#refuse the acknowledgement just to gain the satisfaction of having the last word or getting to say no this time?

[lunarsapphism]

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[wangxiandecoded]

Episode 10

Previous Episode | Next Episode

(Spoilers for the whole show ahead!)

Going to draw a heart over Wangxian to keep track of every time the camera shows someone third wheeling them from now on.

Wei Ying uses his Binding/Bonding talisman on Xue Yang to show Lan Zhan it’s a dynamic tool that doesn’t deserve to be named “Boring”. Even though there’s a serial killer on the loose, Lan Zhan’s opinions on his inventions matter a lot to him. Standard Wei Ying stuff.

Wangxian’s Mirrors

At this point of the show, I could not believe there was a couple who directly mirrored Wangxian. And surprise! They were two men who dressed in black and white and came together for their common vision exactly like Wangxian did. Wei Ying cannot help but connect the dots and Lan Zhan is already aware of their eminence.

Xue Yang Fancies The Yiling Laozu 

Xue Yang’s introduction makes the story take a darker turn but also a gayer one. The homoerotic subtext between him and Wei Ying literally jumps out of the screen.  

(This episode had a lot of moments that were just begging for alternate dialogues to be written. I just wanted to have fun with the subtext that’s already present.)  

Wei Ying doesn’t want Lan Zhan to waste his precious breath interrogating the bad guy. He protectively steps up (something he does quite a lot) and puts some distance between the both of them.

But he wants Lan Zhan to hold his sword while he does that.. and if that act wasn’t necessarily considered to be intimate or romantic before, it just became that after Lan Zhan refused to do it in front of everyone.

Wei Ying has uttered many conspicuously gay things on the show but most of them are with reference to Lan Zhan. Therefore, this is possibly the gayest dialogue he has ever said in a strictly non-Lan Zhan context.

His tone is all, “Honey, you've been existing for 5 minutes, I'm the queerest person the cultivation world has seen in a millennium. You think frisking a guy is going to make me feel scandalized?” This is nuts to me because Xue Yang is arguably the most blatantly coded gay character on the show.. and here is Wei Ying all but saying he can outgay him. That he shouldn’t come after his job. And Lan Zhan just looks like..

It is curious how Lan Zhan says no to something that would require Wei Ying to go near Xue Yang again.

We get it, Lan Zhan. It was hard to see your guy giving attention to someone who wasn’t you.

When Lan Zhan is unsure what's happening back home, the first person his eyes seek is Wei Ying, his source of strength and reassurance.

SongXiao Help WangXian Fall Deeper In Love

Wei Ying is euphoric to meet another pair of Soulmates™. (The same kind of glee that queer people feel when they meet a celebrity queer couple.) His relationship with Lan Zhan just gained supreme validation and a boost to the power of infinity!

He sees everything he has with Lan Zhan reflected in SongXiao’s relationship. He admires them and is delighted that people like them who aren’t concerned with clan drama can walk the wider path of justice, and also lead successful, honourable lives. He looks to Lan Zhan for confirmation but Lan Zhan doesn’t seem too eager to publicize the super sweet promise they made at the lantern ceremony or the fact that he’s been secretly enjoying Wei Ying’s companionship on this expedition. And let’s be honest, it would’ve been more shocking if Lan Zhan did confirm any of that here.

Cheer up, Wei Ying! Lan Zhan will get plenty more opportunities to prove his love for you and he'll ace every single one of them.

No one asked for this but thank you NHS for declaring your ideal type is beautiful gentlemen who fight crime together and unapologetically go their own way.

The parallels between the two pairs write themselves. More importantly, it is while watching SongXiao leave together that Lan Zhan stumbles onto an epiphany.

This is such an underrated moment in the show. The sorrowful music and slow-motion shot of Lan Zhan looking at Wei Ying with vulnerability all over his face once again drives it home that Wei Ying is The One for him, and he is his. He was already getting tired of denying that Wei Ying is his soulmate in every sense there is, and he feels his pain and sadness in this moment. It is enough for Jiang Cheng to feel sorry for him and move on but not for Lan Zhan who feels all that his soulmate feels. 

It is overwhelming and brand new information to Lan Zhan himself that he can feel it because Wei Ying is not in impending danger right now, so this need he feels to protect him and be there for him can only mean that he loves him beyond the shadow of a doubt. Wei Ying seems upset thinking about his mother and Lan Zhan gets it, without Wei Ying having uttered a word the whole time. His face shows a kind of defeat in this scene; he surrenders to everything he has known and felt for some time now : He's in love with Wei Ying and would tear down the universe without a second thought if it means it would rid him of his unhappiness. And he isn't able to do that in this moment. But thanks to Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen, he’s found comfort in the truth they have each other at the end of the day, even if they have nothing left in this world. He cannot give back to Wei Ying what he has lost but he can accompany him in his sadness, and it will have to be enough. And it is, because Wei Ying can overcome just about everything as long as Lan Zhan walks by his side.

Wei Ying Says Lan Clan Deserves Rights

Wei Ying has many nice things to say about the Lan clan who he found exhausting a few months ago. Love brings about miraculous changes in a person, y’all.

Wei Ying gravitates towards Lan Zhan as if it's second nature to him and it really is.

