#holy hell moth drew something

[moth-p]

Close enough, welcome back Bill Cipher

[moth-p]

Absolutely.

Do you guys see my vision?

[armeenix]

Distracting thoughts♡Bakugo x reader

I've been really sad recently so I thought why not write some fluff

♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-

Ever since the very beginning of his freshman year bakugo has always been enthralled with you. There was just something about you that drew him to you as if he was a moth, and you were a beautiful dancing flame. His interest started out small. Sometimes he would glance over at you in class, or catch himself thinking about you instead of focusing on his tasks at hand.

Who are you really?

Why do you cause his thoughts to gravitate towards you?

Is it your stupid fucking quirk?

Maybe it's your stupid fucking face. With your pretty eyes, and your kissable lips, and your cute smile..

Fuck why are you so God damn pretty...?

This was when his thoughts started to get a little to...romantic. He had to snap himself out of this. He barely had time for friends, let alone a pretty little extra like you. He ever so desperately tried to get you off of his mind but nothing would get rid of his distracting thoughts. There was really only one option left and he eagerly took it. The last option he had was to just ignore you all together, and that's exactly what he did. He didn't want to admit it but it was a little harder to avoid you than he expected. Ever since the first day of school you have very persistently tried talking to bakugo. It's not like you did it in an annoying way, like kirishima and denki did. Instead, you were pretty chill about it.

You would casually sit by him and strike up little conversation and when the conversation stopped, it's stopped that was the end of it. You had a tactic of getting closer to him little by little at HIS pace and holy shit it was working. Bakugo started continuing the conversations for longer, and sometimes he would even be the first to start the conversations but, unfortunately for him, he couldn't open up to you anymore

Bakugo would go out of his way to sit far away from you, he would keep the conversations dry and short, and sometimes he just didn't pay any attention to you at all. He really thought this was gonna work but you just didn't know when to fucking give up. Even after how dry and mean he's been you still keep coming back to sit next to him and try to talk to him. Your subtle determination did not help bakugo keep you out of his thoughts, instead it made him think of you even more..you were always in his thoughts everyday of the week, he never could get a break from thinking about you. To be honest, you were the first person to ever be so persistent while keeping a respectful distance and not pushing your friendship onto him, and for some reason that made him feel all hot and bothered around you.

"Fuck..is a respect kink even a thing..?"

"What the hell are you talking about kacchan?"

"ITS NONE OF YOUR DAMN BUISNESS DUNCE FACE"

"Woah, calm down bakugo"

"Whatever..."

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7 YEARS LATER

Its been a few years since you graduated from u.a. Both you and bakugo were successful I'm becoming proheroes. Recently you have been trending all over social media because you reached the huge milestone of finally becoming number three In the hero ranks. Your popularity skyrocketed whenyou stopped a building from crashing down onto hundreds of citizens in Tokyo earlier this month. All over Twitter people have been congratulating you, especially the girls from class 1.A. The posts consist of pictures, fan edits, fan art, and videos from most, if not all of your recent interviews.

Bakugo was scrolling through one of your twitter tags, when his phone buzzed. He swiped the notification bar at the top of his screen down to see that izuku had sent him a message.

"What does he want..?" He clicked on the message to see an image of most of class 1.A sitting at a resturant table with you directly in the middle. You were sitting backwards on a turned around chair with a cake in your hands. The cake was decorated to look like your hero suit and it had a cake topper with a hash tag and a number three on it. Right below the photo was a small paragraph.

"Hey kaachan! I know you've been really busy with everything going on lately, but I couldn't help but noticr how dissapointed y/n seemed when kirishima told her that you couldn't make it to the lunch earlier today. Maybe it's time you finally stopped avoiding her? Don't try to say you havent been, because everyone knows that you have."

"Tch as if. Who does he think he is bossing me around." There was no way in hell he would be able to "pay you a visit". He was way too busy with work just like everyone else. Plus, you probably wouldn't even want to see his face after how he brushed your civil attempts at trying to become his friend off during highschool. Deku probably just read your expressionswrong, thats all.

Right?

Right....??

"Ugh! Stupid fucking deku with his smart-ass ideas. Why does he always have to be fucking right?"

Bakugo continued to mumble as he quickly stood up and grabbed a few of his things. Just as he was about to walk out of his office door, an annoying (as bakugo liked to put it) rhythmic knock was heard from it. "Hey bakugo, you in there? I wanna show you something!"

"Fucking hell"

Bakugo quietly sighed before walking towards the door. "Come on man it's really cool! It's this cat that's wearing a small costume that looks exactly like mine. You've gotta look!" Oh hell no. There was no way he was gonna let kiri in just for that, but how was he gonna get out of his office if kirishima was blocking his only exit? Well, his only reasonable exit. Bakugo never really liked his second option because of how dangerous it was but in this moment he had no choice. It was either open that door and get bombarded with dumb questions from his loud friend, or hop out of his window and use his quirk to stop himself from getting hurt.

"Bakugo if you don't open the door imma pick the lock!"

Once again there was no response from bakugos end of the door. "Alright man, you leave me no choice!" It took a few moments but eventually kirishima finally managed to unlock the door. He turned the knob and walked into the room to see no bakugo, and one of his office windows left wide open, letting the winter night air in. He quickly walked towards the window and looked down to see a figure with explosive hands floating (or more like sloppily falling) down towards the sidewalk.

"COME ON MAN IM NOT THAT BAD"

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AT Y/N'S HERO AGENCY

you had been at your agency building for hours working on an idea for your new merch realise. You were one of the very few heroes who worked on official merchandise themselves. Sure you were able to create what you wanted and people loved it, but this also added so much more work to your already heavy load. To you it was worth it though, because your fans always loved the things that you and your team produced and it made you happy to see that your teams hard work to make the best quality products actually payed off.

You picked up your mug to take a sip of your tea when you realise that all of it is gone. Letting out and exhausted sight you get up from your seat, with your mug in hand, and walk out of your office to go boil some more water. A few minutes later the water was finally hot enough so you quickly made your tea to your liking and walked back into your office. As soon as you walked in you were met with your patio doors wide open and Bakugo leaning against your desk with a greasy brown bag resting right next to him.

"Hey...."

"I....hi?"

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To be continued

Comments, and reblogs always help!<3

[zafirosreverie]

if you’re still taking requests could i request #8 or #9 with carla? 🥰

#9 is here ^ - ^ so i did #8 for you! I also combined it with this:

Hope you like it!

Grumpy prompt (closed)

Drinking night, crazy night (Carla x Fem!Reader)

a/n: this is looooooong. Sorry for that 😅

Warnings: Smut, alcohol mentions, Carla's dirty mouth. Dom!Carla...i think.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

You sighed and settled back in your seat, trying to be subtle enough not to attract Gwendolyn's attention and avoid her scolding. God, you hated these things, you hated being here. But what else could you do? You knew that if you had gone to Amy Mitchell's house, Gwendolyn would find out and she could do something terrible to your daughter. You would not allow the witch to get near your precious girl.

So here you were, in the middle of a huge house, surrounded by other moms who definitely didn't want to be here either, praying that the blonde woman in front of you would shut up soon.

"Y/N, Look at this" Cassandra, a mother whose son was in the same group as your daughter, whispered next to you.

You glanced at Gwendolyn quickly before looking at Cassandra's cell phone screen. It was a message from Janice.

Come to Amy's. We have shitty wine.

Followed by a selfie where the woman appeared, surrounded by other 3. They seemed happy and drunk. Lucky them.

"Let’s go" Cassandra whispered to you

"Are you crazy? If Gwendolyn finds out-"

"She won't" she interrupted you "besides, she can't do anything against everyone"

You frowned in confusion and looked around you. You noticed several moms silently slipping away. You smiled to yourself and turned back to Cassandra.

"We better go now that we can" she winked at you

There was no way you would directly face the blonde. Not if you could help it. You took your bag and smiled.

"Right behind you" you said.

You two held back your laughter as you sneaked out of the place. Whatever was going on at Amy Mitchell's house, it had to be so much better than this.

__________________

You were surprised when you arrived at the place. There were too many people here!! How many moms had sneaked out of Gwendolyn's house before you?! Too many in your opinion. How the hell had the blonde not noticed? You didn’t know or care.

Anyway, you were too busy dancing and screaming with the rest of the moms to care about those things. Tomorrow maybe you would, but right now, to hell with everything.

You heard someone yell loudly behind you and saw a row of moms taking a shot as a wild-haired woman yelled at them one by one.

"Drink!"

It looked fun.

___________________

Your head was starting to spin, but you were still sane enough to know what was going on around you. You watched from a few meters as the wild-haired woman laughed with two other women, kissing one of them and then making them kiss each other.

Pretty wild in your opinion. You liked it.

The more you looked at the woman, the more you tried to remember her. You were sure you ran into her a couple of times in the school parking lot, but her name escaped you.

Carolina? Carmen? Carola?

Something like that.

You turned around when you felt a hand on your forearm and Cassandra dragged you into the living room to dance. You missed the amused look that the blue-eyed woman gave you.

_____________________

You grunted when an elbow hit your rib. This is why you didn't go out to parties!...And because you had a daughter to take care of, but that wasn't the point.

You worked your way through the other moms and sighed when you walked back into the hall. You couldn't tell it was fresh air, but at least there weren't that many people here.

You leaned against the wall and closed your eyes for a moment, until you felt someone looking at you. You straightened up and looked next to you to find a pair of incredibly blue eyes looking at you.

The woman looked you up and down without shame, running her eyes all over your body. She took her time on your legs and you mentally thanked whatever god was listening for enlightening you and making you wear that dress.

She didn't say anything to you, but she had a funny smile on her lips. Shit, she was beautiful, you weren't going to deny it. And the image of her kissing that other mom hadn't left your head in the last hour.

"You like what you see?" you asked with a raised eyebrow.

Normally you would have blushed, but you blamed alcohol for your actions. Also, you weren't really expecting an answer.

Oh, but you got one.

The woman smiled at you and approached you with a confident stride, trapping you between her and the wall. You swallowed audibly. She smelled like she had a few too many drinks, but you guessed you weren't exactly better.

"That was my question" she told you "You haven't stopped looking at me since you arrived"

You frowned in confusion. What was she talking about? You didn't even know her name or who she was? Why would you -...but you did...

You looked at her when you walked into the house, when she had made all those moms drink a shot, when she had danced in the living room, when she had laughed with those women and kissed them. You had been looking at her all night. Shit.

"I'm sorry" you mumbled, smiling at yourself. Your confidence disappeared little by little "I didn't mean to be rude"

"You weren't" she told you. Her face was too close to yours and there was no indication that she planned to walk away "But I'm going to ask you for a favor."

"Of course" you nodded and smiled.

"That!" she growled she, making you jump a little "Please, stop smiling at me like that. I'm not sure what will happen if you keep doing that."

You blinked in surprise. Have you been smiling at her too? Hell, you really had to stop drinking. And yet you found her frown too cute.

"Why?" you said, smirking at her "does it make you nervous?"

You teased a bit and ran your tongue across your lower lip to moisten it. The woman in front of you grunted again and suddenly your back hit the wall hard. You didn't have time to react by the time her lips were pressed against yours. It was a hot, demanding and desperate kiss. You loved it.

You wrapped your arms around her neck and pulled her closer to you, returning the affection and pushing your tongue into her mouth. You could taste the alcohol in her tongue and something that was purely her.

You moaned against her mouth when you felt her hand climb up your thigh, lifting your dress little by little. Unfortunately, you weren't drunk enough to do it...not here.

"Wait" you said with a broken voice "we can't do this here"

"Come with me" she ordered, taking your hand and pulling you.

She led you upstairs, saying nothing. You were sure this wasn't her house, but that didn't seem to matter to her.

____________________

Well, at least she had the decency not to take you to her friend's bed.

You grunted when your back hit something. Maybe the wall, maybe a shelf, you weren't sure. It was hard to tell when everything in this damn closet was so dark.

"Are you sure your friend won't mind?" you asked, suddenly feeling nervous

"She won't find out" she assured you "Now strip" she said harshly.

"I don't even know your name" you said, trying to sound more confident than you were, but god, that tone had made your legs shake.

"Carla" she said simply "Now strip, I'm not going to repeat it again, Y/N"

Carla! That was the name that had escaped you all night. You were going to ask how she knew your name, but then you remembered that your kids went to the same school, damn it.

So you did what she told you and took your dress off quickly. Carla made a noise of satisfaction and you felt a hand caress your leg. The woman suddenly dug her nails into your inner thigh, making you gasp.

"Shut up" she growled "I haven't even started on you, save it for later"

You swallowed when you felt her press against you and one of her hands went down to holy ground. You bit your lip hard when one of her fingers caressed your already wet slit.

"My, my...You're so ready for me" she teased "No wonder you looked at me all night...you should have come to me earlier, honey, instead of showing your legs all over the house. trying to tempt me "

"I wasn't-" you tried to say, but she slammed her finger into you, making you scream.

"You were" she told you, nibbling on your lobe "but don't worry, you'll have what you want...you won't be able to walk after I'm done with you"

You had no doubt about that.

_______________

Your head hit the wall behind you, but you didn't care. You were too busy chasing the orgasm that she had been denied you times already.

"Please" you moaned "Please, please, please"

Carla smiled against your neck and moved her hand so that the three fingers that were inside you dug deeper. But the pleasure only lasted a few seconds because she yanked them out, just when you were almost there.

You grunted in pain and frustration. Your eyes stung with unshed tears. The older woman just laughed.

"Please" you sobbed "let me come, I need to come"

"Then you will have to work for it" she told you "On your knees, now"

You opened your eyes, but you could barely see her figure in front of you. Your legs were shaking, but you did as she commanded and knelt in front of her, groaning a little when your heel brushed against your center.

Carla quickly took off her pants and underwear, separating her legs right in front of you. She didn't have to tell you what to do, because the mere scent from her center drew you like a moth to the light.

The woman gasped a little as your hot tongue tentatively licked her slit and her fingers tangled in your hair to keep you in place. For a moment you were tempted to return her favor and play with her a bit, but she must have read your thoughts because she immediately reprimanded you.

"Don't even think about it princess" she growled "If you want to cum tonight you better start working"

She tugged on your hair tightly and that was enough to send an electric current to your already sore, wet core. So you got to work quickly.

Carla moaned as your tongue slipped in and out of her. Sometimes, you would suck hard on her tangle of nerves, making her jump a little. Little by little, you got braver and then your fingers entered the game.

You smiled against her when she moaned loudly as you shoved two fingers into her.

"Fuck" she growled "Don't you dare stop" she threatened

And you didn't. You continued your rhythm for a few more minutes, until you felt her tighten around your fingers and you knew she was close. You sucked hard on her center while twisting your fingers inside her and that was it.

Carla screamed loudly as waves of pleasure washed over her. Happily you helped her work it out. Her hand never left your head, though, and you found yourself cleaning up the mess that was coming out of her pussy.

"Good girl" she gasped when she calmed down a bit.

"Can I come now?" you asked.

"Stand up" she ordered and you happily obeyed

Carla pushed you against the wall again and kissed you fiercely, tasting herself in your mouth. Her fingers quickly found their way to your center again.

"I think you deserve a reward for being so good" she said and you trembled with excitement when she started pumping her fingers inside you.

You begged that this time she would let you finish.

_________________

You hurried out of the house, grateful to the one upstairs for the fact that most of the women were drunk and no one would see what a reeling mess you were.

You sighed when you got into your car and took a moment to recover. Your legs were weak and it hurt to sit. But you didn't regret it in the least. The best sex you've had in years since your divorce and it had been with a half-drunk mother from your daughter's school.

You laughed at it. That night, you couldn't help but dream with a pair of blue eyes.

__________________

"I made-out with so many women tonight" Carla said.

"I know" Amy laughed

Except no. The woman didn’t know what her friend had done in one of her closets and Carla intended to keep it that way. She couldn't help but think about the way you were walking when you left the house, anyone could see that you were in pain and that made her feel incredibly proud.

_________________

"Good morning" you greeted the woman after your daughter said goodbye and ran to school.

"Hey! What's up, pretty lady?" Carla smiled and walked towards you.

You blushed a little. You didn't expect her to get close to you, you just wanted to be nice. The truth is that you hadn’t been able to get her out of your mind all week, neither her nor her evil fingers.

"What are you going to do today?" she asked

"Oh...well...I don't have work today, so cleaning the house I guess" you said nervously.

"Do you mind if I go with you?" she said "Those two idiots over there plan to go to a sewing class and there is no way in the universe that you will see me there alive"

She pointed to Amy and Kiki talking a few meters behind. You laughed a bit and felt as if the air around you was no longer so thick.

"You can come" you said "But I don't know if you want to help me clean up"

"Oh no" she smiled at you "I was actually thinking of making more mess. I think we both deserve a second round, no alcohol and in bed" she winked at you.

You have never dragged someone into your car so quickly in your life.

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KH’s tags: @midnight-lestrange @emilyprentissslut @mochiadria

[moth-p]

Bot! (Larger canvas and right blog edition)

The Inanimate Insanity community is going fucking CRAZY , traumatized and will probably kill . so why don't we start a chain . draw any character happy on this picture until it gets full to bring some joy into the community

[dameronology]

tea & whiskey {jack daniels x reader} - 3

3 - an examination of agent tequila and why he takes rejection so damn hard

summary: after tequila is on the receiving end of your stress, jack decides to help you de-stress in the only way he knows how: alcohol. what could go wrong? (series masterlist) 

warnings: language 

honestly this might be my fave chapter yet 

- jazz

song for this chapter: oil on water by bastille 

Within a few weeks of being in New York City, you’d fallen into a routine. 

You missed London, truly and deeply, but it was almost as if you didn’t have time to think about it. Between being dragged into more undercover missions with Whiskey, keeping up with Merlin’s demanding schedule and trying to tail Calahan and his contacts, you were lucky if you had time to sit down and have a cup of coffee. Being a Statesman was much more fast-paced than working at Kingsman; you didn’t dislike it by any means, but you had a pool-sized bathtub waiting in your shiny, new apartment that you never got to use. You were pulling five or six late nights a week, usually not leaving the office till 10PM. 

Working with Jack Daniels was...an experience. He was nice, in some ways -- he always brought you coffee when he went to get some for himself, and he drove you home on those late nights so that you didn’t have to take the subways. He had a few annoying habits - namely the fact he never seemed to shut up or ever use your real name, instead opting for a thousand different nicknames - but he was more than tolerable. He worked hard and played hard, and you respected that. He helped you stay hot on Calahan’s tail and that was the most important thing. 

On your third week in New York, Merlin flew out to see you. You’d been keeping him up to date with weekly briefings, but he’d wanted to come out and have a proper look at the actual work you and Jack had been doing. The evening before he arrived, you’d pulled an all-nighter to try and organise the files. Whiskey seemingly had no organisational skills, instead opting for a stack of folders that had no meaningful order. The paperwork was endless, not unlike Jack’s energy the following morning. 

‘Anyways, so I tell the guy to go fuck his moth-’

‘- Jack.’ You held your hand out to him, motioning him to shut the hell up as you rubbed your temples. ‘I appreciate all your funny stories of when you were a fratboy in Yeehaw Land but I have to get this done.’

‘What’s with you this morning, tea?’ Jack looked up from his laptop, brow furrowing. ‘You haven’t insulted me once since you walked through that damn door two hours ago and I’m starting to become concerned.’

‘I just have a lot of work to do.’ You replied. ‘Merlin is landing any minute now and I...how did you put it last week? I’m as busy as a cat covering crap on a marble floor.’

‘Southern sayings don’t quite right with your accent.’ He offered you a smile. ‘So what if Baldilocks is on his way? You’ve been doing your job real good these last few weeks.’

‘Merlin is...particular.’ You let your eyes trail away from your screen and out towards the view of the city beside your desk. ‘Everything has to be perfect or I might as well have spent the last three weeks shitting in my hands and clapping.’ 

‘They didn’t praise you much at Kingsman, huh?’ Jack quirked an eyebrow.

‘I never gave it much thought but I guess you’re right.’ You shrugged. ‘Why would they praise us for meeting expectations? A slap on the back for doing the bare minimum is pointless.’

