepositions, but it was more that she felt … Rusty.

Her relationship with Chaol had ended months ago (tragically),and with the exceptions of a few drunken gropings in the back of various clubsand bars throughout Wendlyn, she’d remained pathetically celibate. Patheticallyand depressingly celibate, her days filled with classes at the University of Wendlynand her nights spent at whatever bar was closest. She’d done anything to distractherself, but up until this night, she hadn’t sought distraction in someone else.Aelin grimaced down at her gin and tonic, tilting it side to side, watching theice clink against the sides of the glass. She was Aelin Galathynius, for gods’sake, people would kill to be or fuck her. She could do anyone and anything,and she’d be damned if—

“Am I bothering you?”

Aelin didn’t let her surprise showas Tall and Handsome stepped up to her barstool, his silver hair glinting inthe dim light. His smile was small, timid almost, but she could tell he wasn’tunconfident. There was something about his easy grace and strong body told herthat he knew how attractive he was. Funny, she did too.

               “Not atall.” Aelin grinned, and took a sip of her gin, “I thought I was going to haveto draw a picture to get you over here.”

The man laughed, and it was deep and warm and reminded Aelinof honey.

“You know, you could’ve come to me.” Tall and Handsome had therolling accent of someone from Doranelle.

Aelin tsked and tilted her head. Truly, she was fucked. Hissilver hair was swept back into a neat bun at the back of his head, a fewstrands slipping out to frame his face. A black, inky tattoo that was writtenin the Old Language flowed from beneath his gray oxford up and over his jaw tocurl around his left temple. And his eyes, gods his eyes, they were the deepestgreen she’d ever seen. As she gave him the once-over, she considered what tosay next.

               “Iwouldn’t want to give you the satisfaction,” she decided.

He smiled and extended a large, calloused hand, which shetook, “I’m Rowan.”

“Aelin,” she purred, “Lovely to meet you.” It was so, so lovely.

He quirked a brow, his smilewidening.

Aelin grunted as Rowan slammed heragainst the door of her apartment, his hands spreading her thighs as he kissed herlike she’d never been kissed. Gods, he was strong. Strong enough to lift her 5’9,muscled frame and slam her against a door like she was nothing.

“Fuck’s sake, Rowan,” she moaned. But he didn’t stop, he wasbusy kissing and sucking his way down her neck, biting when he felt like it.How the fuck he’d figured she was into that, she didn’t know.

He had her pinned, all of his body pressed against her, andthe scent of his cologne, piney and masculine, went straight to her head. Aelinrolled her hips against his in a desperate attempt for some release against thethrobbing in her core.

Aelin brought his mouth to hers, slipping her tongue throughhis parted lips. He tasted like bourbon and mint and Aelin felt fire streakthrough her when he canted his hips up against hers, grinding his cock againsther core. This was what she needed, what she had been wanting for too long. Adistraction, a heady, warm distraction that would make her feel something besidesanger and guilt and rage.

Rowan pulled away, tugging the strap of her dress off andexposing her breast. She watched as he pressed soft, almost tender kissesaround her breast before finally slipping her raised nipple into his mouth. Shetossed back her head, his lips and tongue evoking needy little moans that she couldn’tcontain. He pulled away and nipped and bit at her other breast, alternatingfrom soft kisses to sharp bites.

Aelin slid the hand that wasn’t clinging to his shoulderthrough his hair, freeing it from the tie at the back. He began to pull awayfrom her breast, but she gave his hair a quick yank, pressing him back.

Rowan laughed aroundher breast, but then raised his head.

“Where’s the bedroom?” His voice was low and gravely, hislips shining.

Aelin unwrapped her legs from around his waist and took hishand, tugging him behind her as she made way to her bedroom. If she stumbled neitherof them mentioned it.

The second the stepped into her bedroom, Aelin was on him.She slanted her mouth over his, moaning against his tongue. Rowan slid hisenormous hands beneath her thighs and lifted her up, walking back towards herbed. There was no ceremony from Rowan when he tossed her down, but Aelin didn’tmind. She didn’t want to think about anything but pleasure tonight.

Aelin stared up from the bed at Rowan, making sure he was watchingwhen she pulled up the tight skirt of her dress, slowly exposing the v of herlegs and her lack of underthings.

“Fuck,” Rowan rumbled, sliding a hand up her leg, “Do you alwaysgo out like that?”

Aelin rolled her eyes and tugged her dress all the way off.Men were sometimes so slow.

“Did you see this dress?” She tossed it at him, smiling as hiseyes widened at her bare body. “It would have shown ever little line!”

Rowan shook his head as he laughed, his long hair messy fromher hands. Rowan wasted no time as he tugged off his shirt, undoubtedly poppinga few buttons in the process. Aelin let her hands wander as he stripped, squeezingher breasts and sliding a trembling finger over her clit. When Rowan stood barebefore her, Aelin let out a soft, breathy moan. His body was strong and dark-skinned, the hard ridges of his muscles taking her breath. She parted her legsas she looked at his aching cock, allowing herself to imagine what it would feellike inside of her.

Rowan leaned down between her legs, parting them with reverenthands, “Can I?”

Aelin smirked and gave him a slow nod.

He began by kissing up her thigh with hot open-mouthed kisseshat teased her to no end, his hands massaging her flesh. There was somethingincredibly heady about watching his head move between her legs, it made herfeel powerful and beautiful and—

“Fucking hell!” Aelin’s hips bucked as he finally slantedhis mouth over her core. He slipped her legs over his shoulders, and she dugher heels into his muscled back, the feeling of him and his tongue too much tobear. Her back was arching off the bed almost immediately. Rowan let out a lowmoan, the vibrations from it sending little shock waves through her.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he groaned, his lips shining withher slick.

Aelin usually preferred her partners to abstain from dirtytalk, but something about his voice made her a little more inclined towards it. Rowan slid his tongue to her entrance, givingher slow, deep strokes that left her gasping. Aelin grabbed a fistful of hishair, her hips bucking and undulating against him. She could feel herselfquickly approaching climax, and she began to cry out in jumbled gasps.

He began to grind against her clit, two of his long, thickfingers scissoring inside her, and Aelin let go of coherence, “Don’t- don’tstop!”

She felt the heat of her orgasm spread from her centerthroughout her body, and Aelin moved to cover her mouth with a hand, but was stoppedby Rowan, who was still working her through her orgasm.

Aelin let herself cry out, hoping that her neighbors wouldn’tthink she was being murdered.

When it was all too much, she tugged him up, not even caringthat when he kissed her, she could taste herself on his lips. She slid her handdown the ridges of his abs, scratching her long nails against the v of hiships. Rowan gasped against her mouth, his eyes squeezing shut when she wrappedher small hand around his length. Aelin pulled away from his mouth and beganpeppering his jaw and neck with soft kisses, enjoying the sounds she waswringing from him with each twist of her wrist. Rowan tilted his head down to lookwhere she stroked him and let out something she assumed was the Old Language.

After a moment, he stopped her hand, his grip gentle butfirm, “I want you to come at least two more times before I do, princess.”

Aelin laughed and let him go, but didn’t let his littlenickname go by unpunished. Before he could react, she pressed the pad of herthumb over the slit of his cock, once, twice, until—

“Gods above, Aelin, stop.” He pulled her hand away, his voiceloud and commanding. Aelin met his dark stare and held it.

“Make me, prince.”She said the words with more than enough venom.

Rowan let out what could’ve been a growl and pushed her upthe bed, knocking her hands away as he positioned his cock at her entrance.

“Come on, Rowan, I—”

Aelin let out a scream as he pushed in, his length thick andlong and more than she’d ever had before. Aelin arched her back, her handsscratching against the skin of Rowan’s back. She was sure she’d left marks.

Rowan rumbled out a laugh and pressed lazy, soothing kissesalong her neck.

“Did that work?”

Aelin rolled her hips, having already adjusted to him, “Perfectly.”

But she was a bit pissed at his too satisfied tone. Aelinwrapped her legs around his back and shoved, hard. Rowan grunted as she slammedhim onto his back.