Jiang Cheng spends a lot of time trying to get Wei Ying to spill the Top Secrets about the Yin Iron and Wei Ying is like, "Sorry, I’m bound by the Soulmate laws to tell you absolutely nothing."

Wei Ying is already embracing the idea of controlling the Yin Iron and people are rightfully getting offended by his suggestion.

What did you expect, Wei Ying? Not everyone is your lifetime confidant to give you the benefit of the doubt and reciprocate it with compassion, trust and open-mindedness.

Wangxian’s Temporary Separation

What was that, Wei Ying? Did we hear you admit that the Gusu Lan roof is softer than the one in Qinghe? Could this have anything to do with a certain law enforcer in Cloud Recesses you fell in love with at first sword fight? 

There is a delicate, bittersweet air to this separation, and even the casual watcher is going to be wondering, “When did I get so invested in Wangxian that WuJi makes me want to cry?”

It's cute how Lan Zhan is like, “Okay, I’ve seen the love of my life for one last time, I’ll quietly take my leave so he doesn’t know I was waiting for him to come back.”

Turns out, "I'll sleep on your roof tonight," is one of the most romantic things we could tell the person we love. Isn't it brilliant that just few seconds ago Wei Ying had said he will take whatever ground he finds as his home for the night, and how utterly beautiful is it to have followed it up with this dialogue? “Lan Zhan, I'll sleep on your roof tonight.” Because the world is big but my home is wherever you are. That’s where I’m happiest, I'll sleep on this rugged roof and walk through thorns if it means I get to be by your side. I won't mind it at all. And how unbelievably romantic is it that Wei Ying makes a philosophical statement about life, which ends up being about Lan Zhan?

Lan Zhan hears the implications in his voice. And he openly yearns to stay behind a little longer and commit to his memory what Wei Ying looks like when he is drunkenly proclaiming his love for him under the moonlight. It is pleasantly surprising that Lan Zhan is willing to express his emotions when he knows he is safe from Wei Ying hearing them, that he doesn't mind telling him goodbye when he thinks Wei Ying won't remember it. 

But the audience can hear his voice and we are going to remember it. How, "Wei Ying, I have to go," is uttered in a cadence so sweet we did not know Lan Zhan was capable of before this. And the choice of words do not simply mean that he’s going to leave, but that he has to, and most certainly not because he wants to. And how it really means, “I’m worried about everything, but especially you, and I'm sorry I have to go. I have to trust that we'll both be okay on this path. Please know that I don't wish to leave you, and forgive me for it. Wei Ying, I love you."

Even their temporary separation hurts so good. If they were meant to be best buddies, this scene wouldn't have been shot so poignantly. But we got used to seeing them together and every frame is designed to dig deeper into your heart and instil the fact that these soulmates are parting, and we don’t know when they’ll see each other again. This is the melancholy of a man who does not wish to be away from his lover but is forced to for the sake of the greater good. Anyone can see that.

The rooftop and moonlit night come as a callback to their first meeting, only Lan Zhan no longer wants to point the tip of his sword at Wei Ying, it gives him far greater satisfaction to place Wei Ying behind his sword.

I haven’t counted the number of times people acknowledge Wangxian’s relationship and/or know that they are inseparable, but it’s safe to say almost every character does that at some point. And some even know how to exploit their weakness, that in order to hurt one of them, the surefire way is to simply aim for the other like Wen Chao does here.

To summarize, Episode 10 saw Lan Zhan showing us his true colors : When he isn’t occupied with being the esteemed, intimidating Lan Wangji, he’s busy being a regular, sweet, romantic guy in love. And Wei Ying did that. He single-handedly exposes the soft side of Lan Zhan that nobody sees to the audience now and the world later on. 

This episode also gave us this : Two soulmates chilling shoulder to shoulder zero feet apart because they’re falling in love.

[imaginesandinserts]

Irreverent Pt. 51 - Eye of a Hurricane

Title: Irreverent Pt. 51 - Eye of a Hurricane

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~3K

Trigger Warning: Torture, Canon Typical Violence

A/N: I’m posting Chapters 51 and 52 at the same time. Make sure you read them in order. And if you haven’t read 50 (posted yesterday) definitely read that first. 

Irreverent Series Masterlist

It's a sluggishly slow progression towards consciousness as you battle a heavy head and dazed mind, both serving only to deter coherent thought. Your awareness is comprised only of sensation – a cold and dark room, hard chair, your mouth was dry. As you attempt to move, you come to realize that your wrists are bound behind your back and your ankles are tied to the legs of a chair, while the same rough material was corded around your torso, keeping you tied and upright in the chair. What should have been a terrifying realization, was dulled by the presence of some drug you'd been injected with. It would account for all of the symptoms you're experiencing, especially how your mouth felt like it could compete with the Sahara for driest places known to man.

Your mind reels, attempting to piece together how you had come to be in your current predicament. You'd been awaiting Easter at your agreed upon spot for your check-in. You'd stood with your back to the wall, aware of your surroundings. It had been a complete ambush, a gun from nowhere pressed to the side of your head, three large men, all armed, as they forced you into an alley way. They'd been able to get the jump on you as you were severely outnumbered. The last thing you can recall with any degree of clarity is the sharp sting of a needle, pressed to the side of your neck. It would explain quite a bit about how you're feeling at the moment.