It was true: praise at Kingsman was far and few - and you only got for achieving superhuman standards. If you were bad at your job, they would fire you. If they were good, they kept you. That’s how it worked. That’s how it had always worked. You’d never had so much as a well done! or a you’re doing great! from Merlin, nor Harry or Arthur. It had been odd at first but you’d become used to it.

‘What you do is not the bare minimum.’ Whiskey shook his head. ‘You do you know you’re a good agent, right?’

Jack had been impressed with you over the last few weeks. You seemed to embody the very energy of getting shit done. You worked through your lunch breaks and arrived to the office earlier than everyone -- and then you left later than everyone. He was surprised you didn’t hold a more senior position, if anything.

‘I mean, I guess?’ You averted your glance back towards him. ‘I work hard. I’m just hoping it pays off some day.’

‘Just-’ Jack sighed, pausing for a moment. ‘Don’t worry about the paperwork, okay? I can vouch for the fact you’ve worked your pretty little-

‘- watch it, Jack-’

‘- that you’ve worked hard.’ He quickly back tracked on his words. 

‘That’s a dollar in the arse comment jar.’

‘I didn’t even get to finish it though!’ He held his hands up in surrender. ‘And it’s not even worth taking those dollars home with you, not with this exchange rate.’

Before the conversation could go any further, Tequila stuck his head around your office door. He’d been out in the field for the last week so you hadn’t seem him that much. Having been in South America, he’d caught a slight tan. That lead your mind back to your previous missions with him -- he’d had terrible Spanish. Truly awful.

‘Merlin is here, Percy.’ He announced. ‘He’s in with Champ now. Come whenever. You too, Whiskey.’

‘Have you ever heard of knocking?’ Jack raised his eyebrows at him. 

‘The door was open.’

‘Still, it’s etiquette-’

‘- hey, Patrick! Spongebob!’ You slammed your fist on the table. ‘There’s more important things to worry about.’

--

Half an hour later, you were waiting outside of a meeting room on the top floor of the Statesman building. Jack, Merlin and Champ were all on the other side of the door, checking over your work. You had no reason to be nervous -- you’d done your job and you’d done it well. Besides, you knew that Whiskey would fight your corner if Merlin became finnicky. He’d said it himself earlier. You appreciated that. 

‘I’ve been in Chile the last few weeks.’ Tequila leant against the wall beside you, adjusting his hat as he peered down at you.

‘I know. Your new hat is a Chilean brand and you have a tan.’ You replied, attention still clearly on the door in front of you. 

‘Damn. I never pegged you to be so observant.’

‘I’m literally a secret agent.’ You shot back. ‘It’s kind of an entry requirement.’

‘Or maybe...’ He adjusted his stance. ‘It’s because you fancy me.’

‘Fancy you?!’ You turned your head to look at him in disbelief. ‘How old are you? Twelve?’

‘I just mean that you’re single and hot. I’m single and hot.’ He continued, barely faltering. ‘You’ve been working your ass off these last few weeks. If you need help relaxing, you know where-’

Tequila barely had a chance to blink before you’d moved from beside him, pinning him to the wall with an elbow over his throat. He blinked in surprise; both at your speed and strength, especially considering that he was much beefier than you. It wasn’t exactly hard. You’d taken on men twice his size and strength. 

‘Try and come onto me again and I will make you eat your hat.’ You threatened. 

‘It was just a suggestion-’

‘- did I stutter?’

‘No, ma’am.’ Tequila muttered. ‘Sorry, ma’am.’

‘What in the holy hell is going on here?!’ 

You hadn’t heard Champ leave the meeting room - or Jack and Merlin for that matter. The three were stood with wide eyes and gaped mouths at the sight of you holding one of their best agents to the wall. You quickly took a step back, letting Tequila fall onto his ass with a sweet thump. 

You dusted yourself off. ‘I was simply teaching Agent Tequila the value of workplace boundaries.’

Turning away, you strode off and down the corridor, the sound of your heels clicking against the ground ringing behind you. Tequila might have just been trying to shoot his shot but damn, you were sick of it happening. You’d had it during your training, from some of the guys at Kingsman and especially on missions. The amount of men that assumed you needed a ring on your finger or a proposition from them to have a good time was beyond you. Could you not just do your job? It was one thing to have a flurry of nicknames but you drew the line at being constantly hit on and asked out. 

Stalking to your office, you slammed the door behind you and took a seat at your desk. An oh for fuck’s sake! escaped your mouth upon realising that you’d left all of your files with Merlin. That meant no work to do - which meant that the tiredness and consequences of your late night were about to hit you like a ton of bricks.

You made your way over to Jack’s desk, taking a glass and decanting some of the whiskey that was inside it. Drinking on the job wasn’t usually your style, but you were stressed. Calahan was still on the loose. Both of your bosses had just seen you drop kick another agent. It felt like you had been in the States for nearly a month and had no work to show for it. 

‘Is it okay if I come in?’

‘It’s your office, Whiskey.’ You didn’t bother turning to face him. 

‘Well, that can’t be good - you only ever call me Whiskey when you’re mad.’ 

Jack was right -- and it was something he’d noticed not long after you’d met. You’d started calling him by his first name not long after you’d pulled your first all-nighter together. He’d given you a ride home and it had started with a thanks, Jack. He’d come to discover that he liked how it sounded when you said it. It was so rare that anyone called him that, that it almost felt like it meant something. 

‘Sorry.’ You took the glass, returning to your desk.’ You said. ‘I’m stressed and Tequila didn’t help. There’s paperwork and deadlines and I have done nothing worthwhile since I landed nearly four weeks ago.’

‘That’s not entirely true.’ He replied. ‘You’ve arrested six of Calahan’s spies, found information that lead to a raid on one of his bases and you just hit Tequila harder than a semi to a fox on the highway.’

‘I should probably apologise to him.’ You groaned. 

‘I wouldn’t bother, sugar’ Jack shook his head. ‘You’re being too hard on yourself.’

‘Yeah.’ You stared off into the distance, sipping some of your drink. ‘Maybe.’

‘What are you doing tonight?’

You faltered, turning to look at the cowboy in disbelief. ‘Are you serious, Jack?! You just saw me deck Tequila for trying to make a move. You think I won’t slap that moustache right off of your-’

‘- hold your fucking horses!’ He cut you off. ‘If you’d let me finish my goddamn sentence! I was going to offer to show you a bar that I go to when I’m stressed. The alcohol is cheap and the music is good.’

‘You mean as....colleagues?’

‘I was going to say friends.’ 

---

It was beyond you how Jack had convinced you to come to a cowboy bar in the middle of Manhattan on a Tuesday night. He’d made a few comments about having a stick up your ass, then with a promise to reschedule your meeting the following morning and pay for your drinks, you’d finally said yes. It can’t have hurt to take a night off - in fact, you’d barely had one since you’d got to the city. A few drinks and the company of the most tolerable man at Statesman could do good for you, you figured. 

Having changed your heels and dress out for boots, jeans and a leather jacket, you already felt a little more relaxed. The Statesman weren’t even as strict as the Kingsman about what their agents wore, but you had the latter’s emphasis on looking formal so ingrained into your brain that it was practically second nature. The pain of wearing high heels every day was long gone. 

The bar itself was as you’d expected. Dimly lit, and filled with people in cowboy hats and boots. There was a country song playing from a jukebox in the corner and the air was stuffy; a mix of tobacco, stale beer and crisps chips.It wasn’t that different from the dodgy pubs you and Eggsy had frequented in your late teens. 

Jack was dressed a little more casual too, wearing a button down and leather jacket instead of his usual blazer and tie. What were you here as again...friends or colleagues? Actually, it had been a compromise. Friendly colleagues. 

‘Alright, sweetheart, we’ll go here.’ He pulled you over to two empty stalls at the bar. ‘What’s your poison?’

‘Rum.’ You replied. 

Jack’s nicknames didn’t bother you anymore. You’d come to accept the fact that they were simply part of his dialect rather than a place of affection. It was the same with Champ, and even Ginger. It was no different to you calling your own colleagues mate or pal. 

‘Damn.’ Jack murmured. ‘Off to a strong start.’

You took the glass from his hand, clinking it against his. Naturally, he’d gotten Jack Daniels whiskey. Then again, if you were named after an alcohol, you probably would have drunk it constantly too. But then again again, you drank it constantly anyways. 

The evening was a little awkward at first -- what were you supposed to talk about aside from work? That’s what all your previous conversations had been about, even during all your late nights. They usually consisted of Jack reciting stories of wild missions during his younger days as an agent. You had a few crazy ones, but they seemed to pale in comparison. There wasn’t as much crazy shit in Britain. 

You didn’t know whether you should have been asking him questions about his personal life. Wasn’t he your boss, formally speaking? Jack was a higher rank than you. He ran the whole damn Manhattan office when Champ was out. That thought was what lead you to realise that you’d hardly given his life outside of the agency much pondering. You knew he didn’t exist solely to be an agent, but he spent as much time working as you did and you existed solely to be an agent. 

Did he have a wife? Kids? Based on how long he spent working, you figured it was unlikely. Being an agent didn’t really offer a healthy work-life balance. You knew that he lived in an apartment near Hudson Yards, so that meant he was probably rich too. He did have shares in the company that fronted Statesman, and it was one of the best selling bourbons on the market. 

You spent the better part of two hours trying to deduce him through conversation before you realised that you could have just asked. Jack had called you his friend. That counted for something. Plus, you had two hours worth of alcohol and a fair few shots of rum floating around your system. It was liquid courage, after all. 

‘So what’s your deal?’ You slapped your fist on the bar. 

‘My deal?’ Jack raised an eyebrow at you. ‘The hell d’you mean, sugar?’

‘Like...what’s your life outside of Statesman?’

‘Statesman is my life.’ He quipped. ‘In the same way Kingsman is yours.

‘Damn.’ You murmured. ‘But Kingsman isn’t my whole life.’

‘Oh yeah?’ He smiled at you. ‘What else do you do then?’

‘I have an orchid at home!’ You exclaimed. ‘Although I did ask Eggsy to look after while I’m here so it’s probably dead.’

‘You miss him, don’t you?’

‘The orchid?’

‘No. Eggsy.’

‘Oh, right!’ You let out a tipsy giggle. ‘I mean...yeah. He’s my best mate. This is the longest I’ve gone without seeing him ever. I FaceTimed him the other night but he’s with Tilde.’

‘Girlfriend?’

‘Yeah.’ You solemnly nodded. ‘And do not mistake my sad face for jealousy! I love Tilde. And I love Eggsy. It’s just hard not seeing him, or having someone to bully everyday.’

‘Hey, I’m right here if you need someone!’ Jack nudged you with his elbow. ‘Just...no comments on my accent. Or my hat. Or my moustache.’

‘Okay, I’ll just rip into your personality then, shall I?’

‘Please. As if you could find anything bad about my personality. I’m fan-fucking-tastic.’

--

The rest of the night went quickly. 

Once you and Jack had veered away from talking about work, the conversation felt natural. He was easy to banter with and it made talking to him easy. The fact he was paying for drinks too was proving to be a slippery slope - for him and for you. The more you ordered, the more he tried to outdrink you. That was when the evening had taken a bit of a turn. 

You hadn’t mean for it to happen, but your temper tended to slip up when you were drunk. It was easy to describe you as trigger happy at the best of times, let alone when you had a few shots in your system. And, you were by no means wankered beyond repair, or so drunk that you couldn’t walk, but you had proven yourself to be drunk beyond normal rationale. 

It was all a blur, really.

You’d seen a man try to follow a girl into the toilets and in true sisterhood style, you’d flown after him in an attempt to save her. There had been punches thrown - in both your direction and his - and it had resulted in the two of you both being kicked out. Jack had followed suit, rushing out after you with your jacket and bag. A true Southern gentleman indeed. 

‘It was his wife.’ Jack had been muttering the same words over and over. He was knelt in front of you, dabbing at your bloody nose with some cotton balls. ‘He was following her into the toilet because they were married-’

‘- how the hell was I supposed to know that?!’ You snapped, wincing in pain. You made a mental note not to raise your voice too much. ‘I’ve had things like that happen to me before. I just wanted to make sure she was safe.

‘You could have gotten me to check it out.’ He reasoned. ‘I might have had to have gone into the ladies’ toilets but you can be damn sure I wouldn’t have punched the guy.’

Jack’s hands were steady as he worked to clean up your nose. Somehow, you’d ended up in his living room -- he’d refused to let you go back to your own apartment in a bloody state. On the bright side, his place was a thousand times nicer than yours. And, given your jacuzzi bath tub and flat screen TV, that was truly saying something. His felt a little more homely, and a little more lived in. He had random knick-knacks lying around; there was magazines on the table and piles of shoes by the doors. You, meanwhile, had been living out of a suitcase. 

Once he was done, Jack stood up and dropped onto the couch next to you. He stared at you for a moment, pondering what to say. You didn’t look too tired; your eyes were slightly hooded and hazy from the drinks, but the sock to your face had sobered you both up to the point where you might as well have only had one or two shots. 

‘God, what must you think of me?’ You finally spoke, flopping back against the cushion behind you.

Jack frowned. ‘What on Earth do you mean?’

‘You saw me deck Tequila this morning and then attack a guy in the bar.’ You snorted. ‘I’m not a violent person. I promise.’

‘I don’t think you are.’ He replied. ‘I definitely think you could knock a man into the middle of next week looking both ways for Sunday but I think it’s admirable.’

You couldn’t help but cackle. ‘Admirable?!’

‘A lot of people run their mouths but very few would actually square up when things came down to it.’ Jack shrugged. ‘I know y’all believe in manners maketh man but I think fury maketh woman.’ 

‘Fury maketh woman.’ You repeated the words back to him, turning your head to face him. 

A moment of silence fell over you after that. Not an awkward one, but rather a comfortable one. Things weren’t so hazy anymore - if anything, that guy punching you had been rather sobering. Meanwhile, Jack definitely looked like he’d been around the block a little bit; he’d long ditched the hat, leaving his dark hair in a ruffled mess. You were holding his gaze, looking intently at his eyes. 

They were brown - but no shit, Sherlock. You knew that. What you hadn’t noticed was the way they creased when he laughed, or the fact they had little gold flecks in them. And they looked a little more caramel under the bright white lights of his living room. The man had a chandelier. An actual fucking chandelier. In 2020. 

If you could just lean a little closer to get a better look. 

Just a tiny bit. 

Just edge a little bit closer, not too much and -

- Shit. 

His lips caught yours halfway, and you suddenly realised that you hadn’t been trying to look at his eyes at all. No, absolutely not. Had you wanted to kiss him this whole time? Or had the urge just suddenly over come you this split second? 

Either way, it didn’t matter because Jack Daniels was a fucking good kisser. He was giving and soft, but there was a hint of something deeper too. Desire? Lust? You didn’t really possess the brain capacity to figure it out, not when he was biting at your bottom lip and gently holding one hand against the back of your head. His large, calloused hands were clutching loosely at your, pulling you into him It was so good that you let out a moan in your head. 

Except, it wasn’t in your head. It was very much out loud, and right into his mouth. Your immediate reaction was to consider pulling back, to apologise straight away and swear never to talk about it - but he liked it. You felt Jack smile against you. He placed his hands on your hips and gently manoeuvred you into his lap, being careful to avoid putting too much pressure on your sore nose.

It didn’t take an idiot to work out where this was going, and you were both pretty smart people. Smart enough to know that it was going to make things awkward in the morning, and then everyday after that. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the fact that his kisses were more intoxicating than any spirit you could possibly have consumed. You didn’t know.

And frankly, you didn’t care. 

[rebelcourtesan]

Concerning Chapter 22 of Thicker than Water 

I had so much positive response from readers concerning this chapter that I decided to share some background info concerning.  Originally, after Jesse helps Liz escape the White Demon (Izzy), the plan was to have them take Marty to CandyLand to hide.  However, a plot bunny bit me and I came up with a new set of events that slotted so well in the plot that I went along with it.

The purpose of these changes was character development for Liz as she learns more about Hell and Pentagram City and the dangers it poses for her as a human woman.  Ever since she arrived, she’s been warned by Marty repeatedly of its dangers and according to the TV Tropes, Marty is overprotective, but for very good reason as Liz learned in this chapter.  

It has never occurred to her until this chapter that Hell is a place where bad people go.  

Holy shit, she realized, this was Hell . . .all the people who were sent to Hell for being perverts, rapists, and sexual harassment were likely in this District! People who refused to take no for an answer had turned into demons who still did not accept no as an answer! The epiphany made her bones shake in terror, realizing for the first time just how dangerous this place was for her.   

To be clear, Liz is dressed modestly with a long coat and even has half her face covered to hide her humanity, and even uses her body language to indicate she wants to be left alone, but that STILL did not stop herself from being harassed or even assaulted.  

She encounters three cases of harassment and assault that stands out in the chapter.  In each of these situations, Liz has openly told each attacker No.  

1. A persistent male prostitute that follows her and insists on her paying him for oral sex.  It wasn’t until she told him she had no money that he kicks her which makes her fall and lose her phone.

2. A demon accosts her with a knife and forces her to go with him to a sex hotel.  Thankfully, due to quick thinking on her part, Liz was able to get away.

3. A car of demons try to steal her off the street and she is rescued (or apprehended) by Izzy, the White Demon. 

Which is why this chapter is called The Hunt.  Originally, it was going to be called the Chase, but the Hunt suited this chapter better as it wasn’t only Izzy (White Demon) after Liz, but the Red Light District itself.

I like strong female characters who get themselves out of dangerous situations not through a guardian, powers, or advanced combat skills, but those who use their wits and ingenuity to save themselves.  Like Veronica from Veronica Mars, Chihiro from Spirited Away, or Arrietty from the Secret World of Arrietty.    

The irony is that she considers the three encounters more dangerous than when she came across the occupant of the red limo, who poses the most danger to her and made her vulnerable. Yep, the moment that made readers sweat and fear for Liz.

Being a pimp, Valentino’s limo was parked in PP District (Pay to Play District) to collect his worker’s earnings, resolve disputes between workers and johns, and use his presence to keep his employees in line.  And also, keep his eye open for potential new recruits.  

Having just escaped from attempted rape, Liz catches his eye by standing out from the crowd with her smaller size and frightened demeanor.  Believing her to be a newly damned soul, due to her mask and behavior, he attempts to draw her inside the limo.

The limo door opened as she walked by. Red smoke rose from the darkness, wavering in the air, forming serpentine figures. "Need a ride, sugar?"

Why can't she be left alone? "No."

"Ya sure? Ya don't look so good. Like a scared kitten who lost her mama."

Her step faltered to a stop. The smoke smelled sweet and familiar, sending a warmth cascading through her chest and stomach. It felt thick like melted candy coating her insides.  

A gleam within the limo, a hand caressed the heart shape ruby set atop of a black cane. "You'll be safe, sugar, no one will bother you in here."

And she believed it. The voice was low, deep, and paternal with an allure that tugged at something deep inside her that wasn't fear. The promise of relief and safety drew her like a ship to a beacon . . .a moth to a flame.

An ebony gloved hand with reddish hue fingertips extended from the limo's black interior, the white cuff almost glowing like snow under a starry sky. "That's a good girl. Daddy will keep ya safe."

I share the same theory that Val’s smoke has mind altering properties such as a drug that lowers inhibitions and make others more receptive to suggestions and seductions.  Another thing that I believe Valentino does is delivers on his promises, though perhaps not how others would believe.  

Valentino fully intended to protect Liz from the dangers of the PP District, however, once she entered the limo, it would have been impossible to leave it of her own volition.  Instead of being sexual assaulted, she would have been forced or tricked into a lifetime of sexual slavery.  

What saves her is not her own wits, but her love for her father, Marty.  

She stopped. Her feet carried her towards the limo, but the mention of 'Daddy' brought up Marty's memory and his near-death condition. She hadn't thought of him so long, not since she arrived in the red light district. Shit, what if he was dead now? Died without her by his side as she had been there when her mother passed.  

Liz had already lost a parent that raised her and had spent years living alone without family, then after meeting Marty, she opened her heart and accepted him as her father.  

 Her love for Marty and her positive relationship with him is what keeps her out of Valentino’s clutches.  

"I . . .I have to go," she turned away.

"C'mon, baby, lemme take you where ya need t' go."

She had had enough. Fury overtook the fear, and she turned on her heel, shouting, "I said no, goddammit! Why the fuck can't anyone in this goddamn district understand the word no!? I work for Valentino, I'm off the clock, so back the fuck off!"