He gazed up at her, a little shocked, but Aelin could tellhe was pleased. She grabbed his left hand, which was also decorated by thestrange tattoo, and placed it against her breast. He got the idea quickly, andbegan pinching and massaging her aching breast. Aelin lifted herself thenallowed gravity to bring them back together. The moved as two opposite forces,Aelin pulling, Rowan pushing, and she was becoming dizzy with the feel of him.She ground her clit against him, her breath coming in gasping pants.

“Rowan, I need­-,” she didn’t have to finish it as Rowanslipped his hand from her breast to her clit. The rhythm he found had her hurtlingtowards the cliff of her release, and she slid her hand into his free one, whichallowed her more momentum.

She screamed again as she came, the sound loud and gasping.

Rowan groaned beneath her, and she could tell he was tryingto hold it together as her core squeezed and pulsed around him.

When she had ridden the wave to its end, Rowan rolled her ontoher back. A bit out of breath, he looked her over. Her chest was flushed anddamp with sweat and she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“I think I promised you another one, correct?” Rowan wasn’tashamed of how out of breath he was.

Aelin seemed to struggle to openher eyes, but she was coherent enough to gasp out a breathless, “Yes.”

The next morning, as Aelin sat in her 10 AM Arts of Wendlyn,she thought about the scribbled number Rowan had left on her kitchen counter.She silently thanked the gods she had avoided the whole awkward one-night standgoodbye.

She took a sip of her coffee as she waited for their instructor.Professor Maeve Noire was a bitch, but Aelin had to admit she was a genius.

The sound of the auditorium door shutting drew Aelin out ofher thoughts.

“I’m Rowan Whitethorn, and I’m your TA. I’ll be instructing for ProfessorNoire this morning and for the rest of the…”

Aelin felt her stomach drop as she locked eyes with him.

Rowan cleared his throat, his face carefully drawn. “For therest of the week while she attends a conference in Doranelle. Now, if you’llopen the book to page 245…”

Aelin was so fucked.

[timelordthirteen]

Night Shift 3/?

Mr. Gold/Lacey French, Explicit

Summary: Now bite your tongue, it's too dangerous to fall so young. Take back what you said, can't lose what you never had.

Notes: Several people wanted a flashback, so here is one from happier times. Please note the rating change and the additional tags and warnings. For the 31 Days prompt #8: red.

[AO3]

Lacey’s red dress swished around her knees as she walked.

She shoved her hands in the pockets of her jacket and shivered, the wind biting at her bare legs and toes where they peeked through her sparkly, open toe heels. Initially, she hadn’t planned on going to Granny’s annual holiday party, but after the incident with Gold and the cider, she’d gone home and had a good cry, deciding that she wasn’t going to let the bastard ruin what little joy she still found in the holiday season. Granny’s party was always a good time, and the one night during the year where wearing her uniform to work was frowned upon. She might have chosen something a little more formal than necessary, but she really liked this dress.

It was a red velvet cocktail dress with a halter strap that went behind her neck and was finished with a satin bow that buttoned instead of tied, ensuring no accidental wardrobe malfunctions. The fabric crossed in the front, right over her chest, in a deep V, which paired well with her one and only push-up bra, and made her look like she had a lot more cleavage than she really did. She’d bought it a couple of years ago for another party, and only wore it once, which was criminal since she knew she looked fantastic in it.

Gold had certainly thought so at the time.

He’d been invited to a Christmas party given by a business contact in Boston and invited her along. They had only just started to be a thing, and a weekend in a big city, staying in a posh hotel room sounded heavenly. It had been, at the time, and looking back it had also been a real turning point in their relationship. After that, everything felt much more serious, or so she thought, and it wasn’t long before she was staying over at his house and sitting in his kitchen in nothing but his shirt, sipping wine while he made dinner.

She’d bought the dress just for that trip, spending way more than she would have normally, even dipping into her reserve fund to get shoes to go with it. He’d been suitably impressed when she came out of the bedroom, all sparkles and velvet with lace underneath. The entire party had been foreplay, and the memory made her stop and close her eyes as she sucked in a breath through her nose.

A moment later, Leroy called out a greeting to her, and Lacey shook her head, making her mess of brunette curls sway against her shoulders. She waved to Leroy, and then plastered on a wide smile as she pushed open the door to the diner.

December 2017

Lacey let out a small sigh as she leaned over and set her wine glass down on a nearby table.

The low neck of her dress afforded Gold a very tempting view from a few feet away, and he let his gaze drop for just a second before it snapped back up to hers like a magnet. Her lips curved, and there was no mistaking the the way her eyes darkened, igniting a low heat in his stomach. His tongue darted out to wet his mouth, and she crossed her legs together, sliding the sheer black stockings over each other, the delicate crystals set in them shimmering in the yellow glow of the dining room.

Gold finished off the rest of his scotch, and politely ended his conversation with Abe Midas, senior partner at the law firm throwing the party, and a man whom Gold had worked with for many years when he lived in the city. He turned around, frowning when he saw the table where Lacey had been was empty, but like a moth drawn to the fucking flame, he found her all the way across the room, standing by a side door. She made a small come hither gesture, then slipped through the door toward the back hallway off the hotel’s large banquet room. It took him several minutes of annoying hellos and how are yous as he tried to follow after her, and by the time he reached the door he was ready to take his cane to the next person to interrupted him.

He cleared his throat as he came through the door, just in case, but Lacey was there waiting for him, leaning against the wall in what seemed to be a rather secluded corridor. The din of the party was muted, making it feel as though they were truly alone, and he stepped closer

"What took you so long?" she asked, her speech just a little bit breathless as he trapped her between his body and the wall.

"All these bloody lawyers," he replied with a roll of his eyes.

She laughed lightly, trailing the tip of her index finger down his tie to where his suit jacket was buttoned. Then she hooked her finger over the fabric and pulled him closer, tipping her face up to brush her mouth against his.

“You looked like you needed a break from them.”

He smiled crookedly and nodded, bumping his nose into hers. “I did, thank you.”

She flicked her tongue over her bottom lip, and the motion is like a flint to stone, sparking something inside of him. He captured her mouth, kissing her hard and deep as he pushed her back against the wall. One hand goes to her hip, and hers wound around his neck, sighing into his mouth as her lips parted to invite him in.

Gold pulled back reluctantly. "We should probably not do this here." His voice was hoarse, and he cleared his throat again.

Lacey touched her hands to either side of his face. Her lips were pink and already a bit swollen as she grinned. "Why not?"

Because there’s people on the other side of this wall.

Because we could get caught.

Because I’m bloody in love with you.

He said none of it and kissed her again. Her hands slid around his neck, her nails scraping against his nape, and a shiver ran down his spine, which she must have felt because she did it again and again. He tilted his head, sealing his mouth more firmly over hers, tongue dipping inside as she met him halfway with a soft, throaty moan. His hand skinmed down to squeeze her backside, and she arched her spine with a gasp as he pinned her in place with his lower body. Their hips met, and the sound that she made sent all his blood rushing down as stars danced across the inside of his eyelids, and his pulse thrummed with how badly he wanted her.

There's a new sense of urgency underscoring his need to learn for her, from the way she tasted to the feel of her skin, to how perfectly her body seemed to fit with his. Fuck, they should have skipped the party and never left the room.

His hand was under her dress before he knew it, pushing aside thin, damp silk to sample her wetness and pull a strangled noise from her throat. He leaned his forehead against hers, breathing heavy and fast as he pushed a finger inside her where she was hot and tight and already clenching around him.

“God, Lacey,” he gasped, feeling a thrill of pleasure wash over him as he added a second finger.

He watched her with a half-lidded gaze, drinking in the soft gasp that she made, and the way her lashes fluttered shut as her mouth forms around a small, strained oh. He pulled nearly all the way out just to feel her pussy tense as his fingers entered her again, and she rocked her hips forward until he was as deep inside her as possible. She snuck a hand down between them and ran her palm against the hard ridge of his cock where it throbbed against the front of his trousers, making him groan. Their mouths fell back together, the kiss half breaking apart from the weight of each hitch in their breathing.

“Oh, fuck,” she gasped, her head moving and knocking lightly against his.

“Can’t wait to fuck you, Lacey. I’ll make you come so hard, sweetheart, until you beg me stop.” She whimpered at that, and he nipped her puffy bottom lip. “And then I’ll wring one more out of you.”