Blinking slowly, carefully, you allow your sensitive eyes to adjust to the dim yellow lighting of the room. Keeping your head tilted downwards still, you take in the concrete grey flooring and walls. You focus on taking in as much as you can without alerting your captors to the fact that you're awake. That would immediately tip the scales in their favor.

There is a stale smell lingering in the room, as though from a lack of use. Dust is collecting in the crevices. It's not cared for. Likely a spare room or basement. There are no windows as far as you're able to tell. Behind you, there is a clock that ticks, the sound of it echoing loudly in the quiet of the room.

How long had you been there?

Cautiously lifting your head, you appraise the room you're in. There, in front of you about three feet away, is a table with what looked like various weapons on it. From your position, you can make out knives, a baseball bat, what appears to be a taser, and what could be a fire poker.

You had to get out.

Your bindings have no give, you quickly learn. You couldn't wriggle out of them if you tried.

If you move quickly, you could inch your way towards the table. You might be able to bend down and grab one of the knives with your mouth and use it – somehow – to cut the rope or at least loosen it enough to be able to escape. After you've accomplished that, you'd have to get out of wherever you were being held.

Figuring out why you'd been taken in the first place would have to wait.

You clench, tensing your body and using the leverage of your feet pressed to the floor to jump up and forward in the chair, attempting to drag it forward with you, in the direction of the table. It moves about an inch or two.

With a frustrated sigh, you tense once more, preparing to repeat the action. Just as the balls of your feet have pressed into the ground, there's a clicking sound from behind you and you can hear the door opening. You freeze in place. You should've known they were watching.

Heavy footsteps reverberate against the concrete flooring while you refuse to turn around. Let them come and face you themselves.

"Good, you're awake." The deep voice carries with it a shot of dread that you hadn't quite felt yet since you'd awoken. It cuts through the dullness of feeling and thought, jumpstarting the dormant panic into full gear.

A large man with dark hair and crystal light eyes stands before you, blocking your pathway towards the table you had been inching your way towards. He's dressed casually in dark clothing, there's a scar running down his neck. In his hands is a gun, held almost casually, as though it were merely an afterthought. As though he's quite confident in his ability to over power you without it.

You watch apprehensively, body tensed up, as he leans one hip against the table, perching on it lightly. His cold, steely eyes pore into you, running over your body and taking in your state. His gaze feels predatory as it runs over you in the worst of ways, causing a chill to run down your spine. He watches you as though you're prey and he's a hunter – the kind that collects trophies to hang up above the mantle. He lingers on your eyes, and you can tell he's checking to see if you're still drugged or if you were fully capable now.

You remain quiet, waiting for him to speak first, the two of you locked in and staring at one another. You don't know why you're here, why they took you. You surely don't recognize him. Behind him, you can see a dark glass pane that you hadn't noticed before, beyond which you assume his partners wait, watching both you and him.

"I am going to ask you questions," he says evenly, breaking the silence once more, his eyes boring into yours. "Every time you don't answer or you lie to me, you will regret it. Am I clear?" His voice, low and dark, matches the tone of the room. It's not exactly threatening, more clinical in a way. It's like he's playing a part, doing a job. Like you're his last patient of the day and he's eager to get home early and catch the game. You want to say his heart isn't quite in it, but that wasn't right either. It's more so that he has better things to do than waste his time with you, and yet here is.

You don't acknowledge or answer his question asking if you'd understood, and you can tell he doesn't like to be ignored. His brow furrows ever so slightly, nostrils flaring as he mutters low under his breath, turning and placing the gun on the table behind him. He sets it down and then turns back towards you and you can see he'd grabbed something from the table. Brass knuckles by the looks of it, as he slides them on, flexing his large muscular hands as he does. It's meant to intimidate you, scare you. It does its job.

You take a deep breath, still watching him quietly as you mentally reassure yourself that it would all be alright. That Clyde would of course be looking for you. He'd know you were missing when you hadn't been there waiting for him. He would find you and rescue you from whatever this was. Until then, you had only one job: survival. They wouldn't break you.

He strides forward until he's right up against you, his knees brushing against yours. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, feel the coarse denim of his jeans against your bare knees. The dress that you'd been wearing undercover is bunched up underneath your thighs.

You look up at him defiantly as he stands before you in silence, as though still waiting for you to speak. You wouldn't. You needed to know how much they knew first. He asks for your name first and you provide him with the fake name on the ID in your bag. That earns you a quick, sharp jab to the side that has you keeling over and grunting in pain as the hard metal ridges of the brass knuckles connects with your ribcage. You try to absorb the hit, try to remember everything you've learned from sparring with both Derek and Clyde. Try to stifle your pained groan.

You take a breath and look back at him, ignoring the bruised and burning pain in your side. If you're not mistaken, there's a chance he just cracked a rib.

They know who you are.

The realization causes your panicked brain to go into overdrive as you sift through who could possibly want to use you to get to any information. What they would do with it.

He asks next about Project Atlantis. He asks who else has access to the list. Who else is on the list. How to gain access to it.