She shoved her way back into the crowd, uncaring if she stepped on toes or tails as she went.  

The limo door remained opened, and a pair of heart shape shades caught the light of the lamppost, flashing bright red. "Is that a fact?"

I love the fact of her reading the riot act about consent to the one character the fandom recognizes a abuser and a rapist.  And it’s not lost on him that she declared herself as one of his workers when he doesn’t recognize her at all.

Liz believes him to be a wealthy john shopping for a hooker and has no idea that she cussed out the Moth Pimp King of Hell and Overlord.  If there are to be repercussions from this close encounters . . . .remains to be seen.

Stay tuned . . .       

[darlinrogue]

"You know,"—Kenny lifts his head, weary, from the window and glimpses Adam, exhausted as he drives through the vacant streets of whatever city he'd managed to drive to without Kenny noticing—"you mentioned a girlfriend before?" An incongruous question, perhaps, but Kenny, truthfully, has wondered often about Adam's sexuality. And at three o'clock in the morning, he and Adam have to stay awake somehow: introspection it is. "Do you, uh, only like women? You don't have to answer—"

Comfort for Sol after the Dec 2. Dynamite We NEED IT

Adam and Kenny

A light waltz rolled from the radio in three-four time. A Strauss, Künstlerleben op. 316, written in 1867, a jovial, ‘gay,’ piece. Interjected into a Vienne at the edge of disaster as Austria crumbled around the carnival city. The song infused with a melancholic melody and yearning string instruments. The decaying nobility dreams of a glory day long past and danced the inevitable fall of their dynasty away. So, explained the smooth voiced disc jockey that introduced the piece with all the confidence of a history nerd who probably got shoved in a locker in high-school. Adam wouldn’t pretend he was smart like that, this station wasn’t his first choice. After five hours in the car they had cycled through: Adam’s playlists, Kenny’s playlist, and every other radio station on air. Thirty minutes into a marathon of Norteña music, Adam cracked first and turned on the benign classical music, played on a public air wave. All just to eke out some variety from the bland monotonous strips of American highway and interstate. Besides, no words, and especially no Spanish that he only half-understood in his current state, meant it required less brain power to process. A resource that was in dwindling supply for Adam. 

Adam tapped his finger against the steering wheel in time with the waltz. Apparently, this was like old fashioned twerking. A dramatic, intimate dance where partners held each other close and danced vigorously. Despite the song being undeniably wonder bread white, Adam found a natural ebb and flow that sparked a desire to move in some way. Bob his head a little bit, tap his foot, all as he nudged the cruise control-up another notch. The car engine revved and the speedometer edged in at a solid eighty miles an hour. With no one else on the road Adam dominated the left lane. It was a pure head rush, breaking the speed limit with no restrictions and no witnesses. All while listening to a playful violin trill. Brights on, illuminating the tall cedar, oaks, and pines, twined with dense underbrush on the sides of the road. The, black, ominous trees walled the interstate, trapping them, forcing them the only way forward. The white and yellow marked pavement extended far into the twisted dark, with hints of gentle turns far off. A couple miles down the road, twin red taillights glowed like angry eyes. The mapping program on his phone noted their exit was next. He compressed the breaks, the cruise control flicked off and Adam coasted onto the ramp. 

Kenny shifted, and the movement drew Adam’s attention for a split second. Kenny sat in shotgun with the chair leaned back. His hands threaded through his hair and rubbed at his eyes. Best as Adam could tell he had spent the past three hours passed out and had not even been roused when Adam smack him for snoring. In a moment or two he was upright and alert, peering-out the window, his curly hair like the silhouette of a mop. Adam explained they were taking a diversion into Knoxville for the sole reason that Adam had to go pee. Kenny muttered his assent. 

Google Maps took them to a beat-up 24/7 gas station at the edge of the city. Moth riddled, flickering and humming, fluorescent lights illuminated the cracked pavement of the parking lot. Lined beneath the front windows was stacks of firewood, an ice machine, and a tire pressure gauge. Adam left Kenny to fill-up the tank while Adam lunged out of the car to make use of the facilities. Inside, an exhausted looking twenty-something attended the counter and her phone. Over the top of the rows of junk food riddled shelves, Adam saw the bathroom. After taking care of his physical needs, on his way-out he perused the aisle while Kenny took his turn in the Powder room. He bough a couple packages of cookies, crackers, and bags of chips. Then, a coffee from himself from a somewhat suspect machine and a bottle of 2% from the fridge, for Kenny. Adam paid at the register and sipped on his caffeine as he stepped-off the curb outside the station. Cars rolled by on the road, whispering with the heated Summer wind. Kenny, already back outside, stretched-out beside the car, his gold hair white-washed by the lights. Sliding into the front seat, Adam offered Kenny the milk on one stipulation: Adam could use it to thin his coffee. It turned-out that he had purchased mud water. Kenny agreed and they were back on the trail, navigating the downtown and suburbia, in search of the road North. The street lights faded, and into this darkness, as Adam waited for a red light to turn green, Kenny began his thought: 

You know. 

Green light, go, Adam hit the gas, and rolled through. For a second, once through the intersection, he glanced at Kenny. In the dark car, lit by the thin dashboard glow, Kenny peered at him, curious, bur not pressing. There was a glimmer in his blue eyes. Adam returned his gaze to the windshield and the passing silver screen of Knoxville scenery. A right took them back onto the highway and Adam merged with the sparse traffic as he processed what Kenny asked him. You mentioned a girlfriend before? Do you only like women? Back on the smooth sailing of the interstate, Adam sunk back in his seat and sought comfort from the shitty coffee. It tasted bitter and yet smoother with the milk. 

“You asked me two questions, there,” Adam observed, lifting a corresponding number of fingers. It’d be easy to only answer one, Kenny wouldn’t force it. He resolved, tongue darting over his chapped lips, to answer both. He reached-out and turned down the radio to but a couple notches. “And uh, well, I guess, the answer to both is it’s complicated.”

“I mean, yeah, these things usually are,” Kenny joked, he leaned back his seat a little bit and propped a foot on the dash. He glanced at the mapping program on Adam’s phone and the oppressive number of hours left, “We got time though, so take as much as you need. Like, I’m just curious is all, and if I keep sleeping in this chair I’m not going to be able to walk tomorrow, Piz.”

“Well, to answer the first question,” Adam chuckled. “I did have a girlfriend, once, back in college.”

“Ah, a college sweetheart--” Kenny teased. “That’s classic.”

“Yeah,” Adam chuckled. A fond smile spread on his lips. Like those arrogant, dancing nobles in Vienne, he thought of a time long gone. “We’re still friends, you know, we talk every now and then, meet-up for lunch or something, she’s married now, pregnant, with her first kid.��

“Okay, but that’s all past tense, what happened? Give me the details, man,” Kenny said. He interlaced his hands behind his head, shifting in the car seat. “I mean, if it’s not too hard, or anything.”

Adam shrugged, one shoulder-up to his ear with casual dismissal. Maybe a few years ago it would’ve been 'hard’ but things had changed. He had changed-- or rather, something had changed around him. There was someone else now for him to be heartbroken over. The old stuff were all scars now, not wounds that leaked with the slightest prod. Not like they used to. 

“So, the deal is I went into college with like, two years of credit, yeah?” Adam said, he checked over at Kenny to make sure he was following. “You can imagine this kinda put me in a weird spot. I was a Freshman but also basically a Junior and I was taking the classes in my major right away. I didn’t make a lot of friends that way, though. So, yeah, she was a little older than me and her name was Amanda. Long black hair, dark eyes, kinda short, but pretty, she was an art student, so we met in like this advanced drawing class. And Kenny, holy shit, I have to show you pictures of some of the stuff she does, when we get to the hotel, it’s nuts. Like these hyper realistic watercolor and oil paint portraits, that look even better than the actual thing. She works as a like, a background artist in L.A., now, so she’s legit. Way better than anything I could do.”

Kenny hummed, low in his throat, and Adam took that as a cue to continue.

“So, we met in class, and, over the course of the next semester we got to know each other, really well,” he said. “Like, I was hanging-out in her apartment to do projects and she was hanging-out in my dorm. I moved in with her for my Senior year, after she graduated. She just needed a roommate, you know? And not long after that we just, kinda started dating. I don’t know, it’s-- it’s hard to describe, even now, how I felt about her. Like, just this intensity I never experienced before. I really thought I was sick, actually-- like my stomach hurt. I called my mom and she told me I was a dumbass, and that I had a crush. It’s just that I was never interested in dating in high school, like I talked to girls and stuff, went to prom with one of my friends, but nothing like, you know?” Adam made an almost helpless gesture with his hand.

He rested his palm against his thigh. His other hand guided the steering wheel. Then, real quick, Adam focused on setting-up the cruise control again. If he had to compress the gas for the whole trip, his right hip would be sore as hell by the time they reach their destination. A couple nudges and they were flying at a clean eighty again. Adam took that time to organize his thoughts. Kenny didn’t say a word, but Adam could tell he was waiting for the elaboration.

“I really thought,” Adam murmured, his voice softened, wistful. “That I was going to marry her. Like, I was going to jewlery stores, looking at engagement rings, trying to figure-out how to save-up.”

“What, really?” Kenny asked, he leaned forward in his chair, elbows digging into the arm rest. “Seriously, man?”

“Yeah, we dated for almost two years after I graduated,” Adam said. “I was working as a teacher and she was a freelance artist, it was really great. Of course, I was traveling a lot-- on account of the wrestling thing, and she came to some shows, I don’t think she really got it? Amanda was sensitive, wouldn’t hurt a fly and she didn’t really vibe with fighting. Which, is fine, I was fine with it. I mean she watched these soap operas that I didn’t get, so it was kinda even, you know? But I think all that time away from home didn’t do a lot of good for our relationship. You know I was young, Kenny, like twenty-two? And she-- she got a job in California, and we talked about it, and--”

“Just didn’t work-out, huh?” Kenny asked, voice low. 

Adam shook his head, lips pressing together into a thin line. He still recalled that conversation over the dinning room table. His hands interlaced in front of him, her on the other side, going through the logistics. She was so good at that, planning. That was something they shared in common, overthinking. This move was a dead necessity for her career. Texas just didn’t have the same opportunities that the City of Angels did. Except, Adam was training in Texas, fighting in Texas, teaching in Texas. It was the middle of the school year during his internship. He couldn’t pack-up and leave. The suggestion she came to was obvious but it didn’t make it easy. They break-up, go their separate ways, not try to force all of this to work to the determent of them both. For years Adam cursed himself for agreeing. He believed, as he laid in bed alone and cold, ruminating on his failures, he should’ve fought harder. Fought harder for them. Hung-up on what could’ve and should’ve been. It hurt more when she found a new guy in California. He still went to her wedding and was her best man. Because Adam still loved Amanda and he always would. 

And he was okay with being next to her, because their relationship, their bond, was more important than his wounded pride. 

“Yeah, it didn’t work-out,” Adam agreed. “I was, upset, for a while. A long while, actually, like, I really thought I’d never get another chance like her again, but--”

He paused, and ended the thought there. Amanda was so amazing, so brilliant, so awesome, and funny, and caring and kind, and she loved cats. She picked out local art for their apartment. Yet, Adam also remembered her occasional moods where she just couldn’t be talked to until the storm passed. The way she set her mind on things was sometimes endearing, sometimes frustrating. She wasn’t perfect, but she was great. It was apples-to-oranges, to compare her and Kenny. They were completely different people and Adam loved different things about them-- yet, it was still love. It couldn’t be measured or quantified. The only time he had ever felt this intensity before was with Amanda. He really didn’t think there was another person on this planet who could steal his heart like Amanda did. Then he met Kenny, and fell in love with Kenny.

And whoops, there was at least one other. 

“You know, you live, you grow, you move-on,” Adam said, he shrugged again and nodded to himself. “If we hadn’t split I probably never would’ve gone to Japan, or met you and the Bucks. Or, joined AEW, never been tag-team champion. It’s a real Robert Frost poem, I could be a teacher in L.A. right now, instead of-- well, driving eight hours to Chicago in the middle of the night, but my point stands! I-I imagine you get it, picking between your career and well, sometimes relationships.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get,” Kenny muttered. He looked out the window. His nails scrapped against his jeans. “You know how it was with me and Ibushi. How leaving Japan felt. Especially, after we reconciled after so many years-- but that’s how it is.” He trailed off, leaving the thought behind.

“So, like, were you two ever,” Adam interjected. He glanced over at the same time Kenny did. Adam darted his gaze back to the red, feeling his cheeks heat and rosette. A deep appreciation for the late hour filled him. “I mean, like, I don’t know how to ask this. Were, you and Ibushi, you know, together? Like, together, together. Obviously, it’s not my business, but I’m just, just curious, is all. Like, the Golden Lovers, man? There’s some crazy rumors out there.”

Kenny laughed, a full chuckle that churned Adam’s stomach and yet set his face on fire. That sound made Adam feel warm, he wanted to hear it again desperately. “Yeah, Kota and I dated. We were together for like six years, and yeah, like you, if same-sex marriage was legal in Japan, I would’ve married him.”

It was such an upfront statement. a matter of fact If he could, he would, but the lack of gold ring on Kenny’s left finger told Adam he didn’t. Kenny nodded to himself but the silence lingered, the sentence wasn’t finished. The clock turned over to 3:23 and they passed an exit with bleeding, gold lights, with hotels, restaurants, and street lamps. 

Kenny continued, but his voice was softer and more raw. “But then-- well, I screwed it up. I mean, I really messed-up. It wasn’t like you and your girl, where it was a pretty understanding with a clean break. I didn’t trust him, like I should. I thought he was going to leave me and so, I left first. Then like an idiot, I lashed-out, and ruined everything we built, and it ended. Just. Like. That--” Kenny snapped his fingers-- “We never got back together but, we’re friends again, we made-up, you know that, but the things I did, the things I did to Kota-- it's something I'll have to live with for the rest of my life.”

The night hid Adam’s expression. The darkness was a comfort. It hid the monsters in the back seat. The purr of the engine whispered in the absence of Kenny’s scathing indictment of himself. Like, he was judge, jury, and executioner, of his own tarnished soul. Adam could imagine what Kenny saw. His face in profile, the tree line whipping by the car windows, an impassive, emotionless, and neutral party, listening without comment to Kenny’s story. He wouldn’t  see the slight grimace or twisting of Adam’s lips. Remembering all the shit Cody said about Ibushi. Adam, twisting Ibushi, Kenny’s arms back, while Cody reared with a chair. Holy fuck, was he such an embarrassing idiot, a complete moron, a destructive piece of shit. If Kenny saw the guilt in Adam’s eyes their conversation would screech to a sudden halt. Akin to if Adam slammed the breaks on the car right now. Instead, Adam allowed Kenny to mourn and didn’t derail to his own bullshit. It was the only way he would’ve heard the next bit, whispered into open air. 

“He really was the first man I loved.”

Kenny sighed and leaned back into his seat, defeated, limp. Now, Adam realized, was definitely time to shift gears. Car analogies aside, Kenny couldn’t be left to ruminate. If there was a person who understood how much it sucked to obsess over an old ex, it was Adam Page. 

“So, you’re like, gay?” Adam asked. He placed both of his hands on the wheel. Shifting, he rubbed his fingers over the rubber and plastic, feeling the coarse texture. Sweat pricked his palms and he heard his pulse skip, skip, and then it was off to the races. “That’s cool by the way, I’m totally cool with that, I mean--”

“Close, but actually, I’m bi,” Kenny said. He chuckled and then nudged Adam’s elbow with his hands. The brief, familiar contact enabled Adam to crack a grin. “Bisexual, guys, gals, non-binary pals, it’s all good to me. I know I don’t talk about it a lot. It’s not something I really like to have out there, circulating. It could cause problems in Japan, and it could be a whole thing, but I trust you. We’re partners, and, it’s kinda something I want you to know, actually.”

Adam grinned to himself and nodded along with Kenny points. He straightened in his seat, wiggling his butt back so his shoulders were flush with the chair. With a crick of his neck he popped a vertebrae with a satisfying ‘clunk.’ 

“Yeah, I was, actually going to say,” Adam began, he swallowed. “I uh-- I am too, bi, I mean, like I think I am. I haven’t tested it but, I’m, pretty sure. I haven’t... done anything, with a guy, before? I just have these feelings? Right, you know how it is.”

“Yeah,” Kenny said, drawing-out the syllable. Adam could hear the smile in his voice. “I know how it is. I know, I get it, it’s all in your chest, right?” Kenny moved his hand over his heart to indicate what he meant. “You see a guy and it all kinda clicks in your brain, same way it does for a girl. I get it.”

“You know I don’t think I’ve ever really told anyone that,” Adam said, a little breathless. 

Kenny shifted and his chair cranked upright. A fleeting, fluttering touch on his left elbow drew Adam’s gaze down. Kenny placed his hand on the center console between them, palm-up. He wiggled his fingers, an expectant invitation. Adam steadied his grip on the steering wheel and wiped his right hand down his jeans to clean the sweat off. He laid his hand in Kenny’s and Kenny interlaced their fingers, then squeezed. Adam wondered if Kenny could feel his stuttering pulse through the connected vital points of their wrists. Or, if he minded that Adam’s hands were damp. Yet, his nerves and troubled thoughts soothed, mostly to a stream of ecstatic proclamations about how he was holding hands with Kenny. 

“I appreciate you being honest, Piz,” Kenny said. “I know it’s hard. Especially, when maybe you don’t have all the answers, but I’m glad you’ve figured some of it out. I don’t think I knew until I was in my twenties-- how about you?”

“Not long,” Adam admitted. Feelings, ideas since he was in high school, but nowadays he was totally certain. he rubbed his thumb over Kenny’s knuckles. Kenny had long, thin fingers, but a strong grip. Adam could feel his coarse callouses. The warmth of his hand. “In a way I always knew, this has always been a part of me. It was Amanda who helped me figure out the name for it, though.”

So, you’re bi, Amanda had said and Adam had stared at her like he was an idiot. Anytime Adam was around Amanda he felt like an idiot, but only because she was so smart. She had laughed at him and sipped on her beer. They sat outside on the porch, in cool Spring air, a rare balmy day at the outskirts of Los Angeles. She told him she was pregnant. He told her about Kenny. It was a fair exchange-- until Amanda asked him to be her kids godfather, or something similar, or whatever. And Adam had actually started crying, like a total sap. Yeah, yeah of course, that kid’ll be the best fucking horse rider this side of the Mississippi. She patted him on the shoulder and told him she’ll be cheering for him and Kenny. Next time she watched AEW-- because she did that every now and then these days. 

She really liked Sonny Kiss-- Adam always knew she had good taste.

“She sounds great,” Kenny noted.

“She is,” Adam agreed, nodding. “If you ever get to meet her, I’d think you’d like her.”

Adam cocked a slight grin. Something was lighter in him, the air a little clear. It felt better, it felt right, to say it. Adam Page is bisexual, he likes guys and girls, and other stripes of human beings. It was the only way he could feel what he felt for Kenny. Exactly like it was for Amanda. Stomach full of butterflies, every emotion magnified to a soul-aching need, so Adam was raw and on edge. This terror, nausea, built like a screaming tea-kettle, into agony the demanded a release to relieve the pressure. This time, though, Adam found no outlet. Amanda was the one asked him out first, to the movies, to see The Avengers. He remembered sitting in the darkness of the theater, alone and sweaty, until she laid her head on his shoulder. Amanda who confessed first and who drew-out of Adam the depth of his feelings. Now that Adam thought about it, it was Amanda who texted first, Amanda who called first, Amanda who kissed first. Amanda who broke it off first. Adam Page was not known for taking the initiative in his relationships. Yet, he always figured it out, caught-up learned, and followed her lead. If he could just do the same for him and Kenny-- that was a pipe dream so obscure it almost made Adam scoff.

He couldn’t ruin another good friendship, he just couldn’t. 

Adam was running out of bridges to burn. 

“You know, it’s weird,” Adam said. “Because it’s like, I’ve never done anything, with a uh, you know-- a man before. The opportunity has never really come-up. I just kinda wonder, how am I supposed to know these feelings are real?”