He built a steady rhythm with her, thrusting his hips into her hand at the same time as he pressed up inside her, until they were both rutting against each other in earnest. For a long moment, there was nothing but Lacey, her quietly stifled moans in his ear, and the tickle of her hair where it brushed against his cheek until a telltale warmth bloomed deep down. He slowed just long enough to shift his hand and rub into her clit, the nub of it swollen and deliciously sensitive, making her whole body twitch like a live wire when he moved his thumb over it in tight, rough circles.

He couldn’t wait to get her upstairs and into a bed and make good on his promise, to make the whole room smell of sex and her perfume. She keened and threw an arm out against the wall for purchase, her nails scratching the wallpaper as she came hard. After she came down and her breathing returned to near normal, he wiped his hand off his pocket square and tucked it in his jacket.

“Had enough small talk and hors d'oeuvres for one night?” she asked, looking up at him through her lashes as she reached for his belt.

She gave it a small tug, and his eyelids fluttered, closing briefly as he felt his cock pulse with need. “Yes,” he managed. “I think I’m ready for the main course now.”

Gold’s hand tightened around the handle of his cane as he watched Lacey enter Granny’s diner.

All he had to see was the dark red peeking out beneath her coat to know what she was wearing, and to remember what it was like to strip it off of her and make her scream. He closed his eyes and breathed deep, swearing he could still smell her scent on him in that back hallway outside the hotel banquet room.

A week ago, he’d made the regrettable choice to confront her and ended up with a lap full of hot cider, though it only did damage to his trousers. There’d been a general stickiness he had to shower off his legs, but on the whole he figured he rather deserved all that and more. He could have opened with an apology, probably should have over a year ago when they’d first had their falling out, but always was obnoxiously stubborn in that regard, never doing what was best for him, particularly when his defenses were up. His first reaction was always to lash out, to tear down the other person and make them cease to be a threat, except all that had managed to do was strain his relationship with his son and completely alienate the woman he loved.

Gold swallowed against the thick lump in his throat and let his head drop.

He still loved her.

And that, he supposed, was a fitting punishment, being forced to carry around all the feelings and memories, unable to do anything with them, or exorcise them from his heart. He’d tried after all, tried hating her, tried forgetting her, but it was all in vain. She seemed to have forgotten him just fine, after switching her life around specifically to avoid him. How she’d managed it so well in a town of less than five thousand people he’d never know, but then again he was quite the predictable homebody, so he supposed it wasn’t all that difficult. But now that he knew where she was and what she was doing, now that he could see her every day from a distance, it was like salt in the wound.

He exhaled and looked up again, staring through the shop window at the lights across the street, the warm glow of Granny’s party like a beacon through the snowy night, advertising food and fellowship and terrible Christmas music. There’d been a moment when he was with Lacey where he thought he could have that kind of life, but he’d bitterly thrown it all away. Somewhere along the line, his life had become a prison of his own making, and no matter how much he piled his beloved things up around him there was no comfort in it anymore.

Sighing heavily, he turned away from the window and pulled on his coat. The night air was bitterly cold, and the snow had changed from light flurries blown about by the slightest wind, into wet, heavy flakes that were quickly covering every surface. He scowled as he walked to his car, slower than usual to avoid any icy patches, but a sound caught his attention.

Across the street, Lacey came stumbling out of the side door of Granny’s into the alley by the dumpsters, and he watched as a tall figure followed after her. His eyes narrowed when he realized it was that scumbag Keith Nott, and his lips curled back to reveal a flash of teeth as he took a step into the street. Keith appeared to give Lacey a push, and then said something Gold couldn’t make out. A moment later, the two were in shadow, and a few seconds after that he heard Lacey cry out.

Lacey pressed her hands to Keith’s chest and pushed hard, but the lumbering idiot wouldn’t budge.

“Keith,” she said loud and firm, “I said no, now get off me!”

Keith sneered down at her and held her against the wall. “Come on, baby, why else did you come out here?”

“To get away from you!” she spat.

He leaned in, bringing his stomach turning beer breath close, and she turned her face away with a wince. A second later, the pressure on her shoulders was gone, so was the smell of Keith, and she could feel a sharp, cold rush of air against her.

She blinked, and then gasped as she saw Keith curled up on the pavement, held there by something pressing into his side.

“I believe,” came Gold’s voice, as he stepped out of the shadows and pushed the end of his cane harder against Keith’s ribs, “that the lady said no.”

[phoenixplume117]

1994 AD

Mirai combed every inch of the temple… that she could.  There had been a lot of damage but so far all she'd been able to find was one miraculous, the peacock.  She was not thrilled when she'd found that one and refused to open it again.  The kwami had a flair for the over-dramatic and was whining about what he'd done to the temple and she just was not in the mood to deal with it. She'd tried to tell him it wasn't his fault but he wouldn't listen to her.  Eventually, she ended up putting him back in his box. Then, hid the box in the pillar next to her "bed".  

Every morning she would wake up, wash and gather snow to melt for the day.  Then she'd come back and make her way west, clearing the temple to the best of her ability.  

Last night she realized the pillars in the hall she made her home were some kind of retreat for the kwamis.  There were 25 pillars but the box she'd been the guardian of had only had 20 kwamis. She looked carefully and realized that some boxes must have had more kwamis in them.  Finally, she let Duusu go but she couldn't understand anything he said while he sobbed so she just stroked him until he calmed down.  

"If I leave you out are you going to be safe?" Mirai asked him.

Duusu looked around not quite sure if she was asking him, "Me?"

Mirai nodded, "yes, you. There is no one else here."

"Can I come with you?"

She would prefer if he didn't but, replied, "I suppose."

Together they made their way down some stairs she'd found the day before and she began clearing rubble away.  Every day for the past two weeks she’d done the same. She carried the rubble to a room that was destroyed but seemed safe enough to walk in.  So far she had become very well versed in old Madonna (or was it young Madonna?) as that CD was playing on her CD player as she walked back and forth with her bucket.  

“Mirai?”

“Hm?” she said, dumping the bucket into the empty room and walking back.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m a guardian-”

“A guardian! Why didn’t you say anything!” Duusu yelled flying around her. 

“I did.  I don't think you've heard anything I've said to you until now,” she told him patiently.

Duusu tried to see her logic but couldn’t, “so what are you doing?”

“I’m looking for…” she really didn’t want to use the term ‘survivors’ after all that would remind Duusu all his friends were gone because of Master Fu using his powers.  Which was what he had spent all the previous night crying about. She cleared her throat, “anything that needs a guardian to guard it,” she came up with.

Duusu looked at her rather dubiously then shot directly through all the rubble she was clearing.

Mirai looked at the boulders she’d never clear alone and frowned.  She could use Duusu, but look where that had gotten Master Fu, and Duusu didn’t seem like he was ready to be utilized after that experience.  She let out a huff of breath puffing her bangs out of her eyes. Why hadn’t she packed scissors?

“Miraaaaaaai!” Duusu yelled from the other side of the boulder.

“Shh!”  Mirai responded, “I don't know if loud noises could make this place collapse or not!

“Oh!” Duusu spoke in a ridiculously loud stage whisper, then he came back through the boulders, “I can look for you so you don’t have to hurt yourself.”

Mirai wanted to rest but she needed to focus on the task at hand, “I’m fine, but I think that’s a really great idea, Duusu.  If you scout ahead it would save a lot of time.”

“Or you could just make an amok to clear the rubble away.”

[[more]]

Mirai shook her head.  No. She would not become Mayura, she would not become Nathalie.  She was Mirai Chime, that was all. Using Duusu was a bad idea, "I don't think that's a good idea, especially after what you've been through Duusu.  This way is better."

༻࿊༺

The next day when she had yet to clear even one-third of the path she decided maybe she had been hasty in telling Duusu no.  He was quite companionable, friendly and helpful.

Seeing Mirai's hair sticking to her forehead with sweat Duusu slipped back through the rubble down a corridor then through more rubble where he found the library.  