Every lie you tell, every time you stay silent, he rewards you with another hit. Another part of your body bruised and broken as he goes through a litany of questions, marking you up as he goes. The tears slip unwanted. The cries come out despite any attempt to not give him the satisfaction.

Where the hell was Clyde?!

Each time, you force yourself to look back at him. To let him know that he hasn't beat you. To let him know that it wouldn't be so easy. To challenge him to do worse.

He does.

Your body becomes a work of art, painted with the red of your blood, the deep purple bruising of your skin. The colors meld and blend together with the salt of your tears.

It hurts to breathe. He's bruised a couple of ribs and shallow breaths are all you can manage through the excruciating pain of drawing a single breath in properly. If he doesn't stop soon, you'll start to hyperventilate. You can't do that. You can't let him win that way. You blink through the tears welled up in your eyes. You couldn't stop those if you tried. It hurts. It all hurts too much.

There is no escape from the constant barrage of questions and from the assault that follows. In the back of your mind there lingers a silent, crying hope that Clyde is out there looking for you but that is it. Otherwise it's all you can do to remain present and conscious to resist simply giving him what he wants in exchange for a respite.

After a certain point, the pain wasn't even really pain anymore. It was as though your body knew, that in order to survive, it had to shield you from feeling the full thrust of all that he had inflicted on you. It knew that if you were to stand a chance, you had to not feel it. The numbness settles in through a haze as your mind goes cloudy once more. You're barely meeting his eyes anymore, try as you might. Your body strains and struggles to stay aware. In the brief moments of respite that he offers you, as he changes from the brass knuckles to the poker, you can't even bring it in yourself to fear what's coming next.

Your mind flits to Aaron. The last time you'd seen him, as you kissed him goodbye and walked out to the waiting cab. He wouldn't know to worry. He'd think you were busy with work. He'd think that you'd return his calls soon enough. He'd think you were alright.

Thinking of him and Jack is the only thing that has you even trying to lift your head once more. Keeps you coming back each time. Keeps you looking your captor in the eye.

You had to make it through. You had to keep bouncing back. You had to endure and persist.

For them.

For him.

Not again.

They can't go through that again.

It's that thought that has you lifting your head, meeting those stony grey eyes once more.

*------------*

Emily would want the Birkins.

That was the first coherent thought that came to mind when you'd become conscious once more. He'd stopped once you'd become unresponsive.

Thoughts of escaping had long since abandoned you. It would be pointless. You were entirely unmatched. Even if you could defeat them, you'd first have to stand, and you're not entirely sure that's a feat you're capable of any longer. Keeping your eyes open was far too difficult a task on its own.

Your mind behaves oddly. Thoughts fleetingly temporary and confused as you contend with the notion that you might not escape. That you might die here.

Aaron would have to pick an outfit for the funeral. He'd have to go to your closet and pick out something to wear for you to be buried in.

Jack would need a new suit.

The bike – that should go to John.

The house was Aaron's.

The rest was Jack's.

There was no one else.

Would he get a body? Or would he bury an empty coffin with your name on the headstone?

If he knew what you were thinking – how you were thinking – he'd be furious.

You're next woken with a jolt as two pairs of uncaring and callous hands work together to lift you up. You thrash and scream, your voice horrifically hoarse as you feel them place you down on the table you'd noticed off to the side earlier. Thick, rough, leather restraints bind you down and hold you to the table.

You can't move. Try as you might, you can't get out.

He asks you again, giving you a final chance. Your stomach coils in fear and panic as tears well in your eyes and stream down your cheeks anew.

You beg them to not do this. You beg them to let you go. I have a son, please. I have son! Please let me go. Please don’t –

You know what's coming next.

His frosty, pale eyes are the last thing you see before a coarse rag covers your face. You prepare yourself. Remind yourself that you won't die. Not like this.

You'll be alright. You'll be alright. You'll be al –

The first onslaught of harsh, cold water beating down on your head has the force of a current rippling through your veins.

You can't breathe.

There's a warbled scream that shouts out and it takes you far too long to realize it was your own.

Your heart is beating faster than ever as the unrelenting assault continues. Blood pounding in your head as you thrash about as much as possible.

Frigid water fills your nose, your throat, leaving you gasping for air.

Your fingers claw at the table, catching splinters of wood in the nailbed.

Your head feels full as though it's floating in the ocean during a storm.

Gasping and screaming when you could manage it, lungs drowning underneath the punishing weight as it rained down upon you, your body fighting against the riptide.

It went on and it went on.

Unrelenting.

Neverending.

Right at the precipice – when your screams were silent, your limbs motionless, the cruel waves kept drowning you underneath the tide  – right as you became certain of one thing and one thing only: this was the end. Just as you arrived at that conclusion – it all went away. Dissipated into thin air.

You were floating into a fog, light as could be.

The dulcet tones of singing children at Jack's spring recital, as he waves at you from the stage.

The team at Karaoke night, drunk as can be, singing out of sync.

The rooftop in Ibiza, legs dangling as you sat between John and Julian, a bottle passed between the three of you.

Ricky picking you up at midnight, watching the sun rise over the sea with the boys huddled around you.

Aaron in the kitchen, his beautiful voice humming along to the music.

Aaron on the plane next to you, his hand held tightly in yours.