“Well, I don’t know if I can answer that one for you, Page,” Kenny said. “But I definitely didn’t know until I met Ibushi. Then, it was real obvious. Yet, I always had a sense of it.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Adam murmured. He squeezed Kenny’s hand and Kenny squeezed back. 

He definitely got it. At first, in the infancy of these feelings he’d thought they’d die or go away, like a bad head cold. Because Kenny Fucking Omega, could never love Adam Page. They were not in the same league, the best wrestler in the world and the weak link of the Elite. Then they were tag-team partners, and absence is not what makes a heart grow fonder, presence is. Long car drives,  where they shot the breeze about anything and everything-- just like this. Hours spent chilling in the same hotel room, showing each other stupid memes, or watching TV together. Plane rides with their heads stacked on each other and complaining about the pressure change. Working-out in the weight rooms and spotting for each other. Training together, practicing the Last Call ‘till they got it right and didn’t fucking hit each other anymore. The longer Adam spent with Kenny Omega, the more certain he was that he loved him. 

Loved him in a way he’d only felt once before. Loved him in a way that was different than how Adam felt about his mother. It was love, 100% all the way, love. True love-- wove, twue wove, to quote a good movie. Love that had all sorts of implications not just for his relationship with Kenny but Adam’s relationship with himself. How he understood himself and who he was. At twenty-nine years he was uncovering more and more about the person of Adam Page, the Hangman. Most of it, Adam didn’t like. Some of it, he did like, and he did like loving Kenny. Even if all he got to do was hold hands and talk. 

“There’s a pool at the hotel,” Kenny said, suddenly, breaking Adam from his introspection.

“Yeah?” Adam asked. 

“Yeah, I checked it out earlier,” Kenny said. “Listen, after we pass-out for a few hours-- you wanna go swimming? Of course, there’s the weight room and all that, we can do a few sets, blah, blah, blah-- but I wanna go swimming too.”

“I didn’t pack swim shorts-- did you?” Adam laughed. He had to wiggle his hand free, unfortunately, from Kenny’s grip so he could make a lane change. 

“Bro,” Kenny stated, and Adam could feel Kenny’s eyes drilling into the side of his face. Intent, focused, and dead serious, “We have large, ample salaries as the Tag-Team Champions of AEW that can fix that problem.”

“Fair point,” Adam admitted. He shuffled his hands on the wheel a little bit and then cracked a big grin. “But yeah, I’m down to work-out, I need to work on my bi-ceps.”

Silence, total silence, Adam shot Kenny the most shit eating grin. For a moment Kenny stared at him, wordless, as if processing that nuclear bomb. Adam had to return his eyes to the road. Then, Kenny smacked Adam’s shoulder. Adam laughed and then laughed harder, when he heard Kenny break into chuckles. 

“Do you think Tony Khan will let us change our team name to the Bisons?” Adam asked.

“No,” Kenny wheezed, his voice strained. He covered his eyes with his hands, shoulders shaking. “No, I don’t think so.”

In the wake of the laughter, Adam settled. Kenny leaned back his seat and despite his fear of cramps, was dozing in a few minutes. Dawn broke before they hit Cincinnati, a brilliant glow of purple, pinks, and golds on a distant blue horizon. It was right to Adam, to park on the 3rd level of the deck and to haul all their shit out of the car. Check-in, bleary eyed at the front desk, and then shuffle into the elevator, with a bagel, stolen from the breakfast, wedged in his mouth. Brush his teeth in the bathroom, kick off his shoes and pants, and then flop into bed. He vaguely recalled Kenny telling him good morning before they fell asleep. 

[theholycovenantrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, DANI! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF NERISSA.

Admin Cas: Each of the Horsemen are ruination in some form, but Nerissa’s ruination is something harsh, brutal, almost guttural, and you captured that perfectly, Dani! You said it best yourself: they want to taste war. I think the stand out for me was the clear direction you have for Nerissa, even though so many of her actions seem like they have no order — we especially loved the idea of her sowing seeds of discontent and aggression among the different factions, fanning the flames of a... pretty tenuous peace. Not only that, but your understanding of the Horsemen as a unit was just so touching. Somehow you made me love them even more. Honestly, I can’t wait to see what chaos you stir up with Nerissa! Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Danielle

Age | Aged 21 years old.

Personal Pronouns | She/her.

Activity Level | It honestly will probably fluctuate! Only because I have work gradually coming back at the end of this month, and University looming over the horizon. I’m currently on Summer break, so I would probably most likely more be 7/10 but when everything comes back into full swing most likely a bit less like 5-6.

Timezone | AEST aka the timezone from hell or EST+9 I think.

Triggers | REMOVED

How did you find the group?  | Honestly I follow all the right people and it was inevitable that I found this group. (I wholeheartedly and fully blame Rosey, Cas & Minnie for bullying or heavily encouraging me into finally applying.)

Current/Past RP Accounts | Sorry I don’t really have any good ones to showcase !

IN CHARACTER

Character |

Nerissa. If I’m lucky enough to be accepted, I would like to change her faceclaim but definitely would like to be in discussions with the Admin Team about who would be acceptable!

What drew you to this character? |

Okay honestly I originally wasn’t going to apply to this roleplay due to a complete and utter lack of time, but Nerissa just kept coming back to my mind, and especially her bio. She just has such a lovely written and absolutely capturing biography, and is such a meaty character herself that is an absolute wild and utter spitfire, how could I not be drawn to her and inevitably love her? I particularly was drawn to the fact that she seems like a neutral chaotic baby which I think makes her an interesting piece to be placed upon the chess board. I could lament, rant and rave about how much I’ve grown to love her through writing this application, but I’m going to put a stop here because otherwise this application would be way too long.

What future plots do you have in mind for the character? |

Keeping in mind that all of these plots could change depending on player’s and their characters, here are just some ideas I had with regards to Nerissa’s future. But honestly, I’m very open to anything and everything when it comes to her future, and I totally understand if the Admins disagree with any of these points! Also I’m gonna apologise in advance for all the type of warmongering future plots I did come up with for Nerissa.

FUTURE 001 — I think it would be interesting to explore what types of people would hire Nerissa for her skills, especially as a deadly Assassin. I definitely feel like the reason the Horsemen became Assassins was largely in part because of Nerissa; especially as she never was quite able to raze the carnage that she had so vividly dreamed up in Purgatory. I think I definitely would like to see which factions and particular individuals are interested in utilising the Horsemen to carry out their deeds; and what it could potentially mean if they decided to hire the Horsemen for nefarious deeds; such as waging war against another faction. For a group that works for the highest bidder, I think it would be intriguing to see where exactly their allegiances would lie, and definitely whether they would want to court chaos, or back a particular side, or even make their own. (I think in terms of Nerissa she’d be the type to desire chaos and destruction, voting to go to War like her namesake, especially with her insatiable appetite for carnage.)

FUTURE 002 — There is nothing more disappointing to Nerissa than the fact that she was not able to utilise her abilities to wage war the moment she escaped Purgatory. (It was all she had dreamed up of as she lay trapped in her bone kingdom; desiring for just one taste of carnage.) It is almost as if she never quite got to fulfil her true purpose. This in turn leads to my belief that she secretly covets and desires for something to happen amongst the factions; and for the new world’s tenuous peace to finally be broken. With the Tridium no longer at peace with one another, I feel like Nerissa would definitely profit from a war breaking out; her abilities causing dissent between those that were once comrades — and now battling against one another upon the battlefield. Be it on purpose, or perhaps by accident, I definitely think it would be interesting to explore Nerissa’s role if a war broke out against the Angels, Mortals and Demons.

FUTURE 003 — The Horsemen are something that are incredibly important to Nerissa. In a world filled with potential enemies and people that she will eventually smite; she has found companionship amongst Dmitri, Ryuk and Viktoria. And although she never meant to find it in the others, the fact that they share hunger in such a similar way to her, the fact that they’ve starved and suffered through Purgatory together has bonded them (although they were separate) — and I definitely would be interested to explore Nerissa’s intimate relationships with the other three. I would consider them tethered together for life; especially since all they have experienced. Not only that, but because of their shared common interests of pacifying their cravings and shared hunger. And in particular Ryuk; someone who has hungered almost as much as she has, is someone that Nerissa particularly shares a tight kinship with, and is someone that she feels understands her like no one else can.

I also think that this illustrates another side to Nerissa. From someone who is the warmonger, who hungers for glorious ruination, when it comes to the Horsemen and herself, it illustrates that she isn’t doesn’t just have one simple facet, but has another where perhaps a softer side arises. Although Nerissa could never anticipate that she would gain such companionship with the others; here she was. With three other people who actually understood what it meant to hunger for something so deeply; had endured Purgatory together with herself; shaping a bond — one that is unexplainable; inextricable. And it is through this that it has forged the Horsemen to be such a formidable force, and is why they are so famed. I imagine that she spends much of her time with them, and that when they are in the midst of carrying out assassinations, they know each other so well that no words need to be said — they can just work together seamlessly for each mission. For someone who is considered neutral in the wars against the Mortals, Angels and Demons (in at least my books), I think that Nerissa would go through anything for the other three, unafraid to swing her blade against anyone and everyone to save them.

FUTURE 003 — I definitely would like to explore Nerissa sharing her abilities with others; training them up so that they are better with their weapons. I imagine she allows herself to do so, either for the offer of gold, or even perhaps so that others will be more of a threat upon the field and not so predictably easy to tear down when battling against her. (I picture Nerissa to be slightly arrogant when it comes to battling others; finding ease with any weapon and enjoying being in various skirmishes and scenarios against others.) I find the notion of her training Arianne something that is particularly interesting, especially as each of them have agendas against one another. Is it that Nerissa eventually seeks to have a prodigy that is capable of utter ruinous destruction just like herself? Or is it that she truly just is fascinated in the potential of Arianne and what ruins she can beckon out? Honestly I’m just so excited at the prospect of Nerissa’s interaction when it comes to teaching others about something that she is passionate about; warfare and utilising different weapons — I feel like she’d be in utter teacher mode, perhaps even snarky like Severus Snape. Especially as it is something that comes so naturally to herself (especially with her gifts), I imagine she would lose her patience when others had trouble with weapons.

FUTURE 004 — As a warmonger, someone who thrives off of catastrophic violence and vengeance, Caphriel is someone who is completely different to Nerissa’s nature. And I definitely am intrigued in the possibilities of exploring the interactions with the pair! Especially since I could liken it to a wolf with their prey; with Caphriel’s personality drawing Nerissa’s attention like a moth to a flame. Perhaps it is because Caphriel is so wholly good — everything that she is not. As she is so unlike herself; there is something about Caphriel that Nerissa desires to tear apart and see what carnage is wrought out. It amuses Nerissa with the hostility she receives from the other, and I would think that she absolutely thrives off of the games she seeks to play with Caphriel to see exactly what buttons she can push to have the other respond in a fashion that battles against their innately loving nature. I think Caphriel incites the playful, yet deadly nature within Nerissa; and reminds others of her lethal nature (if they didn’t already know!) that lies beneath as she attempts to pick apart the compassionate angel.

FUTURE 005 — As her abilities allow for her to incite aggression and violence on those about her; I wonder if Nerissa would be one of the people who would be interested in the splintering of the trio of Michael, Raphael and Gabriel; perhaps even being an indirect cause of it. As a naturally gifted battle strategist, perhaps does she see it in her fortune/and the Horsemen’s to have the three split apart to allow for war to outbreak? Or perhaps does she seek to weaken the Angel faction for another, having been recruited for her abilities to slowly create an image of dissent and aggression between the once tight trio that are already starting to splinter and slowly grow apart from one another. I think there are just so many possibilities for Nerissa when it comes to the chasm that is forming with the trio; and what the future could lead to, especially since she acts as an Assassin and is driven by the highest bidder. Of course, she may not even be an influence into the trio at all; but if the repercussions of the trio’s splintering result in some sort of carnage — I can only imagine that Nerissa’s attention would definitely be piqued, and that she desire to be involved, especially for the potential of waging war.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? |

Definitely, under the right circumstances.

IN DEPTH

Driving Character Motivation |

I believe that Nerissa’s motivation and actions definitely stem from the moment she was created. With her creation deriving from a single drop of God’s own blood — it was inevitable that she would be something divine. And with this divinity and a chosen purpose divined by God, came the insatiable hunger for something more; developing into an appetite that desired to taste war. However, I do believe that this craving for carnage is not just because of God’s decisions and choice to have a warrior made from his own flesh and blood, but also because of the abilities she is gifted with. As she is extremely proficient in inciting aggression in those that are about her, and is naturally gifted at any weapon in her hands; I think it was unavoidable that Nerissa was to become someone who hungers and yearns for war, and one that desires for carnage and destruction. I think this hunger only heightened to become a ravenous appetite when she was within Purgatory, unable to truly satiate her hunger with the lost souls and wraiths that existed within it. And whilst she might have attempted to play with the husks of life that surrounded her, she grew dissatisfied and truly just bored with her predicament — awaiting for the day she could finally quench her thirst. I think this would have also brought a seed of resentment to grow in her heart because of the fact that she had been left in there just waiting for God’s summoning for her to reckon war, and for this to only expand and fester as the Horsemen finally stepped out into a transformed world — one that would never allow her to raze and wage war upon the planet like she had envisioned when they finally left behind their bone kingdoms. I think ultimately because of this unfulfilled purpose, she still awaits for war to begin within this new world so she can finally quench her appetite of war. But will Nerissa ever be satisfied? I don’t think so.

Character Traits |

(+) — INTELLIGENT, AMBITIOUS, DETERMINED.

(-) — ARROGANT, RESENTFUL, STUBBORN.

In-Character Para Sample |

ONE.

Nerissa’s eyes flickered about her as she examined the cavern that had become her kingdom now. For days, months, and years now, (she had simply lost count) she had grown intimately familiar with the domain that she now called her own — it’s hollow life inciting nothing but irritation as she awaited for a sign, a summon; anything that would mean that she could finally escape and fulfil her purpose. Her fingers moving in a languid motion, she observed the way she could so easily play with the husks of life that restlessly surrounded her. And how effortless it was; the way she could play strife; play God with their souls — inciting nothing but rage and warfare between them until they evaporated as quickly as they appeared.

But the truth was Nerissa was bored.

For so long, she had been able to unfurl carnage; destruction upon all she had set her eyes on. It had been why her Creator had made her. It was her purpose. And now, as she sat here; it only allowed for her to dream of the life she had once led and the one that she so desperately desired once more. Vivid dreams; ones that were bloodied in the aggression that would be let loose as she sat astride her steed; wielding a sword in one hand and an axe in the other.

But alas, here she sat, hungering for just a simple taste of war.

Smashing her fist down upon the rock in frustration, Nerissa wondered just how long God would make them wait. She had awaited his divine summon for countless days, and she grew tired. Dissatisfied with what she was given, and desiring much, much more.

TIMESKIP.

As Nerissa carefully stepped towards the slice, a sword tightly gripped in one hand as she examined the splinter; she wondered if this was finally her summons to finally wage war. For her to finally carve out her destiny with her fellow Horsemen. For too long she had been ravenous; only barely satiating her appetite with tiny morsels, when now she would finally be able to quench her inner most desires. For days on end she had hallucinated about the chance she would finally be able to step foot in the new world, and now was her opportunity. A wicked grin placed upon her lips as she thrust herself through the cut, she never looked back at her left behind kingdom.

Thoughts of her cavern, and the ghosts that kept her company were omitted as she only thought of the war that she would wage.

The destruction and carnage that would be wrought with every step.

And the gloriously breathtaking image that it would be.

TWO.

There were not many people that Nerissa could tolerate in this new world. After her time spent in Purgatory, she had come to find that she had a low tolerance for sycophants — for sly little smiles accompanied with words coated with a honeyed tongue. She much preferred to have the truth revealed like a blade; true in its form, without any unnecessary veneer. And although she could have never expected it; she had come to find the Horsemen an inextricable part of her own world. Each in their own way, having carved their own way into her heart; Dimitri, Viktoria and Ryuk.

And how she would never forget the process that had forged them in this pathway.

What a glorious sight they must have made as the four of them sat there astride, laying in wait to complete their assassination. A rare but brief smile appearing upon Nerissa’s lips as she glanced towards her fellow comrades, it truly bemused her how little words needed to be exchanged between them as they bided their time. There was no need for any sounds to be spoken aloud; when each knew each other to the extent that any simple motion made by any of them would effortlessly be interpreted without any hindrance.

And it was in this moment, that it was easy to think that the Horsemen seemed to be invincible against any foe. And perhaps this was naive. But it was a thought that was possibly inevitable as they stood there united together. When one thought of all their separate talents combined; they truly made a formidable force, and it seemed almost unfathomable to have them split apart or felled as a consequence of their enemies. It was at this thought that Nerissa inwardly shuddered, as she thought of the Horsemen possibly being shattered from a possible demise or drawn apart from outside influences. Whilst once upon a time she could have never known that this fellowship was something that would eventually become such an integral part of her life; it now was, and Nerissa truly cherished it.

And if it came down to it; she would ruthlessly kill to protect it. Thousands would be culled in her pathway if this was so necessary.

In order to protect any of the Horsemen.

Extras |

Pinterest Board Inspo — https://www.pinterest.com.au/infinitvm/ch-your-resting-state-is-war-its-your-nature/

Further Inspo — https://narcissamalfvy.tumblr.com/tagged/insp:%20nerissa

Some aesthetics that represent her — Nerissa is crimson smears of blood, silk sheets, perfect calculations in battle, spilled bottles of liquor, bones that are broken in her wake, wildfire, smiles that are filled with violence, words that are as sharp as her knives, nails that are filed sharply enough to pierce skin, the smell of leather, clouds of thick smoke, spilled blood slain by her hand with surprising ease, lightning, shattered glass, teeth that gleam like fangs, wolves, narrowed eyes that promise war, concealed weapons, tough skin that doesn’t bruise easily but still covered in them.

Nerissa is all this. The breathtaking image of glorious ruination.

[mooncustafer]

I wrote a thing

This isn’t a Hallowe’en story but it has a vampire in it so close enough for October I guess:

The vampire was likely not the first monster in the neighborhood, but his story is the oldest. The street had no name yet in those days, a decade or two after the civil war; nor did he. The stories don’t even mention how he came to America, if he shipped himself across in a coffin full of earth, or if he made the journey as a living man and turned sometime after reaching shore. At any rate, he came to the street — half dirt road, half alleyway— already a creature undead. He wasn’t pale and waxy like Bella Lugosi in the movies, but livid with decay slowed to a standstill but not before it had left a purple bloom on his skin. It was just after an early winter sundown, however, and if anybody noticed his bloated face and unsteady gate, they were too polite to comment on a stranger who’d overindulged in spirits, not as long as he didn’t swing his fists at anybody.

The vampire noted each window and doorway with his shoebutton eyes that saw everything, even as darkness and smoke gathered themselves and wrapped up the wood-and-brick buildings. There were plenty of people about to choose from and too many for him to make a move. Some of the doorways were closed to him; some, the shops, welcomed visitors. Trying to look like a casual browser, he lounged towards a two-story structure whose exterior was lettered with words like IMPORTED DRIED FRUITS and BEST SPICES.

Inside, the smell of cloves briefly overpowered the vampire’s senses. Still, he thought to himself, at least he hadn’t picked a greengrocer’s or a restaurant serving dishes containing garlic.

“I know what you want,” said the woman behind the counter.

Panic-stricken, the vampire whirled to face her, but she was already opening a drawer in one of the wooden cabinets that filled the shop. She took a bit of something and held it out to him, starting a little at the chill touch of his hand:

“Crystalized ginger? You look, if I might say so sir, as if you’re feeling unwell.”

Not knowing what else to do, he accepted the piece of candied root and put it in his mouth. In the dim light, his fangs might just have been bad teeth. The ginger was hot on his tongue once the sugar dissolved-- sensations he'd scarcely remembered until that moment. “That’ll put you right,” the shopkeeper said. “Now, what can I get you?”

The vampire chewed the ginger slowly, but at last he had to swallow and reply to the inquiry. He’d planned to recite her a list of items, then take her when her back was turned to search for the harder-to-find ones, but the gratis ginger had caught him off-guard and now his conscience was uneasy, though till now he’d assumed he’d lost it along with his soul.

“Two—” he hesitated— “Two pounds of raisins,” and chuckled nervously. The woman nodded.

“Is that all?”