Although "library" was perhaps a generous term.  The books were all the same, a textbook of recipes and forms for powers.  Rules for raising effective guardians and psychologically "sound heroes. The pseudo-library also didn't have many books but what was most exciting was on the small table next to a long-ago forgotten teacup was a box from a miraculous set.  It looked like it belonged to Duusu's set. He desperately wanted to know who was in there but he couldn't fly through. It looked like wood but it was actually something else, a magical material that with words could even change its shape. Unfortunately one of its magical properties was kwamis could not pass through it.  Duusu blew a raspberry at the box, flared his tail and shook it at the unhelpful box then flew back to Mirai deciding whether he should tell her what he'd found… or not.

༻࿊༺

Mirai wiped her head as she hauled another bucket full of stones to the spare room.  Her triceps felt like they were on fire, in all the years as Ladybug she'd gotten full-body exercise but her arms and abs had always done the hardest work, but for some reason, this seemed so much heavier and harder than carrying people ever had.

"It's muscle exhaustion," she said out loud, "you're just tired, push through it, you'll get to the euphoria stage."

She dumped the stones and rocks and realized she'd been speaking out loud and groaned. "Great, now I'm talking to myself.  Am I going crazy? No, everyone talks to themselves, I think it's healthy, yeah. It's probably time for a break anyway," Mirai reasoned, walking back with her bucket.  

"Duusu?" She said softly when she got back to the large pile of rubble she'd been working on.  A frigid draft ran through the hall chilling Mirai, she rubbed her arms for warmth, "Duusu, I'm going back, it's getting cold, I'm going to start making lunch,” she called again and headed back to what she had begun to convince herself was her apartment.  The large room was warm from the huge fires. Thankfully the room was built in a way that made it safe to leave them unwatched. She set about making soup, she really missed Maman’s cooking and Papa’s bread. She heard her sniffing echo in the room and coughed to cover it up.  She wasn’t going to do it, she told herself, she was not giving in to self-pity. 

“Mirai!” Duusu said a few minutes later after the soup had begun boiling.

“Hmm?” she said.

“I found another box!”

Mirai stirred the soup and carefully took the pot off the fire then turned to him with a smile.  She’d been right, she was meant to stay, she was not going to be Nathalie, she would not be part of Hawk Moth terrorizing Paris for nearly 10 years, “Where?  Who is it? How many are in it?”

Duusu smiled, glad he’d told her, “On the other side of the rubble you’re using, there is a hall then, more rubble then, a library.  That’s where the box is.”

Mirai’s smile faded, “Oh, well, we’ll get there,” then she brightened, “Do you know how many are in it?”

Duusu looked confused, “It’s just a box, not a case,” then his lower lip began to tremble, “All the cases were destroyed.”

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay now, don’t cry, Duusu, look you found someone, a friend!”

Duusu looked at her with huge tear-filled eyes and nodded.

“Alright?”

Duusu nodded.

“Okay, so who’s in the box?”

Duusu blinked away his tears, “I don’t know.”

Without thinking, Mirai spoke, “Then how do you know it isn’t empty?”

Duusu looked at her as if the idea had never occurred to him and as that idea worked its way through his mind she realized her mistake before his eyes filled with tears and the saddest words poured from his mouth.

“I killed them all!”

Mirai gasped, pulled the kwami to her chest and rocked him shushing him.  “Shh, shh, come on, we’ll eat later, let’s go check the box okay?” but Duusu was miserably inconsolable and deeply committed to his emotions.  Mirai sighed and stood up carrying the sad kwami she walked over to her pallet. She reached under the pillar for the box she’d hidden and pulled out the peacock brooch and pinned it with some difficulty to her Starter jacket and simply called out, “Duusu, Transform Me.”  She looked down at the little kwami before he was swept away to power his amulet, his face looked delighted and it helped her own feelings of doom. She sighed in relief, then giggled, then began laughing happily somehow she registered as an adult because it was December the Miraculous must consider her 18 she assumed.  She'd learned about this when she'd studied. She didn't have a 5-minute limiter. Or a basic super-suit, as she or her team had worn when she'd been Ladybug. In her hand was the feathered fan she’d need to create the amok to clear the way. She walked toward the rubble she’d been working on for the better part of the week and picked up a small but distinct piece of stone, then pulled a feather from her fan and began creating an amok that would be able to easily clear the rubble, she added a few features, like lights and a stabilizing pole in case the roof caved while it was clearing, then began clearing the rubble quickly.  The huge pile was cleared in less than an hour but like Duusu had said there was another huge pile of rubble before they got to the library. It took two hours for everything to be cleared. Mirai figured if she had done the work without using Duusu’s amok it would have taken a month to get to this room. She wondered what time it was, she didn’t know how to work the fan the way she used to work her yoyo. She looked around the library and picked up the box on the table and turned to go back to her room, even though transformed she was getting cold. Once in her room, she detransformed.  

Duusu looked at her then to the box in her hand.  “You did it!”

She smiled and said what he needed to hear, “I couldn’t have done it without you.  You did a lot of the work and your sentimonster moved all the rubble.”

“Sentimonster?”

"Avatar?" She remembered she'd seen that word on Duusu's page when Master Fu had been her teacher.

Duusu smiled understanding, "Really?"

Mirai put the small pot back on the fire then with Duusu floating at her shoulder she walked over to where she kept most of her gear.  She sat down and opened the box and felt her heart fall when she saw the purple stone with four beautiful wings resting on the red fabric.  Then suddenly Nooroo manifested.

"Master Liu?" he looked around confused, seeing Duusu he turned to him for answers, "Duusu, what happened?  Where is everyone? Who is she?"

Mirai felt near tears, everything was falling perfectly into place against her will.  "Duusu, I'm going to go to sleep okay?" Mirai said and took the pot off the fire and went to bed without changing or eating, only removing her boots.

Duusu looked at the girl confused, "Okay."  Then turned to his friend and hugged him, "Nooroo!  You're alive!"

Nooroo narrowed his eyes, "of course I'm alive, what's going on?"

Duusuu threw himself at his old friend and burst into noisy tears and explained that a new guardian had found him and together the two friends talked.

Mirai turned away from the duo and felt hot tears slide across her nose, cheek and into her hair.  How could she fall so low? From Paris' Hero to Paris' Nemesis she almost laughed hysterically. It was like Chloe used to say, ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous!  She looked at her Baby-G December 24. She hoped Marinette realized how lucky she was, suddenly Mirai missed her parents and the idea of not being home for Christmas was unbearable.  She cried herself into a miserable fitful sleep, not for the first time in the past 2 weeks.

༻࿊༺

The next morning she woke up and skipped all her regular chores and instead took a bowl meant to hold a small fire and went back to the library.  Once there she looked at the books. They seemed to all be the same, well sort of, They contained multiple copies of the M. Agreste's book, but it looked like there were multiple copies of books about the other miraculous boxes.  She wanted so badly to look at them but she couldn't. She knew she would end up Mayura and the information between the covers of those books was too precious. As a guardian, she would not read it. Her job was to protect miraculouses and kwamis, and she would do it.  She left the room. She dropped off the little coal holder and picked up her bucket and started her morning errands and ablutions. She met Nooroo, he was a polite butterfly who was missing the guardian he usually worked with. The three of them ate breakfast and enjoyed a conversation about earth animals' similarities to kwamis.  She went outside and cut more wood, she'd had a horrible realization earlier. She was a guardian, Master Fu might not have been able to train her completely and the once the monks had tried to take her miracle box she'd escaped and never went back and had to figure things out on her own but that didn't change the fact. She was a  guardian. One of the most important parts of being a guardian was their willingness to sacrifice. She chopped at the wood, everything seemed harder without her miraculous, she would not touch her ears, she thought to herself.  She brought the hatchet down forcefully.

Breathing roughly through her nose, forcing herself to look ahead and not feel anything she took the wood past the room she slept in and into the library and piled it overfilling it into the five fire pits.

She walked back to her room and shrugged out of her coat and picked up a notebook and pen. Then walked over to the cook fire and picked up the bowl and using tongs placed as many coals into it that would fit safely.  Then walked to the library. 