Aaron peacefully asleep beside you, his chest rising and falling, the richness of his warmth enveloping you entirely.

His face was the last thing you saw.

[notsuchacleverboyq]

00Q Prompt

James' Lover (part two)

In which MI6 payed Lucy a visit and now Q helps James dealing with the aftermath of what happened.

Part one here.

The delight in Q's expression was sharp and bright as he observed a pair of MI6 agents leading a black-haired woman through the building.

Her dark eyes were wide as she scrutinized the surroundings with confusion and pure fear, her steps short and unsure.

- It's lovely to have you here, miss Roberts - Q said as Lucy was forced to walk through the corridor in which he was standing.

The woman's eyes immediately snapped on the quartermaster's figure, staring at him with the expression of someone who would have clearly wished to be anywhere else.

- I wish you a fine stay - Q told her with a bright and warm smile as she walked by, satisfaction growing through his veins as a resulting of her look.

Watching as the two agents escorted Lucy in a room, Q heard some quick and rushed steps behind himself, turning around to notice M approaching him.

- Sir - the quartermaster greeted him, with rigid posture.

- Q, I need you to convince Bond to accept medical assistance - M ordered and the quartermaster sighed silently.

Bond was known for a lot of things. One of those was his habit to avoid medical like plague.

- Why me, sir? - Q questioned.

- Because he listens to you - M answered.

Obvious, Q thought: there were very few people Bond was prone to pay attention to, without snubbing them. Q was one of those elects.

- Yes, sir - the quartermaster responded, accepting the order.

M immediately walked over, exceeding Q in order to follow the ilk rout of Lucy and the two agents.

When M stopped in front of a door, the quartermaster recalled Bond's fear of others finding out about what had happened, understanding how the agent's fright immediately went to his reputation as a double-0.

- Sir? - Q called and M immediately froze, looking at the man with a questioning expression.

- I have a request - the quartermaster immediately referred him, the sharp and professional tone standing out in his voice.

M turned towards Q, nodding slowly.

- Go ahead - Mallory demanded.

- Keep this a secret: 007 appeared to be...disturbed by the chance of others knowing - Q explained.

M seemed to take a second to well comprehend the request, grumbling in response as he headed for the room again.

- Request accepted, Q. Now go - Mallory eventually replied.

- Thank you, sir - Q immediately said, showing a shallow smile, before M finally disappeared in a room.

Now he needed to convince Bond to follow him in the medical.

The best was probably to just get stubborn over it and insist until James would have surrendered; but Q had never dealed with Bond in such a distress.

He was still struggling to find the right method when he got in front of the lab, in which the agent was still peacefully sleeping on the green sofa, in the corner of the room.

Q smiled softly, walking with light steps to not startle Bond.

- Bond? - Q called, gently shaking James' shoulder to try and wake him up.

The agent immediatly flinched at the touch, sitting up with an impulse, and grabbed Q's wrist with a firm and strong grip. The quartermaster winced at Bond's rapid movement and froze right where he was.

The fear in James' eyes faded after a few seconds and he released the quartermaster's arm.

- Sorry - Bond mumbled.

Q, who was rubbing the skin of his wrist to erase the tingling pain, just waved it off.

- They payed miss Roberts a visit: she's currently under interrogation - the quartermaster explained him.

- Thank you - Bond muttered, looking anywhere but in Q's direction.

The quartermaster hummed in response, not speaking for a few seconds.

- You need medical, thought - Q suddenly said, making it sound like a demand.

As the quartermaster had expected, Bond groaned in response, showing his clear disapproval.

- M's order - Q added, not letting the agent any chance to complain about it.

With an heavy puff and right after getting himself up from the sofa, Bond seemed to surrender and faced Q with a cold stare of his.

- Make it quick - the agent snapped.

- It's not me you need to be harsh to, James - Q grumbled, still referringto Bond with his name to keep his words more friendly.

With no more words, they both headed to the medical and Q was rather surprised by how docile Bond had become all of a sudden: not a single dis, no grumbling, no resistance of any kind; the agent simply followed the quartermaster like an obedient dog.

It was almost creepy to witness.

However, it lasted until they were in front of the medical.

- Please, stay - Bond muttered and Q had to look at him to make sure he hadn't imagined those words.

The agent sounded tentative, clearly afraid of something that the quartermaster found himself unable to acknowledge. Still, he wasn't going to deny him his presence, since the fear in Bond's eyes appeared more than real.

- Of course - Q quickly replied with a quick nod.

Immediately, Bond's eyes turned less cold, as if he was yielding part of the concern to the quartermaster. Q received that, unconsciously, as he felt oddly protective of the agent in a way he had never been, such as Bond had never looked so vulnerable since he could remember.

Expecting to be followed, the quartermaster entered the medical, smiling politely to the doctor.

- Hey, Jim - Q said, in order to gain the man's attention.

The bald man, clothed in a white coat, turned around and gave back the smile.

- Another incident in the lab? - Jim questioned and Q shook his head.

- No, it's not me - the quartermaster explained, moving to the side to let Bond step closer.

The agent moved closer with slow steps and the doctor frowned at him.

- What happened this time? - Jim asked.

- It's rather private, I'm afraid - Q quickly answered and could hear James sighing in relief.