“No, I—” What in the names of all the devils in Hell was wrong with him? The ginger, perhaps, that still warmed his insides.

“Do you need me to call a doctor for you, sir?” It was too much. How could repay such kindly concern with murder? And murder it would be, though he’d often told himself the ache for blood was a question of nourishment.

The vampire made a choice that would determine his eternity:

“It’s all right,” he gasped, stumbling back towards the entrance. “Just need some fresh air.” The shopkeeper made an equally fateful choice. She came out from behind the counter and followed him, and as she drew close the warmth of the blood beneath her skin woke what he was trying to hold at bay and he turned on his heel in the doorway of the little shop. This time she saw his fangs.

”Forgive me” he croaked, but before he could lunge for her throat the shopkeeper grabbed a large wooden scoop from the nearest binand, raising it with a sharp jerk, tossed something at the vampire. He flung one arm — he did not yet, in those days, wear a cape— across his face, but no garlic, no holy water, nothing but a shower of sesame seeds rained over him as he stood on the threshold.

The vampire blinked, and looked down at his sleeve. There were fifteen seeds clinging to the moth eaten wool crepe, and he counted each one.

Then, of course, he had to count the rest.

The shopkeeper watched through the doorway as the vampire knelt and began making a little heap of the seeds, his lips moving silently as he counted each one. As he noticed some had flown past him, he crawled on his hands and knees onto the front stoop, then the rough wooden sidewalk and began gathering them up in the palm of one hand, turning periodically to add them to the pile on the threshold. She, for her part, gathered up her courage, and approached close enough to shut the door in her customer’s face.

He was still counting when the sun rose the following morning, but he kept to the shadows of the buildings and the light only made him blink a little. The woman came down and opened her shop for the day. She seemed a little surprised to find him still outside in the street, but merely nodded at him. Sparrows landed among the seeds and began pecking at them.

“No, you’re spoiling my count!” he wailed, only to find the shopkeeper at his elbow with a tin mug of coffee.

“Why don't you could count the sparrows, then?” she suggested as she handed him the hot drink.

“Is that a vampire?” the barrel-maker next door asked her, later that morning. “I didn’t think they came out by day.”

“Perhaps there’s still some good in him?” offered his apprentice, looking up from a piece of wood he was planing.

By the time the sun stood at noon, the vampire had counted 3,754 sesame seeds, 1,225 of which he’d had to pick out from between the wooden slats of the sidewalks, and 63 sparrows who’d eaten an unknown number of seeds. He was lurking in an alley between two buildings, the only shade available at midday, when a man came by selling bagels that he carried on a long pole. They were sprinkled with sesame, and as he watched people step up to buy them he saw some of the tiny pale seeds flake off and fall to the ground. Not to mention the seeds that disappeared into the mouths of those who ate their purchases directly.

With a groan that turned a few heads, the vampire counted the people, and then the bagels, and finally, when the seller had moved on again, the new sesame seeds scattered in the street.

As time passed the vampire wondered what kept him, if not alive, then at least out of the ground; he rarely fed, and never on the street’s residents. Perhaps drinking blood was not a necessity, but a compulsion—one replaceable by another. He was such a local fixture by now that some of the local shopkeepers had taken to asking his help with their bookkeeping. When the tailor at the end of the street offered him some new clothes, the stylish if slightly old-fashioned and foreign outfit he accepted earned him the teasing nickname of “the Count.” As for the street, well, it had a name too, now.

There is a neighborhood called Sesame Street. Like many in its city, it is a street of immigrants; and like many also, some of them have had monsters follow them from the old country, or rather the old countries, so many countries. But the unusual thing about this street is that those who live there, wherever they or their forebears hail from, all have a way with them; nobody knows if it’s this that leads them to Sesame Street, or something they learn from living there a while, but all of them are capable of talking down monsters and appealing to their better natures. Even where you wouldn’t think they have them.

[moth-p]

"You're stuffing coins in your mouth, hoping happiness will fall out"

Will I ever finish this? Probably not

[freedom-shamrock]

Bi the Pricking of my Thumbs #4

<< Chapter 3

Cautionary note: This chapter includes a references to and conversations with unsupportive queer-phobic parents, some bigotry, and use of straight nonsense. There is also a dildo for comedic purposes.

Also on AO3. If you’re so inclined, feel free to support me over on Ko-Fi

Chapter 4

Ladybug looked out into the colorful sea of Pride celebrants pouring into Place de la République. The energy was amazing, and she couldn't keep the smile off her face. "Oh gosh, check out those wings!" She slapped at Chat's arm to draw his attention to the wire and sheer-fabric construction heading their way. They sat at the feet of the statue of Marianne, where they could catch a good look at the parade while also keeping an eye out for trouble. They'd already delivered two pickpockets, a lost child, and an obvious full-spectrum queer-phobe to the police. The last one had been the most concerning, given that he had a butane lighter and a soaker style water gun loaded with something that smelled highly flammable.

"Wings?" Chat Noir said, frantically looking into the sky.

"No, silly," she said with a laugh. She tilted his head back to the crowd. " Good wings.  Down there."

"I'm kind of surprised people still wear butterfly wings around here," he said, his smile bright as he waved to the shirtless man who had realized his articulated wings had caught the attention of Paris' heroes. "Oh geez, he's hot, too."

Ladybug laughed again.  She just felt so full of happiness, surrounded by this celebration, sharing it with her best friend. "He really is. But I get a feeling he'd be more accepting of your advances than mine."

"Pffft." He snorted. The rainbow wings opened to flash paired male symbols in the upper half of the forewing, and if she wasn’t mistaken, the man was wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at Chat..

"Was it hard for you to get away?" she asked. His father had continued to get weirder as the annual Pride festival approached. Likewise, Gabriel had been increasingly strict with Adrien's schedule, and she worried for both of them.

Chat Noir shrugged. "As far as I know, he thinks I'm in my room binging on anime."

She shook her head, disgusted. She'd already approached her parents about letting Adrien move in with them if he found he couldn't stand it with his father any longer. She wondered if it was time to extend the same welcome to Chat Noir. He deserved it just as much.

"What about you?" he asked. "You’re here with friends, right?"

"Yeah." She nodded. "I'm supposed to be marching with my school's Gender and Sexuality Alliance. I started the parade with them." She shrugged. "Fortunately, I have a reputation as a total space cadet, and in this crowd they won't be surprised to have lost me halfway through the parade."

He gawked at her. "Your friends think you're a ditz?  Ladybug? The genius behind this operation?" He gestured to the two of them.

She shrugged.  "It just reinforces the idea that normal me is nothing like Ladybug.  And that's good. Besides, I'm not the only clever one here."

He frowned. "I'm not sure I'm on board with them thinking poorly of you just for a cover.  You're amazing, Milady. And I'd bet you're just as amazing in your regular life."

She gave him a hug. "And you're a sweetheart." He melted against her, as he usually did when hugged. "If you need more hugs today, there are some forty and fifty-year olds walking around with shirts that say free mom hugs and free dad hugs." Her parents happened to be part of that group, wearing shirts she'd screen-printed.

"That sounds heavenly." He sat back up. "Eew, cultural appropriation to your right." He shook his head, raising his baton to snap a quick picture. "What do Native American warbonnets have to do with sexuality?"

“Nothing.” Ladybug rolled her eyes. "Like anything, this festival can be used as an excuse to cross some lines that shouldn't be. What are you doing?"

"I'm going to make a post about that kind of thing. Later." His head turned the other way, and his hand came up to cover his mouth. "Holy crap. Look. At. Those. Platforms."

She searched for a moment, eventually finding the person in a fluffy white tutu standing precariously in platform shoes that were easily twelve inches high. "Wow.  Those are like… they're nearly as tall as the Chix on Stix stilts were."

"Blister city," Chat said. " Mad respect for them making it through the parade in those."

"I bet Adrien Agreste could handle those," she said, smiling at the thought of Adrien sweeping down the runway in those ridiculous things. He'd grown quite fond of the over-the-top nature of runway, preferring it to the bland studio shoots he did far too many of. And to be fair, he was crazy good at it.

"Really?" Chat grinned at her, then eyed up the person in the platforms again. "I know he's good, Paris' golden boy and all, but those might be out of his league."

Ladybug vehemently shook her head, and opened her bandalore to catch a picture. "He's a god among men when it comes to fashion and presentation."

"You've got that look," he said, arching one eyebrow.  "What's going on in that clever brain of yours?"

"I want to challenge Adrien to walk in a pair of those," she said. "It might take me a few days to figure out how to pitch it, but I think he'd enjoy the opportunity to flaunt his skills."

"Keep me in the loop on that," Chat Noir said. "I want to see how that turns out."

"Will do." She tucked her bandalore away.

"Is your sweetheart not coming to Pride?" he asked, as if suddenly realizing that could be a thing. "I'm not keeping you from something important to them, am I?"

She patted his shoulder. "They don't care for crowds, and prefer to watch the parade and big festivities on TV. They're hosting a party with several of our friends tomorrow, because we know some other queer folk who need a lower key event." She wished she could invite Adrien, but he wasn't ready to share his identity with anyone else. He'd scheduled a visit with Luka, though, so she was cautiously optimistic that his future was going to be brighter. Their friend group wasn’t remotely hetero, and she was reasonably sure they could all keep a secret. Alya had come out as pan and poly shortly after her amicable split with Nino at the beginning of Lycee. She was currently in a relationship with both Chloe and Kagami that utterly baffled Marinette, but as long as her friend was happy, it didn’t matter. Nino had been a quieter about his orientation, but he’d casually dated men and women, and she strongly suspected he was holding a torch for his best friend..

Chat Noir reached to point out something of interest, but a sudden blast of pop music that could only be Taylor Swift drowned out the sounds of the parade. He froze, his eyes wide and his tail stiff with alarm.

"Crapity snacks," Ladybug muttered. "Looks like breaktime is over, Kitty." She rose to peer around the statue to see the akuma. He stood on the taller brick corner tower of a building on the corner of Rue du Faubourg du Temple. He was dressed all in blue, carrying a white flag featuring old school male and female symbols holding hands.

"Odds on it being that piece of trash we picked up earlier," Chat suggested.

"It's either him, or someone just like him," she muttered. “So gross.”

"I'm The Oppressed, and I'm sick of being spit on by the heterophobic queers of Paris!" the akuma bellowed in a magically amplified voice. "You degenerates have infected my daughter with your alternative lifestyles, so today we're going to celebrate straight pride!"

"Ugh," Ladybug groaned. "Such straight nonsense."

The Oppressed waved his flag at the closest group of revelers, and a beam of white light washed over them, changing their clothes into conservative blue suits or pink dresses. Those now in pink had long styled hair, full makeup, and jewelry that many would have considered feminine.  Those in blue had short hair and broad watches and briefcases.

"Oh hells no!"  Ladybug drew back her bandalore, preparing to throw.  "We need to get him the fuck out of here. There are people here with significant gender dysphoria, and we are not letting Hawkass do this to them during their festival." She loosed her bandalore, cutting through the sky directly in The Oppressed's view, and landing on the corner tower across the street from him. "You want my earrings, you ugly bigot? Come and get them!" She swished her bi flag cape at him, hoping the taunt was enough to refocus his attention.  

"Ladybug!" The Oppressed shouted. "You're the worst offender. Your speeches boasting about your disgusting choice convinced my daughter to come out as pansexual."

"I'm proud of your daughter," Ladybug called back. She felt bad for the girl who had this man as her father. "You'd do better to love her for who she is , than for who you think she should be."

"You know nothing of parenting." The harsh voice carrying over the roof behind The Oppressor gave her chills; for the first time in over a year, Hawk Moth had shown up for one of his own fights. "You're a mere child. And children need guidance from their parents."

She wanted to punch that smug look right off his face.

"Children are suggestible and will make foolish decisions at the encouragement of their stupid friends and… heroes." He sneered the last word.

He was furious, and it was obvious. Could she get him irrational enough to make a mistake? Perhaps today was the day they would finally capture the moth. "Awww. You make it sound so personal," she said, pouting at him, hoping to feed his anger. "Wait-wait-wait. Do you actually have kids?" Now that was a horrifying thought.

He scowled. "If you must know, yes. My naive son is here some where, thanks to you and those idiot friends of his." God his words were so very Gabriel. It was like they used the same conservative parenting guide. "You've made him think there's no harm in exploring--" He was cut off by a sudden roar from the crowd of Pride attendees that rose over the chorus of the pop song How You Get the Girl.

A blast of glitter-filled air rose to the rooftops, plastering both Hawk Moth and The Oppressor in sparkles. She glanced down and saw Chat Noir with a group of people including the butterfly man they'd admired earlier. In a coordinated effort, Chat spun his baton to create a strong enough wind to carry a second pile of glitter up to the villains.

"You take care of Chat Noir!" Hawk Moth snapped, coughing out a cloud of sparkly fragments. "I'll handle the bug."

"I do not consent to your hands being anywhere near me," Ladybug sassed. The very idea creeped her out, but he was the one who introduced hands to the conversation. "Hasn't anyone ever taught you that no means no?" She threw her bandalore up. "Lucky charm!" She caught the spotted item glancing quickly at it, then grinning as she looked across the street at the man who had terrorized Paris for years.

Hawk Moth's confident bearing faltered a moment.

"So tell me Hawky, you wanna get lucky?" She held aloft the sizeable silicone dildo, shaking it enough to make it wiggle and almost giggling as he visibly blanched. "I think my miraculous is suggesting that you need a bit of help getting rid of some tension." She heard chaos below, and suddenly Chat Noir was beside her.

"Milady, I bring you the spoils of war." He knelt, presenting her with the hideous flag.

"Oh Kitty, you always know what I want." She traded the dildo for the flag. "Keep tabs on our dear friend for me. I'd hate for him to go fluttering off." She snapped the thin flagpole in half, ripping the banner for good measure. Once the purified butterfly was released, and the few Parisians who'd been modified by the akuma had been restored, she could focus on the rest of this situation.

"Might I trouble you for one of your ribbons?" Chat Noir asked, watching their long time enemy with a look that could only be described as predatory. "I have an idea."

Hawk Moth's composure was clearly shaken, and he suddenly scrambled to the far edge of the tower, clearly planning to drop to a lower portion of the building's roof in retreat.

Ladybug slipped one of her ribbons free, dropping it into Chat's hand. "I look forward to putting your idea into action. I'll keep Monsieur Hate-Filled-Bigot from straying too far, while you do that." She soared over the gap between the buildings. Early in their tenure as heroes, she'd been responsible for all the ideas. While she'd always managed to come through, it had been terribly stressful. It was such a relief to find that her partner had his share of good plans.

Hawk Moth yanked a sabre out of his cane, training the tip on her. "I will not hesitate to pin you to the roof like an insect in a display box," he snarled.

Close melee with edged weapons was more of Chat's thing, but changing the situation in her own favor, was hers. "I'd love to see you try." Her wrist snapped out, wrapping the line of her bandalore around the thin blade. A quick yank pulled the weapon out of his hand, sending it clattering to the roof behind her.

Hawk Moth let out a screech of rage. It was cut off as Chat Noir launched himself overhead, arcing gracefully to land farther down the roof, trapping their enemy between them.

Chat thumped the bottom of his staff against the roof, and the dildo he'd tied upright on the top jiggled in response. "Mine's better than yours," the cat superhero said proudly. He gestured to his enhanced weapon in case the modification hadn't been immediately clear. He twirled the staff in his hands before lunging and jabbing it at Hawk Moth.

Ladybug grinned, realizing her partner's plan as Hawk Moth apparently forgot all about her in his desire to get away from the spotted silicone dick. With a light tug, her cape came off in her hands.  Two quiet steps and she flicked the end out to snap Hawk Moth's cheek.

In a matter of moments, she was able to wrap the man in a tight cocoon of magical pride fabric, only his neck and head free. If Chat's final blow, a slap of the dildo to Hawk Moth's temple, came later than strictly necessary, she wasn't going to mention it.  The jerk had ruined a ridiculous number of her plans over the years. She stared at him for a moment, the way she might assess an akuma in search for the object they needed to break.

“Tie tack,” she said, keeping her grip on the villain lest he should escape when they were so close to winning.

Chat reached out and plucked the miraculous from Hawk Moth's collar, and the costume vanished in a wave of purple light, leaving Gabriel Agreste tightly bundled in a bisexual pride flag. The irony was not wasted on Ladybug.

"Oh." Chat said softly. "Well I guess that makes more sense than it doesn't."

Furious that the man who had been terrorizing Paris for most of her teen years was Adrien's asshole father, Ladybug grabbed his lapels and gave a yank. As he lurched forward, she brought up her knee, driving it into his nose.

"You'll pay for that," Gabriel snarled as blood dribbled down his face. "Brutality of a suspect in your custody is a punishable offense."

"Brutality?" Chat asked calmly. "I didn't see anything. You must've gotten your nose broken during the fight." He shrugged. "If only Ladybug hadn't already cured Paris of your akuma's damage… I guess you'll just have to live with it." He shook his head in mock sympathy. "Oh look!" He pointed to a collection of cop cars, their lights flashing as they parked along Rue du Faubourg du Temple. "Your escort has arrived to take you to your new home."

Ladybug helped Chat Noir deliver Gabriel to the police but had to go recharge while they took Chat's statement. By the time she'd gotten far enough from the festival to feed Tikki, retransform, and return, there was no sign of the cavalcade that had appeared to deliver Gabriel to the station. In fact, it took her another ten minutes of searching to find her partner, sitting cross-legged as he watched the parade continue to fill Place de la République. He looked a little sad, maybe wistful.

"Hey Kitty," she said, alighting beside him.

"Welcome back, Bug." He sighed, leaning into her as she slipped an arm around him.

"So that just happened," she said. It didn't quite feel real.

He plucked the tiny miraculous from one of his pockets, holding it out to her. "It definitely did."

"Do you want to hold onto it until we get it to Fu?" she asked.

"That would be inadvisable," he replied. "But thank you for trusting me."

She slipped the miraculous into one of the pockets she'd demanded when she'd re-designed her suit a few years back. "So Hawk Moth's out of the picture, and we always said we'd do a reveal once that was done," she pointed out.

He nodded, but didn't leap on the idea the way she expected him to.

"I'm kind of in a mood to beat the crap out of biphobic fathers," she said, squeezing his shoulder. "So I may as well find out who you are. And if he's a real piece of work, you can come live with me."

He stared at her, slowly blinking. "Really?"

She nodded. “I’m friends with Adrien Agreste.  I can tell you that now. And I’ve already gotten permission from my parents for him to take the guest room.” She sighed. “I figured he might need an escape from his father, and that was before I knew he was Hawk Moth.”

“And your parents were just okay with that?” he asked, his eyes wide with shock.

“They love Adrien.  They’d adopt him if they could.” She gave him a sad smile.

“I bet he’d let them,” he said softly, oddly choked up.

“I’m sure the same goes for you,” she insisted, already considering logistics. She could take the spare room, giving Adrien and Chat her room to share. “Now are you going to let me know who you are so I can rough up your father, or what?”

He laughed. “You already did, Bug.” He shook his head. “Hawk Moth was my father, and I am totally moving in with you.”

* * * * * * * *

Chapter 5  >>

Inspirations: Articulated Wings Platform Shoes

[ladyfl4me]

The Moth who Came In from the Cold

(yes, the title is a Cold War novel reference. and yes, it’s plot relevant. believe me)

tw: brief descriptions of gore.

November 22, 1963

Dallas, Texas

12:23 p.m.

Man, he was tired.

It was the kind of tired that came from sour drugstore coffee and aching arches, misread weather reports, indigestion, stress. Something bone-deep: something he hadn't felt since the early days of training camp, and something he never wanted to feel again. Damn the weather. Texas had no right being this warm in November. It was a Friday afternoon, the end of his first week on the job, and destiny really had to cut him some fucking slack.

He checked his watch. 12:24.

Behind him, he could sense the crowd shifting, murmuring. Somewhere, a baby started crying. All around, coats were off and draped over the metal barriers, and the sun gleamed on tie pins and pearls. Nothing but the Sunday best for the President. The Secret Service agent grumbled something incoherent and curled his toes inside his shoes. 12:25. They said it was going to rain all day, and here they were, 67 degrees and sunny as the light shining out of God's asshole. Wonderful. He was sweating so much in his damn overcoat that he was about to dissolve. Not his fault that he was born and raised in West Virginia. Appalachian Novembers were brutal, but he was used to them. He was used to Novembers being chilly as the Arctic, not balmy and warm.