She swallowed, she needed to do this.  She took a pair of tong hanging over the fireplace amazed they hadn't been disturbed from when Feast had torn through, then again, this whole library seemed to have been saved.  With tongs in hand, she placed a few coals in all of the fireplaces in the room. Then she took a steadying breath. In, out, in, out, she thought to herself. She couldn't do this.  Her heart was racing, and she felt bile in the back of her throat. She put down the small fire and ran to the corner and threw up over the woodpile there avoiding the smoldering coal.  She wiped her mouth but heard gasping and crying and knew it was her. She'd come here to be a guardian. She needed to do this. If she was going to become a villain she needed to do this to protect these books from herself and M. Agreste. They could not have so much knowledge.  With a sob, she went to the bookshelf furthest from the information about the miracle box containing the Ladybug and Black Cat and took a book and held it over the flames but as it's leather began to dry and crack she let out a sob and threw it across the room. She couldn't, she just didn't have the strength to do it.  She sobbed running from the room.

Before she entered the room she shared with the kwamis she wiped her face and tried to calm her nerves.  She would do it in the morning.

That night she woke, smelling the delicious barbeque her father made when they went to the beach.  It took her a moment to realize what she was really smelling was the library burning, the books had been covered in yak skin and they were burning.

She bolted up, "Duusu! Transform Me!"

Duusu flew over quickly, "I can't! You're not wearing my pin!"

"Shit! Where is it?" Mirai thrust her hand into the space under the pillar and grabbed the plumed brooch and stuck in onto her shirt, "Duusu transform me now!" she said picking up the closest thing to her and as soon as her fan appeared in her hand she plucked a feather from it and began creating an avatar to rescue the books, she'd been stupid, it was a bad choice, what had she been-

"Mirai?  If there's a fire you need something that will cause the tunnel to collapse so it doesn't come this way."

Mirai listened to him and gave the avatar a huge scoop as well as the agile human hand, it was a rushed job and she hoped it would be able to make it easily over the terrain then she realized she'd need to go with it.  She urged it over the stone path she shouldn't have made it so industrial it was slow-moving, finally, they reached the library, it was an inferno. She sent the avatar to the bookshelf containing Duusu and Nooroo's information and ran back out of the room then told it to come out.  She took the book from it then ran back to her room after giving instructions on how to collapse the ceiling. With Nooroo at her side, they waited and waited and waited until the heat no longer carried their way. She looked at her watch, it was 8:38. She called the amok back and released her transformation and held Duusu close in tears.

"I'm sure this is the place, Emilie," came a male voice down the corridor.

"Hide!" Mirai said to Duusu and Nooroo.  "And don't come out of your Miraculous until I tell you," She quickly ripped the brooch from her shirt and thrust it into the flannel's chest pocket.

"Shh!" replied a feminine voice, "I swear I heard something."

Mirai was shaking, there was no point in hiding, the entire room was obviously occupied.  

"Oh, la, la!  Gabriel! Look what we have here, a squatter, can you imagine?  In a cave?" Emilie giggled seeing the room.

Gabriel looked around, it actually looked pretty nice.  Private. A place where people would leave him alone. "It's a temple, Emie, you should be a little more respectful," he said gently.

She's here. Argus warned

Gabriel stopped and grabbed Emilie's arm to prevent her from going further. Who? He replied.

"Gabriel!  It's just a girl!" Emilie brushed off his hand irritated with his correcting her and ran to Mirai.

Remember what I said about women Gabriel, Argus warned, they can be dangerous when they're scared. I should probably warn him about jealousy, Argus thought to himself.

Gabriel knew women could be warriors he wasn't a fool, but this girl obviously wasn't then he saw soot on clothes.  He ran over to her when he noticed her hands were burned. "She's hurt, Emilie, get your first aid kit."

Emilie rushed to get the kit out.

Gabriel gently took the girl's hands, but she jerked them away with a hiss of pain.

Careful Gabriele!

I am!  Can't you do something?

One, she's not wearing me and two, she's already hurt.

Gabriel took her hands surprised that the girl really wasn't a child, she was actually older than Emilie had been when they'd met, but she seemed so small, "I know you can't understand me but I'm trying to help you."

Mirai looked up at him then jerked back at what she saw.  He was so young, his hair was shaved in the popular bowl cut of the 90's, and he looked so worried about her, and… kind.  This wasn't Adrien's mean father, and he definitely was not Hawk Moth, he was so warm, she felt her face warm and she looked away as her heart pounded and she stuttered out a response, "I understand you."

He smiled, not that she saw it, "Your French is very good."

Emilie was suddenly at his side, "Oh, darling, you must be in such pain.  Gabriel, ask her if she's in pain."

"She speaks French," he replied.

Emilie looked at the girl curiously, "Oh?"

"Yes."

"They teach that here?"

"I don't know I'm French," Mirai replied

"How fortunate, we are too!" Emilie said as Gabriel gently applied a salve to Mirai's hands.

Gabriel leaned into Mirai's visual field making her turn red.  "What's your name Petite Flamme?" he teased.

Suddenly all the pieces fell together in a puzzle with the perfect fit. It gave answers to questions that hadn't made sense before.  Mirai knew then everything she'd known about Nathalie Sancoeur was true, and everything she'd learned about her future was too.  

It was Christmas, her hands were burned, and now that all the adrenaline had worn off immense pain was starting to set in, she felt her eyes fill, she just wanted to go home, to her city of lights. She suddenly realized why Nathalie's name was "Heartless".  It wasn't chosen because she didn't have one, she chose it because he had it.  Gabriel Agreste had her heart but his heart belonged to his wife, so Nathalie had none.  She was indeed heartless but still filled with love.

How could she be in love with him?  It was beyond ridiculous. But there was no denying it any longer, 

"I'm Nathalie, uh, Nathalie Sancoeur."

༻࿊༺

Fin

[crescentmoon223]

Two Worlds Collide - Chapter 5

Read it on AO3 | Rated: NC-17 | Stella x Scully

Chapter 5

Scully sat cross-legged beside Stella in bed, room service trays laid open on the sheets between them. She’d never done this before, ordered over-priced burgers and eaten them half-naked in bed with the woman she’d just fucked. And why hadn’t she? Why did she so rarely allow herself this kind of indulgence?

If she’d learned anything in her six years with the FBI, it was that tomorrow was never guaranteed. This was the part of the job Stella seemed to have embraced most readily, allowing herself all the fanciful indulgences Scully had gone so long without. Stella worked hard and played hard, then got up the next morning and worked even harder.

Right now, she was eating a French fry—a chip, she would call it—and watching Scully watch her eat. She had on the hotel’s robe again, while Scully wore a plain black T-shirt, both of them bare-legged against the sheets. Stella’s hair hung long and tousled down her back, wavy from being tied in a knot at the back of her head all day.

Scully was struck again by how young she looked, unbuttoned and out of the office. If she removed the makeup and the attitude, dressed in jeans and a ponytail, she could go undercover as a high school student.

“How old are you?” she blurted, curiosity getting the better of her.

Stella straightened, tossing a lock of golden hair over her shoulder. “Twenty-nine.”

Still in her twenties. Scully smiled as she poked the last bite of her burger into her mouth.

“Why are you looking at me like that? How old are you?” Stella asked.

“Thirty-three.”

Stella blinked, plainly not having suspected Scully to be older, when Scully had assumed it since they’d met. Stella’s worldliness was born out of a confidence not backed by her years. She’d forged her way through the ranks on grit, smarts, and determination, and no doubt she’d keep right on climbing.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Scully had the sudden, strong urge to hug her, but she held herself in check, unsure how Stella would react to the gesture. There was a closeness between them, not just the intimacy they’d shared, but a mutual sort of trust and comfort, something Scully had so rarely experienced in her life, she wanted to treasure it forever.

Stella half-smiled as she rose and carried her tray to the door, setting it in the hall. Scully followed with her own tray, grabbing the discarded bag of fudge on her way back to the bed.

“Dessert?” She crawled onto the bed and opened the bag.

“Mm.” Stella gave her a heated look before reaching inside and pulling out a chunk of dark chocolate. She made a little sound of pleasure as she chewed, and Scully wondered how anyone ever managed to spend time in her presence and not fall madly in love with her.