The doctor nodded, waving at James to sit down on the cot.

- M just required a quick check - Q added, staying still as Bond sat down reluctantly.

As Jim attempted to unbutton his coat, the agent flinched away, causing Jim to take a step back and Q to stiff.

- Do it yourself, then - the doctor demanded, his voice calm.

Nobody spoke as Bond undressed himself, until he was sitting with bare chest.

From where he was standing, Q could notice several more red lines running over the agent's rigid muscles, pretty similar to the ones on his face. The quartermaster walked around Bond with lips parted in preoccupation, his eyes searching over the bruised and reddened skin.

- Why didn't you tell me? - Q questioned, stopping in front of Bond.

- Take a guess - the agent replied, looking down.

He had been scared, Q thought. It was rather obvious, but still left the quartermaster's mouth bitter to know such.

- Don't worry: this is the less harmful thing whereby he's ever ended up in medical - Jim informed him and James seemed to puff silently.

Q was close to disagree, being really far from believing it was as harmless as it looked.

- They won't even leave a scar - Jim continued.

The agent and the quartermaster stayed quiet, letting the doctor to disinfect the cuts. Bond gave some light wincing every now and then but, for the rest, he seemed completely lost in his thoughts. Q didn't even need to wonder what he was thinking about.

- You can dress up - Jim informed the agent, moving to put a away a bottle of disinfectant.

Q gave him a quick smile, turning around to let Bond dress up.

What was going to happen now? Was James going to solve everything as he always did, refusing any kind of help? Was Lucy going to really pay for it?

Some steps in the corridor distracted Q from his thoughts and then Tanner entered the room.

- Bond? - the man called and Bond immediately raised his gaze.

There must have been some news from the interrogation, Q thought.

- She insist on saying she's your girlfriend - Tanner started and Bond got up with a grumble.

- Ex girlfriend - the agent specified.

- Since when? -

- Now -

Despite he didn't say a word, Q was rather surprised and relieved by Bond's sudden decision.

- I'll inform her - Tanner said, nodding slowly.

Q, in a different situation, would have probably laughed at that, but he just limited himself to stay quiet and step closer to Bond.

- Is that anything? - the agent asked.

No, there was more, the quartermaster noticed when Tanner didn't answer immediately.

- Regardless of what we'll get out of her during the interrogation, she's not going to come out of this without repercussions - the man told them.

Finally allowing himself a shallow smile, Q felt more serene, not having to worry about Lucy anymore.

[2-cute-4-school]

He loved, he really did

Group : NCT

Pairing : Zhong Chenle x f!Reader

Genre : fluff, a pinch of angst? friends to lovers

Word count : 2500

M.list

If there was one thing Chenle just couldn’t understand about his best friend was how oblivious she could be sometimes. Not only did he hint at his crush over her more times than he could count ever since he realized his feelings, but also Jisung, his other best friend who never missed a chance at teasing both of them despite the girl’s confusion. Chenle couldn’t help but feel foolish more often than not, falling in love with Y/N, the kid who ate mud hoping it would taste like chocolate in kindergarten and demonstrated that she may be the only one who could keep up with his odd antics. But Y/N was also the fiercely loyal girl who stayed glued to his side even when Chenle himself believed he didn’t deserve someone like her, the only one who dared to stand up for Jisung when he used to get teased in elementary school because of his shy demeanor and nerdy tendencies, gaining everyone’s respect through her fearless defense over her newly found friend. And all these things made Y/N herself, the one who got Zhong Chenle to love her endlessly.

Chenle’s poor excuses of flirty pick-up lines were always quickly shoot down by even more quirky replies who brought out a faded shade of pink across Chenle’s cheeks. But Y/N never seemed affected by their exchanges which frustrated Chenle to no end, deflating his burst of confidence immediately. Jisung always insisted that Chenle’s attempts were too mild for someone like Y/N who tends to leave a strong impression on anyone accompanied by dropped jaws that almost touch the ground and catch flies. 

“So is the basketball match still one or are you going to pussy out last minute?”

Chenle sighed, dragging a hand over his face and tightening the grip he had on his phone. He loved her voice, he really did. It always emanated confidence and you couldn’t help but stop and listen to her words as the entire world seemed to revolve around her in those moments. But when remarks like that left her mouth, Chenle couldn’t help but want to desperately zip it shut.

“Yeah, Y/N, it’s still on, but don’t cry too much when I wipe the floor with your sorry ass.”

“Don’t worry about little ol’ me, big head. I’ll see you at the court at 6.”

And with that, the line went dead. Y/N never left things up for discussion and she never refused a challenge. Another thing that Chenle admired about her. His frustration with his lack of courage only grew even more with every time he fell in love again with her, making his desire to be able to call Y/N ‘his’ almost impossible to suppress.

Chenle complied with her firm demand and trudged towards the basketball court five minutes earlier. He knew from experience he shouldn’t allow Y/N any chance to take him by surprise for every time he did, she left him with an erratic heartbeat that he simply couldn’t control, mentally scolding his heart for betraying him and showing itself on his sleeve at Y/N’s mere gaze.