Man, fuck Texas.

A hand tapped him on the shoulder. "Excuse me, sir?"

He summoned a bland Secret Agent smile and turned to face the voice: thin, faint, a bit shaky. Probably a nervous young teenage boy - the precocious type, a bit antsy, with freckles across his nose and his tie pulled up snug against his neck, with his school knapsack on his back and some ink stains smudging his fingers. Neat-combed hair and pressed pants. The kind of kid who would sooner staple his tongue than swear. Nervous and excited to see the President, and full of questions and bullshit and -

The bland smile froze on his face.

No rosy-cheeked, nervous-smiling up-and-coming student senator stood before him. Instead, the agent looked up, and up: he was face to face with a man nearly a foot taller than him - and at six foot two himself, that was no easy feat - with long, black-streaked white hippie hair pulled back in a ponytail. All sharp, hunching lines, an anxious downturned mouth, a bit gaunt and wrinkled and -

He wore red-lensed sunglasses that the agent could easily see his own reflection in. He also wore an old secondhand army parka, battered and torn, with what looked like several sweaters underneath - enough to withstand a blizzard, and keep him warm. Not good for nearly 70-degree weather.

12:26.

"Sir," said the man.

The agent said, "Who are you?”

"Who are you?" the man said, at precisely the same time.

The agent blinked.

"Sorry," the man said again, laughing nervously. His hands, jammed deep inside the pockets of his parka, flexed. The agent's hand drifted towards his gun. "Sir. Agent."

That puckered, nervous half-smile twitched and faded completely. Now the man before him was serious. A strange chill went down the agent's spine, like a breath of cold wind. "You have to believe me when I say this," said the gaunt man. "But -"

The man's cheek twitched, a convulsive half-aborted movement that sent off alarm bells in his mind. The agent's eyes skimmed over the man again - gaunt, pale, twitchy, long hair - and gripped his gun tighter. "Sir, I'm not sure you understand precisely what's going on," he said slowly. The man's attention drifted back to him; he had been watching the road. "The President of the United States is going to be coming through here in... approximately -"

"Four minutes," they said together.

"Yes, I know," the man said. His hands slowly emerged from his pockets, all long pale fingers that made the agent's skin crawl to see them. The fingers, faintly stained yellow, twitched; the agent surreptitiously took a deep breath, nostrils flaring to test the air. No skunklike odor; not a pot-smoker, then. What was this man's fix? "Two minutes now, actually. Agent." The agent frowned, blinked, and glanced at the clock tower. 12:28.

Hands seized the lapels of his jacket.

The agent was jerked around to see the pale man's face nearly against his. He had a long, pointed nose, and his skin was clammy - feverish, almost. The agent half-drew his gun. Next to him, a mother saw the altercation and grabbed her young son's shoulder in a vicelike grip. "Come along, Edmund -"

"But Mom -"

"Sir, you must listen to me," the man breathed, and his grip on the front of the agent's jacket shook.

"Edmund, come here this instant, I'm serious."

"Mister, if you don't let go of me immediately, I'm going to be forced to take action," the agent whispered fiercely. "You're -"

"Disturbing the people." Their words overlapped yet again. "I know, I know, and I am sorry," the man said softly. This close, his breath reeked of nutmeg and vanilla, and dust. "But I must - I - sir, I'm so sorry, but you have to believe me - at 12:30, the President is going to be shot and killed."

The agent's blood went cold. "How do you know?" he heard himself demand. "How do you -"

Faint cheers down the road.

"He's going to be shot, from the top floor of the Depository, sir, you have to believe me," the man demanded, his voice growing louder. "You just have to -"

The distant roar of an engine.

Now, this close, the agent could just barely see through those near-opaque red lenses, and behind: eyes wide with panic, pupils - pupils narrow and... He couldn't focus. He couldn't. Behind him the cheers grew louder, before him the man's shaking grew stronger, nervous sweat beginning to bead on his pale, corpse-like skin - and he knew the smell on the man's breath, now. Eggnog. Christmas was coming. Eggnog - he knew that smell. Christ alive, was this man drunk? There were dots swirling in his vision, in his mind, and he tried to connect them because it was 12:29, and there was nothing he could do.

"Sir," he said, his voice calmer than he felt. "I'm afraid you're drunk."

The man let out a slow, shuddering breath.

The agent holstered his gun, and reached for the handcuffs clipped to his belt. First week on the job, he told himself. First week. Bagged a maniac at the President's motorcade. Look at you go. He said sternly, "Let go of me and put your hands in front of you -"

12:30.

Shots rang out. The spectators screamed. The agent whipped around, and the nervous man's grip slipped away - "Edmund, don't look, sweetie, don't look," said the woman, clapping her hands over the boy's eyes.

"Mom, my name -"

"Now isn't the time, Edmund, please," said a man that was probably his father, grabbing his wife's shoulder and dragging her back and away. "Oh, Christ..."

"My name is Ned, momma -"

"Edmund, stop it! "

The agent froze, and all he could do was stare. Three tons of sleek black metal screamed past - blood splattered like gravy from a shattered tureen at Thanksgiving all across the cream interior, Jackie frozen in tableau reaching out, reaching back, something red and glistening in her hand - and God, the blood -

First week on the job. First week. First week, and this is what he gets - a dead president, on his watch, right in front of him, and nobody could have seen this coming -

"Hey! Hey, mister!"

There was tugging on the bottom of his too-warm, too-thick, thrice-damned to hell and back overcoat. "Edmund, get back here!" his father snapped.

"Hey, mister, that guy!" the kid said. Goddamn, no more than eight years old, not fazed at all by John Fucking Kennedy getting his head blown off twenty feet away from him, staring up at him with a set jaw and a serious glint in his eyes. Kids. Holy hell. "That guy, the one who grabbed you! He's -"

The kid pointed off into the crowd. The agent's head jerked up, and he saw the black-streaked white ponytail vanishing into the crowd. He grabbed his gun. "Thanks, kid," he said.

"My name's -"

"Ned, fine, thank you Ned -" The agent surged forward, shouldering his way through the crowd. "Secret Service coming through, move, ladies and gentlemen, I said move! " he barked. From far behind, he thought he heard the young boy shout something, but it was lost in the crowd. Voices, shouting, screaming -

He pressed on. Following that ponytail, and that pea-green army jacket, and the glint of red glasses in storefronts. Overhead, the sun beat down like an unforgiving lamp in the cloudless sky - no longer drowning him in heat, but dragging something heady and hot from his bones. Energy he thought he'd lost. That drugstore coffee finally kicking in. First week, his footsteps sang as he ran down the street: first week, first week, a president shot, and a case solved, maybe, with your name on it, in your first week, first goddamn week!

And it seemed like it would be simple, then, in that moment: the man in the seven sweaters and army jacket did not seem to know he was being followed, he did not know - his pace was slowing, those long and lanky legs of his buckling and stumbling. He seemed weary, already, and the agent felt a brief stab of sympathy, until he caught a glimpse of that man's pale pointed face in a storefront again -

"At 12:30, the President is going to be shot -"

He clicked the safety off his gun. The man knew. God, he knew something. First week, first week. He forced his legs to pump faster. Ahead, the man wove around a streetlamp and jumped over some garbage cans on the curb, almost seeming to take flight in that instant - the coat, unbuttoned, spread behind him like wings, and the shadow on the pavement seemed almost impossibly large.

And then the walkie talkie on his belt crackled.

"Agent Stern, this is Davis. Report your position. Over."

He hadn't expected that, the voice of his commanding officer, and it made him stumble - and ahead of him, so did the pale man in the green jacket. Right over a crack in the pavement, and into a storefront, so hard that the glass pane rattled and his glasses slid off the end of his nose -

And his body began to - to change.

(Decades later, when he told his children and nephews and nieces this story, he still found it hard to find the words to describe it. Like looking in a funhouse mirror, he said once, but no, that was not it - funhouse mirrors distorted what was there and made it something impossible, but something recognizable through it all. Your face, your bones, your clothes. This, this had no roots in anything that he knew. Nothing he could see, nothing of this world: like seeing shadow take shape and reach out with a grasping hand; like the moon growing eyes and following you with its new sight. It - he could never find the words. So he just told them what he saw. And with every word, he wished he could find a real, true metaphor to fit what he saw, there in the stark November sun on a street corner in Dallas, Texas.

Because the cold stark truth was hardly believable.)

It began with the shoulders: the first part that Stern could see, with this man's back to him. The fabric bulged and twisted, as if something was trying to punch its way out from underneath; the man's back hunched, as if in pain, and his skeletal-fingered hand dug into the pavement -

And the hands too began to change: melding, growing, becoming almost grotesquely long and hooked. The arms followed, becoming spindly as sticks and growing far out of the sleeves of his coat, thin enough that Stern could reach out and break the thickest part of his arm with just one hand. The man's shoulders shook again, as he drew a pained breath. The sound was like a generator powering up in a cave, all echoes and shrieks and God, that sound, it made Stern’s skin crawl like it was on fire-

The man looked over his shoulder.

Stern’s grip on his gun tightened convulsively, and his breath turned to cold steel in his lungs. The face - God, the face. Red, multi-faceted eyes, like rubies sunk into his skull, and a nose growing steadily longer and longer like a  - like a proboscis-

Suddenly the back of the man's coat exploded.

Stern flinched and pulled the trigger. The bullet ricocheted off the concrete and into the glass storefront; it exploded into a million sharp teeth, the sound like a thunderclap -

- as two enormous, batlike wings emerged from the back of the man's coat, casting the street in shadow. "Jesus Christ," Stern gasped, and dropped his gun. The wings swirled like a hurricane, sending the hats in the storefront whirling and twirling on their stands, and the jackets fluttering like dozens of tattered flags, and beat down. The man shot straight up into the sky, into the blinding sun, like a moth flying straight for a lamp.

Somewhere in the glass, scattered across the sidewalk, lay a pair of red sunglasses.

For a long time, Stern stood there and watched the sunlight gleam on them, in pure, shocked silence. First week on the job. First fucking week. Somehow he could only focus on that: that his first week had just ended, and that there was a broken store window in front of him, and for Christ's sake they would probably have to pay for that out of his paycheck -

There were sirens in the distance. Distant voices crackled down the line, stating positions, signals, names and faces. Stern signed and reached for his radio. "On Market and Elm," he sighed, staring at the red sunglasses. He slowly strode through the broken glass, crunching under his boots like new-fallen snow. "Thought I had a lead on a suspect. Fell through."

He examined the sunglasses, and folded them, and gently tucked them into his pocket.

"Over."

keep reading here on ao3

[spideyydarling]

1-64 =u=

FYDGIUH*ORW OKAY I DESERVED THAT

1. Do you ever doubt the existence of others than you? only all the fucking time, like, lets be honest.

2. On a scale of 1-5, how afraid of the dark are you? i would say 2

3. The person you would never want to meet? an evil psycho villain 

4. What is your favorite word? crisp (when u say it it travels from the back to the front of your mouth, its pretty trippy

5. If you were a type of tree, what would you be? acacia because it sounds pretty and looks dope

6. When you looked in the mirror this morning what was the first thing you thought? my hair is looking goooood wtf??

7. What shirt are you wearing? a grey singlet (tank top)

8. What do you label yourself as? idk a geek, nerd, introvert, fucking awesome

9. Bright room or dark room? BRIGHT

10. What were you doing at midnight last night? watching stackie compilations which are funny as fuck

11. Favorite age you’ve been so far? none

12. Who told you they loved you last? my beautiful mother

13. Your worst enemy? um, like, no one? otherwise myself

14. What is your current desktop picture? oh god okay: @bbparker​

15. Do you like someone? tom frickin’ holland baby

16. The last song you listened to? sweet things - twin peaks

17. You can press a button that will make any one person explode. Who would you blow up? NO ONE WTF WHO WOULD CREATE SUCH A THING, nah jk thanos that fat ugly thing

18. Who would you really like to just punch in the face? again, thanos that twat

19. If anyone could be your slave for a day, who would it be and what would they have to do? the queen and give me a bunch of money and do good deeds like attempt to end world hunger and help people trying to stop global warming yeah

20. What is your best physical attribute? (showing said attribute is optional) my collarbones lmao 

21. If you were the opposite sex for one day, what would you look like and what would you do? i would look mighty handsome and i would be really famous and stand up for women because if a smashing looking young lad was like “women are fucking magnificent they deserve equality and respect”everyone would be like HELL YEAS

22. Do you have a secret talent? If yes, what is it? if i hold my hands behind my back i can move them to the front without them breaking apart because im double jointed YEET

23. What is one unique thing you’re afraid of? im afraid of not being able to escape the inevitable 

24. You can only have one kind of sandwich. Every sandwich ingredient known to humankind is at your disposal. a big ass meatball sub from subway hell yes

25. You just found $100! How are you going to spend it? food probs

26. You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere in the world, but you have to leave immediately. Where are you going to go? NEW YORK BABYYYY or LONDON WHOOOOOOOOOOOOO

27. An angel appears out of Heaven and offers you a lifetime supply of the alcoholic beverage of your choice. “Be brand-specific” it says. Man! What are you gonna say about that? Even if you don’t drink booze there’s something you can figure out… so what’s it gonna be? um, im underage???? but i would say pina colads they sound nice

28. You discover a beautiful island upon which you may build your own society. You make the rules. What is the first rule you put into place? i am the ruler no one can de-throne me unless i choose them

29. What is your favorite expletive? WANKER

30. Your house is on fire, holy shit! You have just enough time to run in there and grab ONE inanimate object. Don’t worry, your loved ones and pets have already made it out safely. So what’s the one thing you’re going to save from that blazing inferno? the little prince- its a beautiful book

31. You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be? probably my aunt that died, that was horrible, still is

32. You got kicked out of the country for being a time-traveling heathen who sleeps with celebrities and has super-powers. But check out this cool shit… you can move to anywhere else in the world! New York or London 

33. The Celestial Gates Of Beyond have opened, much to your surprise because you didn’t think such a thing existed. Death appears. As it turns out, Death is actually a pretty cool entity, and happens to be in a fantastic mood. Death offers to return the friend/family-member/person/etc. of your choice to the living world. Who will you bring back? my aunty

34. What was your last dream about? drinking tea then spiderman whipped by my house, like doin der

36. Have you ever been admitted to the hospital? yep, yes i have rip

37. Have you ever built a snowman? IT DOESNT SNOW IN AUS SO NO

38. What is the color of your socks? blackkkkk

39. What type of music do you like? indie, indie rock, classical, hip hop, anything but country

40. Do you prefer sunrises or sunsets? sunrise yes

41. What is your favorite milkshake flavor? VANILAAAAAA

42. What football team do you support? (I will answer in terms of American football as well as soccer) i know nothing of american but aussie footy? i got for the south sydney rabbithoes 

43. Do you have any scars? many, everywhere, im a fckn clutz

44. What do you want to be when you graduate? i dont know and its scaring me, i just want to be famous and dress in really cool outfits

45. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? i would want to be famous

46. Are you reliable? i mean, depends

47. If you could ask your future self one question, what would it be? are you famous yet

48. Do you hold grudges? yes? no? kind of? youll never know

49. If you could breed two animals together to defy the laws of nature, what new animal would you create? thats a bit dangerous but probably a peacock and an elephant OR crocodile.

50. What is the most unusual conversation you’ve ever had? i have so many i dont even know

51. Are you a good liar? yes i am bitch, yes i am

52. How long could you go without talking? a while, when im alone i never talk, thats a lie, i talk to myself. idk but a while

53. What has been you worst haircut/style? THIS FUCKING CHICK OKAY, I SAID I WANTED MY HAIR JUST ABOVE SHOULDER LENGTH AND A FRINGE AND SHE CUT IT ABOUVE MY FUCKING JAW AND MY FRINGE WAS LITERALLY JUST A LINE HALFWAY BETWEEN MY FACE FEGUEIGHUIW I RAGE 

54. Have you ever baked your own cake? YES i bake cakes all the time and just eat them

55. Can you do any accents other than your own? i mean i can do a damn good english and a decent american i would say

56. What do you like on your toast? nothing, Vegemite, reeces peanut butter spread

57. What is the last thing you drew a picture of? a face

58. What would be you dream car? bugatti veyron

59. Do you sing in the shower? Or do anything unusual in the shower? Explain. yes i sing in the shower, i also like to do the splits in the shower honestly idk either

60. Do you believe in aliens? I DONT BELIEVE, I KNOW

61. Do you often read your horoscope? sometimes 

62. What is your favorite letter of the alphabet? L

63. Which is cooler: dinosaurs or dragons? Dinos 

64. What do you think about babies? get them AWAY

[lenin-it-to-win-it]

“I’m Here”

Summary: After escaping Poe’s book, Chuuya struggles- and fails- to come to terms with the fact that  Akutagawa has been killed.

Notes: HOLY SHIT ANGST ALERT, in case that summary didn’t clue you in. Normally, I try to keep my Chuuaku fics pretty light because Chuuya and Aku have suffered enough already, but I came up with this scenario after the latest chapter came out, and I just had to write this. Welcome to suffertown!

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

I

It was summer.

Sun beat down on Yokohama with a ferocity that blurred the air, burning the city into submission. Sweat streaked Chuuya’s forehead, but he shivered. His mind had detached itself from his body, had sunk to some dark, unfathomable place where the physical sensation of heat was forgotten and feelings were dulled by distance. Chuuya stared at the ring in the palm of his hand, too numb even to cry.

He had meant to give it to Akutagawa weeks ago, once the guild had been defeated, but Akutagawa was so drained from his fight against Fitzgerald and brief encounter with Dazai that Chuuya didn’t want to risk overexciting him. There would be plenty of time to propose later, he thought, once Akutagawa was feeling better.

How stupid of Chuuya to forget that a mafioso’s “later” was a promise written on water.

Something came up. Something always came up. Fyodor and those wretched rats, the destruction, the chaos, the missions upon missions upon missions that seemed tailor-made to keep Chuuya and Akutagawa apart.

Then the book.

Chuuya was stunned when he found out he had only been gone a few days when it felt as if he had been trapped inside the book for months, but he was relieved. If only a few days had passed, Akutagawa should be fine. That wasn’t enough time for him to have gotten seriously hurt, right?

Wrong.

Chuuya bit his lip to keep from crying out. Even alone, he didn’t want to admit weakness.

Wrong, wrong wrong. . .

Chuuya couldn’t remember the moment he found out. He didn’t remember who told him, or where, or what he had been doing before, the words they had used. He didn’t remember shaking his head, denying, laughing as tears streamed from his eyes then collapsing to the ground, sobbing, believing, letting the terrible truth sink in.

All he remembered was the last time he and Akutagwa had been together. Chuuya had to leave in the dead of the night for a mission, but Akutagawa had looked so soft and peaceful in sleep that Chuuya couldn’t bear to wake him up. Instead, he settled for giving Akutagawa a quick kiss on the forehead and leaving in silence. He never said goodbye.

What was the last thing he had said to Akutagawa? What were Akutagawa’s last words to him?

Chuuya dragged his hands through his hair, tearing out copper strands. The ring slipped through his fingertips and clattered on the ground. Chuuya didn’t bother picking it up. What did it matter now? Akutagawa was gone.

No, he wasn’t gone. Chuuya could admit as much to himself. “Gone” made it sound as if Akutagawa had merely decided to leave, but that wasn’t what happened. Akutagawa didn’t leave.

No.

Chuuya’s body suddenly went cold

He was murdered.

Akutagawa had been murdered, and Chuuya already knew the culprit.

The virus ability user. . .

Chuuya kneeled down and picked up the discarded ring, cradling it in the palm of his hand for a moment before clenching his hand into a fist and striding out of the room, bent on revenge. The cold metal of the ring dug into the flesh of his palm.

It was blazing hot outside.

II

It was winter.

That was how Corruption always felt to Chuuya, like winter.

A blizzard.

Cold and capricious winds dragged icicle claws into the bellies of storm clouds above until snow bled from their wounds. Silent snowdrifts swept through his mind like static as snowflakes struck the ground with cannon-fire bombast, falling in time to the distant pounding, thrumming, buzzing deep in the core of bones Chuuya could no longer feel. The wind shrieked as if it was wounded, roared as if angered, whimpered as if grieving.