How many people were out there even now, swooning over her without her knowledge? Because already Scully had no idea how she was supposed to forget her when she returned to DC in the morning. How could she forget any of this? Or was that the whole point? She should remember every moment in as much detail as possible.

They ate as much fudge as either of them could stomach, and then Stella leaned over to place the bag on the nightstand. That was when Scully saw the scars on the soles of her feet. Dear God, how much more pain had she etched into her own body? Stella turned, tucking her feet beneath the robe as she saw Scully looking.

I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.

But Scully only smiled, leaning in to wipe a morsel of fudge from Stella’s cheek, kissing her until the tension in her body released. They lay on the sheets facing each other, and Scully was imagining an alternate life in which she lived here in London, fighting crimes she actually stood a chance of solving and coming home every night to Stella in her bed. Of course, it was a fantasy. Even if she lived here, she wasn’t foolish enough to think Stella was the kind of woman who’d settle down, not with Scully or anyone else.

There was a reason they were in a hotel room instead of Stella’s home, after all. This was only temporary, like the room they were in. Their relationship was as neat and clean as the sheets below them, except it wasn’t. Scully didn’t do temporary very well. She’d been forced to accept it in too many aspects of her life over the years, and she would accept it again tomorrow when she said goodbye to Stella.

But that didn’t mean she had to like it. And it didn’t mean this had been meaningless. She could still taste the pain of Stella’s scars against her lips. That ladder of thin white lines carved into her delicate, intimate skin might as well have been a map to her soul, because Scully saw things there that she knew without asking Stella didn’t share readily, if ever.

She saw a teenaged Stella, angry, frightened, hurting herself to numb other pain, attempting to take control of things that were beyond her control. Somewhere along the way, she’d traded the razor blade for a badge, wielding control and power with an iron fist, making hardened criminals cower with a single look, causing men—and women—to fall all over themselves for her attention.

Stella Gibson, endlessly, effortlessly in control, had shown Scully her vulnerability. And she would never, ever forget it.

Right now, Stella was watching her out of sleep-glazed eyes, weary from the day but still alert, still hungry, a heat glowing there that re-ignited the ache between Scully’s thighs that burned whenever they were together, whenever she so much as thought of her.

Wordlessly, they slid together, kissing, touching, hands roaming under clothes. Stella’s robe slid onto the sheets behind her as she pushed Scully’s T-shirt over her head, leaving them both naked. Scully traced her fingers over the freckles on Stella’s chest, rolling Stella to her back so she could look her fill. Stella’s breasts were fuller than Scully’s, rounder. She palmed them, rolling her thumbs over Stella’s nipples so that they contracted into tight pink buds.

“So pretty,” she murmured as she bent her head to kiss first one, then the other.

Stella was quiet, but her gaze was calm, her body loose and pliant beneath Scully’s fingers, no trace of her earlier insecurities. She was leaner than Scully, her body lithe and toned. Scully had felt those muscles last night in the dark, and now she could see them in all their glory. She trailed her fingers over Stella’s six-pack abs.

“Don’t let this go to your head, but do you work out?” she asked, grinning at Stella, who used the moment to flip them, pinning Scully beneath her with the full force of those muscles she’d just been admiring.

“I swim,” she whispered, thrusting her hips against Scully’s. “And I spend my free time in the gym at the station.”

“Not all of your free time.”

“I believe this also counts as working out,” Stella said between kisses, hips still moving, one strong swimmer’s thigh between Scully’s to give her the friction she needed. “Can’t let anyone get the drop on me.”

“Never,” Scully murmured, picturing Stella in the gym, lifting weights to pull her weight in a man’s world. She knew the feeling, had found herself physically disadvantaged in enough situations where she’d wished for a few more inches, a little more muscle, but more often, she’d had to rely on her wits—and her weapon.

Stella kept moving, riding Scully’s thigh while Scully moved against her from below, matching the rhythm of Stella’s hips, rocking together, moaning as the pressure inside her mounted. She wanted to close her eyes, concentrate fully on grinding herself against Stella’s thigh until she’d found release, but she couldn’t look away from the beautiful woman on top of her.

Stella threw her head back, bottom lip clenched between her teeth as she moved. Her blonde hair spilled over her shoulders in messy waves, cascading over her breasts, which bounced with every thrust of her hips. Scully felt powerful in this position, seeing Stella from this angle, the way she would look if she were riding a man. Caught up in the fantasy, she reached a hand between them, touching Stella, carefully pushing two fingers inside her.

Stella gasped, leaning forward, riding Scully’s fingers with abandon. Scully felt separate from her own need, wholly focused on giving Stella pleasure, on making her lose control. And she was close, Scully could tell. She arched her fingers inside Stella, and Stella let out a soft cry, swaying forward to rest her hands on Scully’s shoulders, a fine sheen of sweat gleaming on her chest.

Stella whimpered as she came, her body clenching around Scully’s fingers. Scully held her breath, watching in awe as Stella rode out her orgasm. Her hands trembled as she lowered herself, body covering Scully’s from head to foot, kissing her deeply as she slipped a hand between Scully’s thighs.

It didn’t take her long to send Scully over the edge too, and they lay together for a long time afterward, limbs entwined as they caught their breath. Scully felt an irrational urge to hold on to her forever. The solid, mortal weight of Stella resting against her heart felt so good, tears brimmed in Scully’s eyes. How long had it been since she’d held someone like this? Naked bodies pressed together in the aftermath of pleasure, relaxed and content with the world.

“Stay the night?” she asked quietly.

Stella hesitated, her gaze drifting to the door as if searching for the conviction to walk out of it. Scully released her, dropping her arms to her sides, but then Stella nodded. “Yes, all right.”

And Scully smiled as she brought her arms around Stella again.

Tomorrow, Scully would fly home to DC and figure out what to do about Mulder and the X Files, about her life in general. Tomorrow, Stella would hunt down that little girl’s killer and see him punished. But tonight…tonight was just for them, two women seizing comfort where they could find it, a refuge from the insanity of their day-to-day lives.

Eventually, Stella disentangled herself and went into the bathroom. When she returned to the bed, she reached for the robe where it had fallen, eyes locking on Scully’s as she hesitated for a moment before covering herself. Scully didn’t mind; she wanted Stella to be comfortable, wanted to tell her how much she appreciated the things Stella had shown her, but she sensed the words didn’t need to be said, that she’d only make Stella self-conscious if she tried.

Instead, she turned to put her T-shirt back on, stopped by the feel of Stella’s hands gripping her waist from behind. Stella’s fingertips traced the tattoo on her lower back, circling the ouroboros inked there.

“I like it,” she said, her voice soft and cool as spun silk.

“I don’t,” Scully confessed, the hot sting of embarrassment flowing through her as she remembered her ill-fated night with Ed Jerse.

“Why not?” Stella crawled over to lay beside Scully, facing her.

“It was a stupid, impulsive decision that almost got me killed.”

Stella’s eyebrows rose. “Explain.”

So, she did. She told Stella about her ill-fated solo trip to Philadelphia, her night with Ed, the way he’d nearly killed her, and the cancer that had driven her to such a rash decision in the first place.

“It’s fitting, then,” Stella said. “The snake eating its own tale. It symbolizes rebirth. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right? Maybe you did get the tattoo you deserve.”

“Maybe.” She tended to get so caught up in the hurt and embarrassment of what had happened with Ed, and then the fear and pain of the cancer, she sometimes forgot about the tattoo itself. Maybe Stella was right. Maybe it symbolized the things she had survived. And maybe these nights with Stella were part of her rebirth.

***

Stella crept along the dark alley, careful to keep her weight on the balls of her feet so her heels didn’t make noise against the damp asphalt. Alissa Pine’s screams echoed from somewhere ahead. If Stella could just get there in time, she could stop this.

She could save Alissa.

But no matter how far she walked, no matter how fast, Alissa’s screams never drew any closer. She turned left, following Alissa’s cry for help, following the alley like an endless maze. Now she could hear him. Garrett Hunt, Alissa’s stepfather, was attacking her. Stella broke into a run, heels clacking down the alley.

She drew her weapon as she rounded the corner, and there they were. Garrett loomed over the girl’s body. Alissa screamed.