He fiddled with the ball, bouncing it from hand to hand, twirling it on his finger and stumbling once he caught sight of Y/N. He didn’t feel butterflies in his stomach or his throat closing up and cutting his breath short. No, he felt oddly at home, a warm feeling spreading through him, melting him inside out, dipping his lovesick heart in bittersweet honey.

“Ready to go cry under mommy’s skirt?”

There she goes again.

“I don’t know, Y/N, are you?”

Chenle was convinced this was the reason they could never have nice things.

“I mean, I can accompany you if you’re shy.”

He felt a few hairs fall off his head and he rolled his eyes so hard he could see what was left of his half fried brain.

“Less talking and more dribbling, Y/N.”

Another thing Chenle came to realize that he doesn’t understand about his best friend was her seemingly unlimited supply of energy, which he didn’t take into account when challenging her. While after half an hour of running and blocking and jumping, it was only normal that Chenle’s breathing became heavier, borderline panting and his movements turned somewhat sluggish, but the last thing he wanted was to give Y/N satisfaction for defeating him at his own hobby. But of course, nothing escaped her vigilante eye and she simply couldn’t miss the perfect opportunity to tease him a bit.

“What happened, old man, is your body starting to decay?”

Her shit-eating grin gave him a run for his money. He loved her smile, he really did. It always softened him, bringing out his inner tenderness for the girl that never failed to shine through the thickest of clouds, stealing the sun’s role and making it pale with shame and bow before her feet while she only sported an innocent curl of the lip, a deceiving cuteness that hid her real power. But when her smile only served to mock him, Chenle couldn’t help but want to wipe it off her smug face.

“You wish.”

That went back and forth for a while, neither of them letting up, their competitive personalities soaring up and clashing on the basketball court. But when Y/N forced her luck, blocking him in an almost suffocating way, Chenle let loose and for a moment he forgot he was only playing against Y/N, his best friend, a kid with even less experience in basketball than himself and shoved vigorously against her in order to score a point. His energy burst must have surprised his opponent because he passed by her flawlessly resembling a feather guided by a gentle breeze of wind, jumped as high as his tired muscles allowed and easily scored.

Chenle could only bask in his glory, raising a clenched fist and pumping in through the air, overjoyed by his victory. He felt proud of himself, he demonstrated that at least when it came to his favorite sport there was no way he would ever give up or let himself be beaten.

“YES! Did you see that Y/N? Guess you’ll have to call your mom and-” Chenle twirled around, gripping the ball tightly, a bright grin adorning his glowing face. However, his teasing session was cut short the moment his gaze fell on Y/N, sprawled to the floor, supporting her upper half of the body with her arms which already seemed quite shaky in Chenle’s opinion. Her eyes were wide, sparkling as she stared at him with parted lips, breathing hard. Chenle’s words died in his throat as he realized that maybe he had been too rough, blinded by his desire to prove himself.

“Y/N.”

The ball was dropped, forgotten on the floor, bouncing almost sadly at having been left behind without a care in the world as Chenle rushed over to Y/N. He crouched at her level and hovered over her, too afraid to touch her n case she would get even madder. 

‘Well done, Zhong Chenle, you have a crush once in your lifetime and you screw it over before you even stood a chance, well played.’ He could only worry about Y/N who was standing still, following him with her stare, an expression of disbelief painting her features.

“Y/N, are you okay? I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Chenle, are you kidding me?! That was so awesome, I’ve never seen you play like that, what the heck possessed you, child?”

It was his turn to freeze as Y/N continued to babble excitedly and praise him in her unique way. On one side he was thrilled because he had succeeded in getting Y/N to acknowledge him and a warm feeling resembling fulfillment spread through his chest at the thought of Y/N priding herself with him, but at the same time he couldn’t ignore the tinge of worry settled in his frantic heart.

“You HAVE to teach me, hear me?”

He was snapped out of him jumbled thoughts by her hands gripping his shoulders and shaking him to gain his full attention. Y/N was smiling so wide her facial muscles must have hurt the earlier sparkle in her eyes only intensified, almost blinding Chenle and drowning him in her charm. He felt as if a fluffy blanket wrapped up his soul, and suddenly he was reminded of too sweet hot chocolate after a snow fight, drunk in the warmth of each other.

“How much will you pay me to?”

She huffed with a pout forming on her lips and he had to fight his urge to just lean over a bit and slot his lips against her, settling their status once and for all. But he only softly wrapped his fingers around her wrists, detaching her from himself when he observed the small, red scratch on her left palm. He tugged on her hand, bringing it closer to his face, inspecting the wound with a frown etched on his face, furrowing his eyebrows.

“You’re hurt.” His voice was small and laced with guilt. Y/N checked her palm too, only now observing the scrape. She still kept her smile, maybe even enlarging it as she met eyes with Chenle.

“You call this hurt? You should see the other guy.”

Chenle could only shake his head, not so surprised at her lack of care. He couldn’t fight off the smile that stretched his lips at Y/N’s fighting spirit as he stood up straight, dragging her with him.

“Let’s go get a band-aid from the pharmacy.”

“Oh yes, you wouldn’t want your one and only to bleed out from this horrifying gash now, would you?”