Trapped in the icy embrace of Corruption, Chuuya felt nothing as his distant body laid waste to everything around it. He remembered nothing, not the heat of vengeance nor the warmth of love. Chuuya had dropped the wedding ring long ago. He had given himself over to the storm.

Then the storm ended, and Chuuya was instantly, crushingly aware of every searing pain, every bone-deep ache tormenting the body it appeared he still possessed after all. He gazed at his shattered surroundings through unseeing eyes, unable to make sense of the blood-splattered ruins of a place he did not know. Even as he tried to make his eyes focus, the world seemed to fade to white at the edges. A cold hand gripped Chuuya’s shoulder, causing him to scream in pain.

“Calm down, partner,” whispered a familiar voice. Long arms slipped beneath Chuuya’s knees and around his shoulders, lifting him into the air. “It’s over now.”

Chuuya couldn’t make out the details of his face, but he would have recognized that voice anywhere. “Dazai?” he hissed, struggling to speak through the tightness of his throat. Chuuya couldn’t tell if he had spoken or not; all he could hear was the pounding in his head. “Put me down! I don’t want you-” Chuuya gasped, tearing up as another wave of pain struck. Before he could break away from Dazai, Chuuya fell unconscious, as helpless in Dazai’s arms as he had been in the storm.

***

Dazai’s apartment was a wretched little place.

Chuuya sat on a worn-down couch, wrapped in a moth-eaten blanket, holding but not drinking a cup of pre-packaged bile Dazai insisted was tea, listening to him explain what had happened, a look of total impassivity on his usually expressive face.

“-and then I arrive to find everything destroyed, everyone dead, etcetera, etcetera. Of course, I predicted you’d go after him once you figured out what happened,” Dazai said with a hint of smugness.“So, naturally, I had to be there, too.” Dazai took a sip of tea, then smiled. “My Chuuya is so high-maintenance.”

Chuuya gripped the teacup almost hard enough to shatter it. “I’m not yours.”

Dazai seemed a little put out. “You could at least say thank you,” he huffed, drumming his abnormally long fingers on the rim of his teacup. “I did save your life, after all.”

“Thank you!?” Chuuya leapt to his feet, throwing his teacup to the ground. Almost as soon as he was standing, Chuuya lost his balance and collapsed back onto the couch. The seismic throbbing in his head mounted, beating back his thoughts the instant they began to form. Chuuya cradled his head in his hands, willing the pain to go away.

Dazai reached toward Chuuya’s face; Chuuya smacked his hand away. Weakened as he was, the slap could not have been very painful, but Dazai drew back his hand as if he had touched a hot stove. “I’m just trying to help you,” said Dazai, annoyed. “Chuuya, I can’t do anything for you if you’re just gonna keep pushing me awa-”

“I don’t want you do to anything for me!” Chuuya cried, digging his fingernails into Dazai’s hideous couch to keep himself from attempting to gouge Dazai’s eyes out. “I don’t want anything from you- you ruin everything you touch! You’re a monster!”

“Monster?” Dazai looked pained for a moment, but his genuine emotion was quickly masked by cold anger. “Last time I checked, I wasn’t the one who murdered for a living,” he said, his words as cool and clipped as flurries of snow whipped into a frenzy by the wind, stinging like shards of glass as they struck the skin.“You might not remember what you did to all those people while you were using Corruption, but I saw it, I remember. If you want to see a monster, Chuuya, I’d suggest looking in a mirror.”

Chuuya refused to take Dazai’s bait. “This isn’t about me, and this isn’t about those damn rats I killed either,” he growled. “This is about you, and what you did to Ryuu.”

Dazai furrowed his brow. “Akutagawa-kun? I didn’t kill him, and I assume you know that, since you set out to kill the man who did.”

“You can’t be this stupid!” Chuuya snapped. “Do you really think Ryuu would have gone on that mission if you weren’t the one sending him?”

“If I hadn’t sent him to catch the virus user, Mori-san would have,” Dazai replied with a shrug. “I figured at least with Atsushi-kun, he would have someone to watch his back.”

“You fucking idiot!” Chuuya was unable to keep a bit of hysterical laughter from bubbling up in his sandpaper throat. “You stupid motherfucker.” He gave one more manic giggle, then relapsed into rage once more. “Who do you think made Ryuu that way in the first place? Every mission he’went on, he went on because you made him.”

Dazai stared down at Chuuya with eyes carved from ice. “I made him stronger.”

“You made him broken!” Chuuya clenched his hands into fists, cutting his palms with the jagged edges of his fingernails. “You beat him, tortured him, made him need you. You shot him in the face! He was just a kid, Dazai! A fucking kid!”

“I don’t have to take this from you.” Dazai took a slow sip of tea. “A current mafioso has no right to lecture a former mafioso on right and wrong.”

“I’m not saying I haven’t done worse, but at least I have the common-fucking-decency to regret it!” Chuuya cried, eyes blazing. “If I treated a kid- hell, any subordinate, anybody under my care- the way you treated Ryuu, you can bet your ass it would keep me up at night. But you-” Chuuya savagely swiped at the tears stinging his eyes. “You’re proud of what you did, aren’t you, bastard? Even now that you’re Mr. New and Improved, strutting around that stupid agency of yours like you’re a changed man who serves the greater good-” Chuuya snorted with derision. “You’ll never apologize for what you did to Ryuu. He’s dead, and not only will you not admit that it’s your fault-” Chuuya sniffled, wiping his nose on Dazai’s blanket. “-but even if you did, it wouldn’t bother you. Not for a goddamn second.”

Chuuya stood, clutching the edge of the couch to steady himself, and began walking out of the room. He was still weakened by Corruption, and his vision swam, blurred by pain and tears, and every nerve in his body ached, but he would have walked ten thousand miles on a path of broken glass as long as it led away from Dazai, who made no effort to stop him.

Sooner or later, Chuuya found himself in Kouyou’s arms. She said nothing, but led him to bed, gave him a warm cup of proper tea, and stroked his hair until he managed to sink into a restless sleep haunted by terrible dreams.

Weeks passed as one nightmare faded into the next seemingly without end. Chuuya ate little and spoke less, only leaving bed when Kouyou made him. Even then, he didn’t leave the house, but only laid on the couch staring blankly at the ceiling.

Revenge had done nothing. Yelling at Dazai had done nothing. There was nothing Chuuya could do to bring Akutagawa back.

Tears pricked Chuuya’s eyes. Without Akutagawa, life was nothing.

Then, on a day like any other, Chuuya left bed of his own accord and informed Kouyou that he was leaving. “Business to attend to?” she asked, effortlessly keeping her tone nonchalant even as her eyes shone with relief.

“Close,” Chuuya replied. His voice held none of its former passion, but he was speaking. His eyes had not lost the appearance of being haunted. “I’m going to visit a friend of mine.”

III

It was fall.

Summer had given way to autumn, and the world was fading, already anticipating the arrival of winter with a prolonged exhalation. A chilly gust of wind rustled the dying leaves on the tree just outside the window, but Edogawa Ranpo was concerned by far more pressing matters.

Ranpo rolled his eyes. “I’m telling you for the last time, Poe, ‘sepulchered’ isn’t a word.”

Poe crossed his arms, sulking and staring down at the Scrabble board. “It’s called literary innovation, Ranpo-kun.”

“Literary innovation, my ass,” Ranpo retorted. “I don’t need my ultra-deduction to know that’s a load of-” A knock at the door cut Ranpo short.

Poe vaulted across the table, knocking over the Scrabble board, and darted into the kitchen, closing the door behind him. “I’m not here,” he called.

Ranpo shook his head, but there was a smile on his face. Athough the agency had more or less accepted Poe, he still insisted on hiding every time someone came to visit Ranpo, more out of shyness than necessity. However, in this case, the visitor wasn’t from the agency at all.

Ranpo raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Fancy Hat? What brings you here?”

Chuuya looked up at Ranpo with shadowed eyes, silent.

“You should sit down,” Ranpo said, linking arms with Chuuya and leading him into the living room. He let Chuuya have the softest chair and sat on the coffee table across from him, studying his face and waiting for him to speak.

Chuuya wrapped his arms around himself and stared at the ground. “It’s cold in here.” His voice was fainter than Ranpo remembered it, and he shivered despite the warmth of the room.

Ranpo shrugged off his pancho and draped it around Chuuya’s shoulders. “Does that help?”

Chuuya’s only response was a blank stare. Then, some light seemed to flicker on inside for a moment, and he nodded. “Thanks.” He slouched over so that his forehead was practically touching his knees, crumbling in on himself, as if his bones were turning to dust beneath his flesh.

“So, Nakahara-kun, any, um, reason you’re here?” Ranpo asked, scratching his head.

Ranpo and Chuuya had bonded in the time they had spent together in the book; they had to, in order to keep their sanity in Poe’s literary labyrinth, in that shifting world populated by unrealities. Chuuya had a passion and dedication Ranpo could admire, even if those qualities were often the cause of his greatest weaknesses, and the fiery young mafioso had in turn grown to respect Ranpo’s intelligence. Grudging respect had given way to a sort of comradeship over time, but Ranpo had not expected to see Chuuya again, particularly not with Chuuya looking as if he had just crawled out of his own grave.

“He’s dead.” The words came out of Chuuya’s mouth in a short, percussive burst that seemed to leave him breathless for a moment. “Ryuu.”

It took Ranpo a moment to realize Chuuya must have meant Akutagawa, the mafioso Dazai had paired up with Atsushi, the one who had been killed by the virus ability user. “You never mentioned him before,” Ranpo said in a feeble attempt to break the oppressive silence. “I didn’t realize you two knew eachother.”

Chuuya made an effort to lift his head and look Ranpo in the eyes. “I loved him.”

Ranpo felt his mouth go dry. “Oh. Yeah, that’s. . . that hurts.” Ranpo was at a loss; he had lost his parents before, and he understood the depth of pain and grief Chuuya must have felt, but he had no idea how to communicate any of this to Chuuya. “Sorry.”

“Remember in the book,” said Chuuya, abruptly flaring back to life. A manic gleam stole into his tear-swollen eyes. “Remember being surrounded by all those people?”

“Characters,” Ranpo corrected.

“They felt real, didn’t they?” Chuuya insisted, leaning forward so his face was inches for Ranpo, his fingers tigging into the plush arms of the chair. “Like real people? Remember? Remember how it felt after a while when one of them was murdered? Like a real death? Like a real world where real people lived and died?”

Ranpo felt a shudder of apprehension trail down his spine. “Nakahara-kun, I-”

As suddenly as the burst of energy had struck, it faded, and Chuuya sank back down into the chair, his eyes dulling like dying embers. “I miss it in there,” he whispered, allowing his eyes to close. “I felt lighter there. My head was quieter.”

He was talking about Corruption. Ranpo wasn’t sure what that had to do with Akutagawa dying, but, figuring Chuuya wanted to change the subject, decided to go along with it. “Well, I mean, you know it’s different with my ability,” said Ranpo with a shrug. “It sets me apart from everyone and makes it hard to connect, but it’s a part of me- without my ability, I’m lost. I don’t know who I am.”

“That’s it! That’s it exactly!” Chuuya eyes burned with manic fire. “I don’t know who I am without him! All the best parts of me were tied up in Ryuu, and now- a-and now-” Chuuya’s shivering had grown more intense until he shook so violently that the chair creaked and groaned in protest beneath him. “I don’t want to be who I am without him.” Chuuya stared up at Ranpo through haunted eyes. “Ranpo-kun, your friend, with the books, do you think he could-”

“No!” Ranpo exclaimed, horrified. “Nakahara-kun, you can’t be serious!”

“I can’t live without him,” Chuuya whispered, at last allowing his gathered tears to fall. “I can’t live knowing I failed him. I have to see him again! I need him! Ryuu!”

As Chuuya began to cry in earnest, Ranpo leaned forward and wrapped his arms around his friend’s shoulders. “Hey, don’t- it’ll be- I-” Everything Ranpo could think to say sounded hopelessly impotent in the face of Chuuya’s raw emotion, so he fell silent, holding Chuuya and hoping physical gestures alone would give him some kind of comfort.

Though the crying gradually slowed to a halt, Chuuya never lost the haunted look in his eyes. He ran out of tears; his pain was unending. “Ranpo-kun, look at me,” Chuuya breathed. “Can’t you see I’m not the same?”

Much as Ranpo hated to admit it, even to himself, Chuuya was right. The broken man before him bore little resemblance to the Chuuya he had known in the book. In the span of a few weeks, Chuuya seemed to have aged decades, to have lost the spark of passion that sustained him, that kept his eyes burning even in the darkness of life. The Chuuya Ranpo knew would have threatened and coerced and stopped at nothing to get what he wanted; this Chuuya wept and pleaded and seemed seconds from total surrender.  

What would happen to this Chuuya in the mafia? Without that guiding flare in his heart, the drive that carried him so far, how would he survive? Ranpo doubted the mafia would take kindly to this version of Chuuya; sure, they had tolerated him up to now, but sooner or later, they would try either to re-ignite his flame by imbuing him with a lust for vengenace or, should that prove unsuccessful, he could be found a liability and disposed of.

Ranpo sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll talk to Poe.”

IV

It was spring.

A soft breeze rustled the trees, and pale flower petals descended through the air like angels cast out of heaven, spiralling toward the ground, toward ruin. Without knowing how he understood, Chuuya knew it would always be spring here. Never again would summer sear his soul, nor harsh winter air grate against Akutagawa’s fragile lungs; here, they could always be together, always at peace, always safe and always in love in this world of eternal spring.

When Chuuya lowered his gaze from the flowers above, he saw a dark figure standing alone where the trees began to thin out, staring at the edge of the sky as it faded into the sea. Akutagawa had always admired the ocean from afar although he despised the cacophony of crashing waves up close. As if on cue, Akutagwa turned around, offering Chuuya a soft smile. “I’ve been waiting for you, Nakahara-san,” he said, his voice a bit gentler than it had once been. “Don’t you want to come over here?”

Chuuya’s breath caught in his throat, and his heart began beating so suddenly and wildly that it felt as if it was beating for the first time. Tears clouded his eyes, but he swiped them away, desperate not to lose an ounce of clarity as he gazed at Akutagawa’s pale face, imbued with a look of peace it so rarely had in reality. “R-Ryuu-” Chuuya tried to smile but his lips were trembling. Despite his best attempts to keep himself from crying, tears started falling. “Oh, Ryuu!”

Akutagawa’s eyes widened as he took in Chuuya’s tears and he began moving toward Chuuya, not walking so much as gliding, like a ghost, but when he put his hands on Chuuya’s cheeks, they were every bit as cold and rough as Chuuya remembered. “Nakahara-san, what is it?” he asked. “Are you hurt?”

Chuuya shook his head. “I’m okay. I just-” Chuuya sucked in a deep breath. “-I was thinking about what would happen if you died.”

“Why would you think about that?” Akutagawa’s voice was tinged with annoyance, but his hands were gentle as they stroked Chuuya’s hair. Akutagawa sighed, wrapping his arms around Chuuya. “Well, no matter, Nakahara-san. I’m here.”

No, you’re not.

Chuuya managed a shaky smile, and he wrapped his arms around Akutagawa, pressing his face close to his bony chest and inhaling his familiar scent. “I know, baby. I know.”

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

Asymptote - Chapter One

It all started on a stake out when things got a bit hot and heavy in the car. After that, they swore it was a one-time thing. But things don’t always go to plan.

You can also read it on AO3, here.

             One and Done

Stiles sighed and leant forward against the dashboard. He perched his head in his hands and stared out through the slightly misted windscreen of Derek’s soccer-mum four-wheel-drive. He let out a heavy sigh, feeling the burning glare of the alpha who sat beside him. He knew he was starting to get on Derek’s nerves, but they had been sitting there for a while and Stiles was getting bored.

He slumped back in his seat and wriggled about in an attempt to get comfortable.

“Just sit still,” Derek growled, his bright eyes focused on the backdoors of the large building.

“We’ve been here for hours,” Stiles whined. ���Nothing’s happening so why don’t we just go?”

“We’ve been here for forty-three minutes,” Derek corrected. “And we need to stay here in case something does happen.”

Stiles pouted and slumped further back into his seat.

“It feels like it’s been hours,” the boy argued.

Derek rolled his eyes.

“Is this what you do when Cora goes on dates?” Stiles prodded. “Do you just sit outside the restaurants or the cinemas and wait? Or do you just not let her go on dates at all?”

“Shut up,” Derek ordered.

“I’m just trying to find a conversation topic. Maybe if we talk about something it would help pass the time,” Stiles offered.

“Fine,” Derek muttered. “What do you want to talk about?”

Stiles opened his mouth to speak when Derek interrupted him, “Nothing to do with my sister.”

Stile closed his mouth again and thought for a second.

“When was the last time you had sex?” Stiles blurted out.

“I’m not talking to you about that,” Derek replied.

“Fine, just stop me when I get close. Hours?”

Derek didn’t reply.

“A day? Two days? A week?” Stiles pressed but to no avail. “A fortnight? A month? Two months?”

Derek kept his strong gaze focused on the world outside the windows.

“Three months? Four? Five?” Stiles continued. “Six? Seven? Eight? Nine? Ten? Eleven? A year!?”

“One year, eight months and three days,” Derek answered.

“Dude!” Stiles said with amazement.

“I’ve had four girlfriends: one died and the other three have all tried to kill me,” Derek muttered. “So it’s easier - and healthier - for me not to get attached.”

“Wait, Braeden tried to kill you?” Stiles asked.

“She got a contract,” Derek explained. “And you know her, she’d do anything if the money’s good.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles murmured.

“It’s fine.”

A moment of silence passed between them, the awkward quiet settling over them and intensifying the tension.

“So you haven’t had sex since then?” Stiles asked.

“No.”

“Haven’t considered… purchasing company?” Stiles pressed.

“No.”

“Self-pleasuring?”

“Stiles, stop,” Derek growled.

“What? There’s nothing wrong with jerking your jerky,” Stiles countered. “It’s actually healthy. You know, endorphins and stuff.”

“It’s that what you tell yourself?” Derek teased.

“No,” Stiles replied. “Because I’m not ashamed of it. At least I know I can get myself off and don’t have to worry about pleasuring anyone else.”

“Can we please change the subject?” Derek snapped.

“Okay,” Stiles muttered, defeated. There was a moment of silence before he dared speak up again to ask, “Have you ever kissed a guy?”

Derek let out a frustrated sigh.

“No,” he admitted.

“Me neither,” Stiles said casually. “Although there are a lot of attractive guys that I would kiss, like Danny or Boyd, or even Scott when he does his superhero shit; that’s really hot. Hell, I’d even kiss Isaac if I wasn’t afraid that his negativity would brush off on me. And you. I’d kiss you.”

“Thanks, I’m honoured,” Derek said nonchalantly.

“What about you?” Stiles asked. “If you had to kiss one guy who would it be? And it doesn’t have to be a relationship or anything, it would be like a one and done thing that is never spoken of again. So, who would you kiss?”

“I’d kiss you,” Derek growled. “Maybe it’d shut you up for a second.”

Stiles smirked.

“Nah, it wouldn’t. But I’m right here if you ever want to try,” Stiles offered.

Derek rolled his eyes and grabbed Stiles by the front of his shirt. He pulled Stiles across the cabin of the car and crushed their moths together.

Stiles froze – stunned – but soon relaxed into the warmth of Derek’s lips and returned the kiss. He let his breath fall from his lungs as his shoulders dropped. His eyes fluttered shut as he looped his arms around Derek’s neck. He laced his fingers through Derek’s soft, raven-black hair.

Derek dropped his hands to Stiles’ waist and pulled him close, enveloping him in his warmth. He felt the boy’s body melt into his own. He cupped the back of the boy’s head, lacing his fingers through Stiles’ unkempt chestnut locks while his other hand trailed down the boy’s side, caressing his surprisingly firm body before settling on the curve of his hip.

He ran his tongue across Stiles’ bottom lip and Stiles moaned blissfully as he obediently opened his mouth to welcome Derek’s tongue.

Stiles sighed in return, weaving his fingers into Derek’s hair, balling soft tufts into his fist as the other hand slid up the man’s chest and around his neck.

Derek drew back to draw breath, leaving them both panting.