“Stop!” Stella yelled. “Put your hands where I can see them.”

But when he turned around, it wasn’t Garrett Hunt at all.

“Come here, my little shining star,” he said, reaching for her. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Stella lurched upright in bed, heart racing, body drenched in sweat. Gasping for air, she reached for the lamp beside the bed and switched it on, fumbling for her dream journal before her surroundings registered. She was in Scully’s hotel room. Her journal was at home.

“You okay?” Scully asked groggily from behind her.

“Fine. Sorry. Bad dream.” Stella shut the light off, feeling ridiculous for having turned it on in the first place. Sometimes revisiting old scars reopened old wounds, a lesson she ought to know by now. She lay back in bed, rolling toward Scully to replace the unwelcome face in her dreams with Scully’s bare-faced beauty, just visible in the light filtering from the window.

“Our line of work causes a lot of those,” Scully murmured, wrapping an arm around Stella to pull her in for a kiss.

Stella stiffened. She wasn’t used to having someone in her bed when she had a nightmare, and she wasn’t used to liking it. She wasn’t used to heartbreakingly beautiful redheads who stripped away her defenses with a single touch.

Beside her, Scully’s breathing evened out, and Stella focused on the rhythm of it as she willed herself back to sleep. She felt as if she’d only just closed her eyes when the phone began to ring, rousing her for the day. This morning, though, Scully got up with her, puttering around the room in that black T-shirt that barely covered her ass as she packed her suitcase.

Stella came up behind her, pressing her against the wall as she slid her hands beneath the hem of that fucking T-shirt. “How much time do you have?”

“About an hour until I need to check out.” Scully gasped as Stella’s fingers reached their destination. “When do you need to be at the office?”

“I can be a few minutes late.”

“And I can be time efficient.” Scully spun to face her, one hand sliding beneath Stella’s robe.

Stella exhaled as Scully touched her, pinning her against the wall for a messy kiss. Their hips moved together as their hands stroked each other toward release. Scully broke first, head thunking against the wall, pussy fluttering around her fingers as she came.

Scully’s hands went to her own hair as she regained her senses, eyes blinking open to meet Stella’s. The next thing she knew, Scully had spun them to pin Stella against the wall before dropping to her knees. Stella’s breath caught in her throat as Scully looked up at her with a wicked smile right before she put her mouth on her.

Stella flattened both palms against the wall, focused on keeping herself upright as Scully licked and sucked. Desire coiled inside her, hot and tight. The hotel room melted away. She forgot about the time, the open files on her desk, the little girl in the morgue waiting for justice. All she knew was the pleasure of Scully’s tongue as she carried her over the edge.

Release radiated from her core in blissful waves. She heard the cry that escaped her lips, felt the way her legs shook, her nails scoring the paint as she slid down the wall to join Scully on the floor. For a moment, they sat there together, arms entwined as they caught their breath. Stella blinked back the unexpected moisture in her eyes.

She slipped out of the robe, leaving it on the floor as she stood and went into the bathroom for a shower. She rinsed herself off as quickly as possible—careful not to get her hair wet—and redressed in yesterday’s clothes, hoping she had something clean left at the office. As she fixed her appearance in the mirror, Scully showered.

It was all strangely comfortable, as if they’d gotten ready together hundreds of times, despite there being nothing comfortable about it at all. Scully’s packed suitcase lay on the bed, plane ticket protruding from the zipper pocket at the top.

“I guess this is goodbye,” she said quietly from behind Stella.

She turned to find Scully in black jeans and a white button-down shirt, blazer draped over her arm. “It is.”

Scully walked to the bed and picked up the little notepad and pen the hotel had provided her. She wrote several lines on it before folding it into a little square and handing it to Stella. “Now you’ve got my home number and my email address. Drop me a line sometime.��� Her smile was hesitant. “Or, you know, at least let me know how Ronnie Strickland makes out at trial.”

“I’ll do that,” Stella told her, relieved to have a professional reason to contact her. And then, because she wasn’t overly fond of goodbyes, she led the way out of Scully’s room. They rode the elevator to the lobby as silence spread between them like a sticky web, seeping into the empty spaces and choking Stella when she tried to find words—any words at all—to say.

Luckily, Scully saved her. She propped her suitcase upright and reached for Stella’s hands before leaning in to place a quick kiss on her lips. “Take care.”

“You too.” Stella’s fingers clenched around the neat little square of paper in her palm as she walked away.

[valkyrieofsmut]

Engel de la Gargouille  Section 2 part 3

Engel de la Gargouille (Gargoyle’s Angel)

Kurt Wagner/ Nightcrawler x Female OC

Types: Smut, Angst, Mutual pining, Pregnancy, Romance, Love, Insecurity, Long as hell…

Overall series warnings: Smut, bit of violence, swearing, German (translations provided, but I have bad grammar… Sorry native speakers…) (Will be added as they come up) Chapter warnings will be added individually as well.

A/n-  Basically a bunch of scenes to show battle techniques and stuff. And awkward interaction.

Masterlist       Series Masterlist

Story!

After more sessions, Angeline got a lot better, learning what she could do effectively, and what wore her down quickly.

With Logan's help, she became a little more proficient in hand to hand combat, learning how to use her weight, and discovered that aerial acrobatics were her strong suit.

She could still use her tail to crush, of course, but she'd rather leave anything related to the monster that was her on that side of her glamour, not even knowing which side was her true appearance.

.

Angeline was headed down to the Danger room, but nearly crashed into Kurt as he stepped out of the kitchen into the hallway in front of her. “Oh!” Kurt froze, stopping himself from colliding with Angeline. “I’m sorry,” Angeline told him, giving him a smile.

“It’s no problem, I should watch where I’m going better,” he told her, returning her smile. He was moving, turning to go, but she stopped him.

“Kurt, do you-” he turned to look at her, “do you have Danger room practice today?” She asked, unable to think of anything else.

“Ja,” he told her.

“Oh, me, too. Is… Is it this morning, or this afternoon?” She asked, trying to make the conversation last longer.

“I’m headed there now, actually,” he told her.

“Ah, I am as well,” she told him.

And then awkwardly stood there, smiling blankly.

Like an idiot.

“Shall we go together?” She finally thought of asking.

“Um, I actually have one more stop to make before I go,” he told her. “But, I’ll see you down there,” he offered with a smile.

“Ok,” Angeline agreed before giving herself a mental slapdown. She wished her brain could function around him so she could stop sounding like a complete moron who didn’t understand the simplest things.

Angeline had already changed when Kurt entered the Danger room, and she let her eyes take him in for a moment before she turned back to whatever Scott was saying. She didn’t think she’d ever get tired of seeing him in that suit, but she didn’t want to be disgusting about it. Not like the men in France had been about her.

Shortly after, they started the training.

Angeline pulled away from the wall where she had ducked to avoid the robot that had been headed toward her, and took to the air again, dodging the same robot as it flew toward the wall after Logan threw it.

She heard Kurt teleport below, and her eyes were drawn to him, her heart beating faster and a sigh of longing pushing out between her lips.

Kurt looked so delicious in his suit, all skin tight, black and red highlighting his muscles, the white of his gloves and boots doing the same, and his tail was so active, wrapping around people, robots, and things, to throw them, use them to defend, protect them, catch himself or in general to acrobatically propel himself around, near the opposite of hers, which just hung there, or wrapped the end around her ankle.

Something happened below, and Cyclops’s hand slid forward on the control for his visor as he was spun, his eyebeam going wide, and powerful, far more powerful than he would ever have meant for it to be.

Six inches of Angeline's wing was replaced with the smell of burning feathers and flesh, searing pain that invaded her mind and pushed everything else out, and the touch memory of her ears being cut and cauterized played at the same time throughout her body.

A choked cry pushed itself out through her throat, her body automatically clamping down to prevent the additional punishment it expected to come after crying.

Kurt saw the robot that had been cut in half fall, one half falling toward Cyclops and hitting his shoulder, making his hand twist the power control too far, and knocking him sideways. His eyes jumped to Angeline when he heard her cry out, and saw her crash into the wall, then fall to the ground.

“Simulation stop!” Cyclops called out, making every machine in the danger room stop moving as the others hurried to where Angeline was stunned.