“Holy shit,” Stiles gasped.

Derek leant in close again, his hands resting on Stiles’ hips as he pulled the boy closer. One hand trailed up Stiles’ side and cupped the back of the teen’s head, lacing his fingers through the Stiles’ unkempt hair.

Stiles tilted his chin, chasing his Derek’s lips.

The man smirked as he pulled Stiles closer and brought their lips together again.

Stiles hummed blissfully as he weakened in Derek’s hold.

Stiles slid his hand up under the hem of Derek’s shirt, feeling the taut muscles that twitched beneath the man’s golden flesh. He caressed the man’s soft skin, feeling the smooth curves and the warmth of his body.

Stiles pulled back to draw breath.

Derek chased the boy’s soft pink lips, bringing them together again. He kissed him lightly, drawing away quickly as he craned his neck and placed a trail of kisses across the boy’s cheek, jaw, chin, and neck. He stayed there, gently sucking and nipping at Stiles’ pale skin and moles; brushing his teeth against them just hard enough to make the boy moan but not hard enough to leave a mark. He pressed soft kisses against the patches of skin which were marred by the soft impressions of his teeth, reducing Stiles to soft whimpers. His hands slid beneath Stiles’ hoodie and ran up the curve of his spine, urging the boy to arch to his touch.

The kiss was tender and loving, but it quickly escalated into something more passionate. It was deep and messy.

Stiles looped his arms around Derek’s neck, using his weight to pull the man closer. He opened his mouth and heeded to Derek’s dominating tongue.

Derek laced his fingers through Stiles’ hair, the buds of his fingers gently massaging his scalp.

Stiles hummed against Derek’s lips.

The hand on the boy’s hip pulled him closer, the ball of his thumb rubbing circles on the pale, exposed patch of Stiles’ skin.

Stiles drew back again, resting his forehead against Derek’s. He could feel Derek’s rugged breaths pant against his lips, the trails of warmth lingering on his lips.

Derek craned his neck and bought their mouths together one last time, brushing his lips across Stiles’ lightly – barely a kiss – before sitting back in his seat.

“Wow,” Stiles said breathlessly. “Just… wow.”

They were interrupted by the sound of Stiles’ phone chiming in his pocket. Stiles fumbled with it as he pulled it out of his pocket and unlocked the screen to read the message from Scott.

He shoved it back into his pocket and looked up at Derek.

“They’re finished inside and are heading home,” Stiles announced.

Derek leant forward and turned the engine on. He was silent as he reversed out to the curb and turned onto the road. He drove down the road, silent and focused.

“So, um…” Stiles started slowly. “Do you want to continue that kiss back at the loft?”

Derek didn’t reply, his sharp gaze focused on the road as the car glided across the streets and into the back roads of Beacon Hills. He pulled up before the loft and shut off the engine.

Stiles waited, quiet and confused as he watched Derek get out of the car and walk inside. He decided to follow the man inside.

Derek waited until Stiles stepped into the loft before he slid the door shut. He turned on the boy and stalked over to him like a predator who had their sight on their prey. He walked the boy back up against the door. He pressed his hips against Stiles’, pushing him back against the door and pinning him against the cool metal.

He heard Stiles’ breath hitch excitedly as he looked deep into Derek’s glittering aventurine eyes.

Derek couldn’t fight it. He rested his hands on Stiles’ hips and pulled the boy closer, feeling the warmth of the boy’s body melt into his own. One hand trailed up the boy’s side and cupped the back of the boy’s head, lacing his fingers through the boy’s hair. He pulled Stiles closer and tugged at his hair, making the boy gasp excitedly as he fell back in Derek’s hold.

Derek crushed their mouths together.

Stiles let out a weak whimper, his breath falling from his lungs and his eyes fluttering shut as he weakly grabbed at Derek’s jacket.

This wasn’t like the kiss in the car, this one had one purpose in mind: sex.

The jagged nails of his hand on the boy’s hip clawed at his jeans, testing the thick denim and leaving angry red marks across the exposed patch of Stiles’ skin.

Derek’s breathing grew heavy as he pulled back, tugging at Stiles’ hair and making him throw his head back and expose his throat.

Derek latched his mouth onto Stiles’ neck and ran his lips over the boy’s throat, gently sucking at the pale, mole-speckled skin before moving down to the boy’s collarbone. He nipped and gnawed at the flesh, listening to Stiles moan.

The boy arched towards his mouth and pleaded, “More.”

Derek shoved Stiles back against the door, grinding their hips together as he bit down on the flesh.

Stiles yelped, his nails clawing at Derek’s chest.

“Oh God, yes,” Stiles cried.

Derek pulled back to admire his handiwork.

The skin was red and speckled with burst blood vessels. That was sure to leave a mark.

Derek smirked.

He leant forward again and ran his mouth across the boy’s throat, sucking and nipping at Stiles’ pale skin, nothing like before; one bruise was enough. He brushed his teeth across Stiles’ Adam’s apple just hard enough to make the boy moan.

Derek’s heart fluttered for a second when he realised that Stiles had complete faith in Derek and trusted him not to bite or hurt him.

The brutal passion returned as Derek crushed their mouths together.

Stiles looped his arms around Derek’s neck, using his weight to pull the man closer.

Derek’s fingertips gently scratched at Stiles’ scalp as their tongues fought for dominance, though it didn’t take long for Stiles to yield to the alpha’s power.

Stiles moaned against Derek’s lips.

Derek slid his hands down to the boy’s sides, gripping his hips and hoisting him off his feet.

Stiles let out an excited yelp and instinctively coiled his legs around Derek’s waist as the alpha pinned him back against the wall.

Derek broke away from the kiss and stripped Stiles’ hoodie and tee-shirt off.

Stiles wriggled slightly, pulling his arms free of the sleeves and bringing his hands back to Derek’s face to crush their mouths together again. He ran his fingers across Derek’s jaw, feeling his rough whiskers and his thundering pulse. He breathed in the heavy musky scent of the man and let out a soft sigh as he melted into the kiss.

Derek rolled his hips, grinding against Stiles’ and making the boy whimper needily.

Derek adjusted his grip on Stiles, lifting the boy around his waist and carrying him over to the bed. He tossed the boy onto the bed, watching him fall back against the mattress with a gasp of surprise.

Stiles looked up at him, his eyes full of lust as Derek teasingly stripped off his jacket and shirt. The boy licked his lips ravenously, his glittering amber eyes devouring every inch of Derek’s golden skin.

The alpha smirked as he lowered himself onto his hands and knees and crawled forward onto the bed. He towered over Stiles, lowering his hips and grinding Stiles back against the mattress.

The boy hooked his legs around Derek’s, rubbing his foot up and down the man’s calf.

Derek slid his hands down to Stiles’ ass, kneading the firm cheeks before quickly unbuckling the thick leather belt around his slender hips. He unzipped Stiles’ jeans and pulled his legs free of the tight denim, his boxers following soon after.

Derek slid his firm hands up Stiles’ thighs and pushed the boy’s legs forward, lifting his ass into the air. He spread the boy’s soft cheeks and brought his mouth to Stiles’ eager hole. He flicked his tongue across the taut ring of muscles, teasing at the boy’s entrance. He set a rhythm of slow drags, quick flicks and slow, tortuous circles until Stiles was reduced to babbled cries and broken moans.

Derek waited for Stiles to relax before letting go of the boy’s legs. He pulled back and reached across the bed for the sleek dresser that ran along the wall. He pulled open one of the drawers and rummaged around for the bottle of lubricant and a condom.

He tossed the condom onto the bed and sat back to look at Stiles.

He was a vision to behold: pale skin glistening like moonlight as the dull light illuminated the thin sheet of sweat. His breathing was heavy, a desperate fight to regain his composure against his overloaded senses.

“Keep going,” Stiles panted, guessing Derek’s next question.

Derek nodded and popped open the lid to the bottle of lube. He poured the cool gel across his fingers.

“Roll over onto your stomach,” Derek instructed.

Stiles did as told.

Derek spread the boy’s cheeks and slid a lube-slick finger into the boy’s hole. He moved his finger back and forth, teasing Stiles open before sliding a second finger into the boy.

Stiles moaned and pushed back against Derek’s hand, his breath hitching in his throat as Derek’s fingertips brushed against his prostate.

Derek withdrew his fingers from Stiles’ hole.

“Roll over,” Derek instructed again.

Stiles did so, hiding his face in his hands in order to prevent Derek from seeing the soft pink glow in his cheeks.

Derek smirked. He clambered off the edge of his bed and pulled off his jeans. His thick cock pressed against the thin cotton of his boxers.

Stiles quickly pounced onto his hands and knees and shuffled forward. He looked up at Derek pleadingly.

Derek lifted his brow quizzically.

Stiles licked his lips.

Nothing else needed to be said.

All it took was a nod from Derek for Stiles to eagerly seize the opportunity, mouthing at the soft cotton that covered Derek’s bulge. He slid his hands up the man’s toned thighs and hooked his fingers under the elastic waistband, pulling Derek’s boxers down to his ankles and freeing his cock.

Stiles was frozen for a moment.

Derek stood before him, naked, exposed and as glorious as ever. The real thing was better than anything Stiles could have ever imagined.

He licked his lips hungrily.

It was there before him and his for the taking.

Stiles shuffled closer and knelt before him, taking Derek’s length in his hand and slowly sliding his hand up and down the shaft. He rolled the ball of his thumb across the head of Derek’s cock, drawing a few drops of precome and smearing them across the head of his cock.

He had never given - nor received - such favours, but he had spent many nights pleasuring himself to know what felt good.

He stroked Derek, slowly and firmly.

Derek let out a low growl, encouraging Stiles to continue.

Stiles looked up at the man, struck by the power in his heavy gaze.

His inner exhibitionist came out; he wanted Derek to see how he could take his dick, he wanted to please the alpha.

He carefully lapped at the head of Derek’s cock, tasting the delicious salty come as he flicked his tongue across the slit.

Stiles licked his lips lustfully. He leant forward and slowly, purposefully, pressed kisses to the length of the man’s cock.

Derek purred, lacing his fingers through Stiles’ soft hair.

Stiles lifted his eyes to Derek’s, running his tongue up the underside of the man’s impressive length before returning to lap at the head.

Derek’s eyes lit up a brilliant crimson.

He heard Stiles’ heart skip a beat before quickening excitedly.

Stiles took the head of Derek’s cock into his mouth and sucked at the tip. He swirled his tongue around the head before sinking his mouth down to his fist. He tightened his mouth and dragged his lips back up the length.

Derek purred, spurring Stiles on.

The boy pulled his hand away from Derek’s dick and put it on his own, running it up and down his own rigid shaft as he moved his head over Derek’s dick, faster and faster.

Stiles moaned, the vibrations going straight to Derek’s cock. Derek growled in response and the boy’s hips bucked into his hand at the sound. He pumped his shaft faster and faster as he enthusiastically sucked at Derek’s cock.

Derek ran his hand through Stiles’ ruffled hair, rolling his hips and sinking further into the boy’s mouth.

Stiles choked slightly and Derek drew back, letting the boy take it at his own pace.

Spurts of precome liberally dribbled down Stiles’ throat, making him hum with pleasure.

Derek tried to maintain his composure, drawing in shaky breaths and stifling moans as Stiles continued.

Stiles gently cupped the man’s testicles – another trick he had learnt through self-experimentation. He felt Derek set his hand at the back of his head and guide him in his motions – deep and demanding.

He neglected his own dick in favour of steadying himself as he took Derek’s dick further into his throat.

“I’m going to come over your face,” Derek announced.

He withdrew his length from Stiles’ mouth.

Stiles lifted his hand to Derek’s cock and pumped the shaft until the man climaxed.

Derek came with the head of his cock on Stiles’ lips and semen spurting into the boy’s mouth and across his face.

Stiles let out a little needy whimper, just enough to push Derek further over the edge. He kept his mouth open until Derek finished. When the man finished, Stiles swallowed hard and licked at the beads of come that dripped from his lips.

“Lie back,” Derek instructed, his composure returning in an instant.

Stiles complied readily.

Derek grabbed his discarded boxers and half-heartedly wiped himself clean. He reached across the bed for the condom he had tossed aside earlier. He tore open the foil packet and rolled it over his returning erection – he couldn’t help it; Stiles was lying before him, needy and ready. He grabbed the bottle of lube and slicked up his length.

He crawled back onto the bed, reaching forward to grab a pillow. He slid it beneath Stiles’ hips before settling himself between the boy’s legs.

“You sure?” Derek asked.

“I’m sure,” Stiles assured him, reaching for Derek tentatively.

The man leant forward and buried his face in the curve of Stiles’ throat. He bit down lightly on the junction of Stiles’ neck and shoulder, smirking as Stiles arched up with a full-body shudder and a wordless moan. Having found a spot sensitive enough to earn such a response, Derek teased it relentlessly: nipping and sucking at the tender spot before lathering it with kisses.

He slid his hands down to Stiles’ hips and pulled him into his lap.

Stiles’ crotch throbbed at the sound of Derek’s soft gasps and groans as he rocked his hips and rubbed his returning erection against Stiles’ entrance, teasing him open.

Derek dragged his claws across the skin on Stiles’ hips, watching angry red marks trail in their wake. He kneaded at Stiles’ soft cheeks, a low rumble escaping his chest and rolling across the boy’s skin.

Stiles shuddered at the sensation, rolling his head back and exposing his throat.

Derek took advantage of the boy’s dropped defences, bringing his lips to Stiles’ jugular and littering the skin with sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. He nipped and sucked at the skin, not hard enough to break the skin but just enough that it would leave a mark in the morning, and definitely enough to reduce the boy to shuddering moans.

Derek ran his hand through the boy’s soft locks, gently tugging at his unkempt hair.

Stiles melted into his hold, letting Derek’s slender fingers guide him as he tilted the boy’s head to the side slightly and brought their mouths together in another kiss.

Derek ran his tongue across Stiles’ lips and Stiles obeyed, opening his mouth to welcome Derek’s demanding tongue.

It was deep and messy, as Derek thrust his tongue deep into Stiles’ eager mouth.

Stiles ground back against Derek’s hips.

Derek purred, arching forward to return the thrust.

Sweat caressed their bodies and their scents began to mingle.

“Derek,” Stiles gasped, breaking away from the kiss for a second. “Fuck me.”

Derek’s hips stuttered against Stiles’ ass. He sat back, feeling the boy shiver from the loss of warmth. He spread the boy’s cheeks and lined himself up with Stiles’ eager entrance before he eased his length into Stiles’ ass.

Stiles tensed for a moment at the intrusion, hissing at the strange sensation of penetration.

“You okay?” Derek asked.

It took Stiles a second but the boy nodded and muttered, “Yeah, keep going.”

Stiles was breathing heavily and smothering a moan as he tried to relax and welcome the man’s throbbing length.

Derek began to roll his hips in slow, shallow thrusts, giving Stiles the time he needed to get used to the new sensation.

Derek was struggling to stay patient. Stiles’ ass was hot and deliciously teased open, and resisting the urge to simply give in and savagely fuck the boy into the sheets was testing his already limited self-control.

Stiles gently rolled his hips against Derek’s length.

Derek rested his hands on the boy’s hips, slowly drawing out before bucking his hips and slamming his length into Stiles’ ass again.

Stiles arched his back, a savage moan tearing at his throat.

Derek’s carnal instincts took over, grabbing a hold of Stiles’ hips and thrusting into the boy.

Stiles cried out, the wave of pain delighting him, making his crotch throb and ache. His arms trembled and he collapsed forward against the mattress. He buried his face into the pillow, biting down into the cotton and muffling his moans.

Derek arched over Stiles, his thrusts faster and deeper as he nipped at the ridges of Stiles’ shoulder blades.

The boy let out a strangled moan.

Derek pressed his forehead against Stiles’ shoulder, nuzzling his face into the slender boy’s warmth. He littered kisses across Stiles’ shoulders, reaching between them and took Stiles’ dribbling cock in his hand. He rubbed his thumbs in circles, feeling the tense muscles twitch beneath his touch.

“More,” Stiles gasped.

Derek growled, nipping at Stiles’ shoulder.

“More,” Stiles begged, his voice laced with lust.

“I’ll give you what you want,” Derek promised, his breathing ragged and eyes flaring red with power.

He thrust into Stiles, sudden and brutal.

Stiles cried out.

Derek moved one hand from Stiles’ thigh to the boy’s neck. He gently massaged the flesh before applying pressure. He squeezed the boy’s throat, thrusting harder and faster. He heard the boy gasp for breath, wheezing as Derek choked him more.

Derek ran kisses along Stiles’ jaw, glancing at the boy’s face.

The corner of Stiles’ lips were curved up into a small smile, his chocolate-brown eyes misted with lust. His lips hung open, twitching as the promise of sweet relief danced before him.

Derek’s grip tightened on Stiles’ thigh, his claws threatening to pierce the skin and draw blood.

He glanced up at Stiles’ face. There was no indication of pain, only pleasure.

Derek lost himself, his hips moving by instinct as he savagely fucked the boy.

Stiles’ moans escalated into one drawn-out cry. His nails dragged at the back of Derek’s skull, earning a deep growl as the alpha picked up the pace.

Derek released his grip on the boy’s throat, listening to Stiles gasp for breath beneath his ragged cries. He adjusted his grip on the boy, looping his arm under the boy’s leg and resting it above his shoulder, flipping Stiles onto his side. He grabbed the boy’s waist, pulling the boy down over his length as he slammed into him.

Derek pounded him into the sheets, his rigid cock bruising Stiles’ insides.

“Derek,” Stiles whimpered, his stomach knotted painfully by the orgasm he had been holding back. “Please. I can’t…”

Derek leant forward and whispered, “Then come.”

Stiles didn’t need to be told twice.

He let out a savage moan as spurts of sticky come splashed against his abs. Air escaped him, his lips quivering and eyes fluttering. His eyes fell shut and he collapsed back against the bed.

Derek bucked his hips one last time and came, hot semen spilling into the condom.

He took a second to catch his breath as he rode out their orgasms.

He slowly withdrew from Stiles’ ass, shuffling back on the bed. He slid the condom off his flaccid length and tossed it into the bin.

He could hear Stiles’ heavy breaths as he tried to steady himself.

“Holy fuck, Derek,” Stiles panted. “That was… incredible… euphoric… I don’t even know. I can’t find the word for it right now; you fucked my brain out.”

Derek slumped down on the edge of the bed, burying his face in his hands.

Stiles turned his head to the side, looking at the defeated silhouette of the man.

“Hey,” Stiles said softly, wincing as he sat up and dragged himself over to Derek’s side. “What’s wrong?”

“I fucked up,” Derek muttered.

“What do you mean?” Stiles asked.

“That… That was…” Derek couldn’t look him in the eye. “I shouldn’t have.”

“Derek, I’m eighteen and I gave consent,” Stiles reminded him. “It’s perfectly legal.”

“You’re the Sheriff’s son and Scott’s best friend,” Derek argued. “You’re my friend. And I’ve just gone and fucked all that up.”

“Hey,” Stiles whispered soothingly. He reached across and set his hand on Derek’s firm arm. “It was just sex. You know, like casual sex. It doesn’t have to mean anything. And if you never want to do it again then we won’t. It’ll be a one and done thing. I’ll leave it in the past and we’ll never talk about it again. Okay?”

Derek didn’t reply.

“Okay, I can tell that you need some time to think about this,” Stiles announced, lifting himself up onto his feet. He staggered slightly and stumbled about, wincing with pain. “So, I’ll give you your space. I’ll just dress myself and leave.”

Derek could hear the boy fumbling about as he wrestled his numb legs into his jeans and made his way towards the door.

Stiles hesitated.

“Derek, you have my number and I’m still your friend,” Stiles said softly. “This doesn’t mean anything if you don’t want it to and we’re still cool. So just… call me when you’ve made a decision.”

He turned and took a few steps before stopping again.

“If you hear a loud thud, it’s me falling down the stairs,” Stiles shouted back into the loft. “And if that’s the case then a little help would be appreciated.”

Derek couldn’t help but chuckle.

He listened carefully to every painful step Stiles took. He heard the dull thud of Stiles shutting his car door and then a few seconds later the old Jeep sputtered as the engine started and rumbled as it drove down the street.

Then it was quiet.

Silent.

And Derek was left alone with his thoughts.