Logan was closest, and got there first, Kurt close behind after a teleport, but he stayed back as Logan assessed the situation.

Angeline held her wing to her, her hands tightening on it above where he saw a piece was missing.

His heart clenched in fear for her, but started relaxing as she closed her eyes and he saw her wing fill back out.

“Angeline,” he whispered softly in relief. His beautiful angel was going to be ok.

...    ...    ...    

Angeline stared at Logan where he stood across from her, sizing him up in the low light.

His fists were something to worry about, as were his claws, but she didn’t need to worry to exclusion either of those things.

What she needed to worry about was his stamina. He had some sort of seemingly endless reservoir of power and stamina, whereas she could only rely on her natural power reserves; the energy she got from eating food and sleeping, and what she could find from the elements around her.

Of course, the training simulations were never at night, and rarely in the rain, which was fake, anyway, so she never really had that to draw on.

Logan threw a punch and hit Angeline in the shoulder. She wrapped her hand around the front of his suit, her tail wrapping around his waist, her wings flared as she pushed her muscles, feeling her shoulders and abs bunch as she turned, but not strain as they should have, only like the strength she pulled from outside of herself was flowing through her movements, continuing in the direction that he was moving her, letting her muscles flex and push harder as she pushed the heavier mutant away, throwing him past her to the padded floor.

Logan climbed back to his feet, brushing off his sweats. “Any reason in particular you wanted it to be darker?” He asked.

“No,” she answered, shaking her head as she turned back to him. “It’s important to train in all sorts of conditions. You told me that.”

He grunted in response, sliding back into position. This time, he grabbed her arm and turned her, twisting her so that he had her in a hold, her arms crossed in front of her and her wings pinned between her back and his chest.

He squeezed, and Angeline gasped in pain. She struggled, but couldn’t get out of his embrace. She closed her eyes and flexed her muscles, feeling like her body was absorbing the energy and strength from the dark shadows stretching through the low lit room, fueling her to be able to break the hold, her wings bursting outward and pushing him away from her.

She was glad that she had this strange way to get energy, but she was also glad that it didn’t just seep into her; if she passively absorbed it, she was sure she would wake up and run around like she was burning jet fuel from her feet just from the darkness she’d slept in.

Logan stepped closer, grabbing one wing and pulling her off her feet as he swung her around in circles around him, letting go of her like a throwing hammer to fly off toward a wall.

Angeline flared her wings, trying to find her balance in the air, and watched a pole come towards her. God, she wished she could grab onto it and catch herself like Kurt could with his tail, but hers was near useless, only able to squeeze, and not able to grab at things that were moving.

Finally, after it seeming like it had been minutes of tumbling through the air, Angeline's wings found where they were and stabilized her, catching her only a few feet before she hit the wall.

Logan stood from his position, looking at the door shortly before it opened as Angeline landed on the floor.

“Hey, why is it so dark in here?” Scott asked as he flipped the off switches into the on position.

“Trainin’ in the dark,” Logan answered on a grunt.

Scott's eyes moved back and forth between them, barely noticeable behind his sunglasses, taking in Logan's sweating brow and Angeline's disheveled figure. “Mm-hm,” he hummed suspiciously. Angeline raised her head and looked up at him in question, wondering why he wouldn't believe that, they were in the gym, after all, and Logan huffed in disgust of what he suspected the other man thought. “Well, anyway. Professor Xavier is looking for you, Logan,” Scott said before turning and leaving the room.

“Guess training’s done for the morning, then,” Logan said, grabbing his towel and wiping off his face.

“You're lucky, then,” Angeline told him as they walked toward the door.

“How ya figure?” He asked gruffly.

“I was about to turn around and beat you,” she informed him, a laughing tone in her voice showing her good nature about knowing no such thing would ever happen.

“Huh, you look like you're awake,” he commented, giving her a once over.

“What's that supposed to mean?” She asked in confusion.

He gave a gruff huff of laughter and told her, “‘cause the only time you're gunna beat me is in your dreams.”

“You just wait til next time, you'll see,” she huffed at him, but it was all false agitation made in jest.

“Yeah, yeah,” Logan said.

...    ...    ...    

Kitty turned and threw a robot toward Kurt, who grabbed it and teleported away to drop it from a height before nearly instantly appearing back in the rest of the fight.

Angeline kicked a robot in the head, getting it to start attacking with lasers. She turned and twisted through the air, passing just under the falling robot, wrapping her wings around herself and spinning in a tight barrel roll to make herself smaller. The first robot shot the second just before it hit the ground as Angeline opened her wings and flapped to continue her flight.

After another few short bursts of fighting, Scott called the training over, and they all gathered on the ground, slowly making their way to the exit while waiting for the danger room to completely shut down and open the doors.

Angeline quickly cleaned up and changed, seeing Kitty still in the shower, and, in expert timing that was actually unplanned, hurried out to the hall where Kurt was exiting the men’s locker room.

“Oh, Kurt-”

Kurt stopped and turned to her. “Hallo, Angeline,” he greeted.

Angeline hesitated, not sure what to say. “What did you think of the simulation?” She asked, panicking and saying the first thing that came to her mind, though she was thankful it didn’t seem to sound like that.

“It was ok,” Kurt answered, “though I hope we don’t ever have to really go through a situation like that.”

Angeline blinked before she realized that he meant what kind of simulation it was; evacuating people from a building that was being threatened by terrorists. “Oh- yes, me, too,” she quickly agreed.

She was sounding so stupid right now. She needed something that she could talk about and not sound like a complete moron, but she really didn’t know many things others thought were interesting. “Kurt, do you have a favorite plant?” She asked, floundering for anything to talk about.

“Nein, I can’t say that I particularly do,” he answered, a little confused.

Another dead end…

“Well, I was- in the garden, I was thinking about planting some honeysuckle…”

Kurt raised a brow. “But it’s winter…”

Angeline kicked herself mentally. She was so flustered that she couldn’t even remember what season it was. “In a few months, in spring, of course,” she told him, flashing a smile, hoping the beauty of her practiced and perfect smile would win him over.

The women’s locker room door opened behind them and Kitty walked out.

“Oh, Kitty, I had a question for you. Will you excuse us, Angeline?” Kurt asked, starting off, Kitty going with him, but confused.

“What question is that?” Kitty asked.

“If you would save me from that awkward conversation. You did great. Thanks,” he told her.

“Um, awkward? I thought you wanted to talk to her?” Kitty asked.

“Well, ja, but I was making ein jackass out of myself.”

Kitty looked at him in question. “How so?”

“She was talking about wanting to plant honeysuckle, and I said, ‘but it’s winter.’ Of course I should be able to realize that she meant in the spring, not imply that she meant that she was going to plant it now and expect it to grow. She’s going to think I’m so stupid I don’t even know how plants or seasons work. Ah, Kitty, I’m doomed…”

Kitty hid her laughter behind her hand. “I think she just wants to talk to you, Kurt.”

“Kitty,” Kurt groaned. “She is an amazingly beautiful angel, why would she want to talk to a peasant like me? She is the fair maiden that a knight would rescue from a tower, not the one who would have to marry the kingdom’s trash hauler.”

Kitty smacked him in the shoulder. “Sounds like you need to watch Shrek again, Kurt.”

“Ach, Kitty, be serious. This is not a movie; it’s real life!”

“Kurt, movies often reflect real life. Especially when they’re documentaries!” She giggled.

“Did you just call me an ogre?” Kurt asked, his hand going to his chest.

“Kurt, be serious,” Kitty told him.

“I am. It hurts to think that my friend thinks of me as an ogre… especially when Shrek is green, and I am obviously a much nicer shade of blue.” His tail flicked up behind him haughtily as he acted as though his friend had hurt his pride.

Tag List!

If you’d like to be on any of my tag lists, please let me know! Also starting up my Ao3!

@racheo91 @a-book-pressed-rose @tephi101 @keldachick @Randomfandompenguin @Avacadobutthole @mannls @screeching-student-unknown @lilypalmer1987 @pingu89 @gifsbysimplysonia​ @omnomsauruswrites​ @mybloodtypeiscoffee @lizfawn​ @badassbaker