A trip later to the pharmacy nearby and back, they finally found themselves settled on a bench, partially shadowed by a tree as Chenle stuck the pink band-aid decorated with Hello Kitties over the small scratch, shooting Y/N another apologetic smile. They sat comfortably side by side, watching the sun disappear under the horizon, leaving hues of pink and orange scattered over the darkening sky in a frenzy painting for everyone to admire.

As Chenle turned his head, he watched Y/N from the corner of his eye. She wasn’t doing anything, but somehow she still became the center of Chenel’s universe. The way the dying sun rays danced across her face, kissing her skin delicately left him in a wordless wonder, the scenery above him pales in comparison to his angel sitting just under his fingertips, breathing the same air as him, sharing the same bench with him.

And her eyes, God, her eyes. He loved her eyes, he really did. They were always comforting, he could find his childhood in them, all the laughs and tears they have shared over the years. They reminded him he could be himself, he could let himself show weakness, he could love fearlessly because she would stay by his side unconditionally. But when the colors swayed so wildly over her deep orbs, Chenle couldn’t help but love them the most.

“You know, I take additional charges for starting.”

For once, Chenle didn’t startle as he looked straight into her playful eyes he adored so much. He inhaled deeply before taking a leap of faith in himself.

“Y/N, I love you.”

She only let a small grin grace her features as her index finger unconsciously traced delicate patterns over the back of his hand and Chenle couldn’t be more thankful for her calming habit.

“I love you too.”

Chenle frantically shook his head from side to side, trying not to let the desperation he felt show on his face or seep in his voice.

“No, you don’t understand, I love you”

“Oh”

Silence settled over them once again. But this time it wasn’t comfortable. It was thick and Chenle could almost choke on it, it suffocated him, the bitter feeling it came with tasting bitter in his mouth. He lowered his head, glaring holes into the pavement beneath his feet as regret pooled in his stomach, eating up at him and clouding his mind with hazy, messy thoughts.

He really despised his heart at that moment. He just lost the best thing in his life. He lost her because his heart couldn’t keep away from the forbidden fruit and strayed away on unsafe paths that brought his fall. And there was no turning back now.

Just as he let venomous thoughts invade his judgment, dainty fingers touched his cheek, caressing it lightly as if holding a fragile flower and gently turned his head to come face to face with his most precious treasure. Chenle shakily brought one of his hands over hers, cupping it over his face and caressing her knuckles with his thumb in an attempt to soothe himself.

“Wasn’t that settled already?”

Chenle’s eyes widened significantly.

“What?”

“I thought it was a wordless settlement, that we love each other... in that way. I thought you already knew I love you, in a different way from how I love the sky, a simple curious admiration, and different from how I love Jisung, like a cherished brother, I thought you knew I loved you like I love no one else.”

Chenle was breathless, mind foggy as he tried to take in Y/N’s words and differentiate them from a mere dream, a very vivid one. He couldn’t believe it. He had been having her right under his nose all this time and he was unaware of it. He let her slip away from him at the end of the day without showing her his complete and utter love for her so many times just to find out he had her all along, but he just didn’t realize. Oh, how fate played him this time. Chenle felt overwhelmed all of a sudden, every ounce of love buried deep inside himself that he kept hidden spilled over and there was no stopping him as he cupped her face in his hands, cradling her with such care the sun would have wanted to return just to share this moment with them.

Chenle felt on top of the world, ruling over everything, over his heart and mind after being at war with himself for so long. He felt like they were the only people left on Earth at that moment, a pair of children head over heels in love with each other, and who could deny a love so pure. As they parted for air, he knew that now that he had a taste of heaven, he wouldn’t be able to ever let it go.

“You know, I think I’ll have to charge you more than that, Chenle.”

Y/N’s light teasing only spurred him even more to bring their lips together once more, cherishing every second spent together, making up for the time they wasted like fools.

And it was then and there that Chenle concluded he loved her, he really did.

[mangadumpingground]

Now some background information on our two favorite girls:

Kurosawa Yurine

In the same class as Ayaka, she is a "genius" in a nutshell. Nobody can beat her and she usually spends her time sleeping. Yet one day, after Ayaka has helped her open herself a tiny bit, she falls in love and becomes obsessed with her, thinking she has found the one person who can best her.

The Ace: She is good at everything she does, be it in studies, sports, or even art. But since she succeeds at everything without even trying, she can't get invested in anything.

Animal Motifs: During her more excitable moments, she's drawn with dog ears.

Asleep in Class: Her default mode. If she's ever seen awake during class, it's because the teacher woke her up.

Caring Gardener: Her increasingly genuine interest in gardening parallels her growing sociability as the series progresses. She starts as an isolated girl who joined the gardening club more or less out of obligation, to a caring senpai who's willing to make friends and tries to make the gardening club prosper again. By the end of the series, she decides that she wants to become a florist.

Character Development: She has gained quite a few social skill points since the beginning of the series, and has become slightly less fixated on Ayaka alone (although she's still her main motivation). She even decides to join a club eventually. Chapter 22-23 is an important step, as for the first time, Yurine tries to interact with Ayaka not as a "rival" or a one-sided crush, but as someone she genuinely cares and worries for, giving her words of comfort that would have been unthinkable at the start of the series. Volume 7, being mostly from her point of view, emphasizes how much more fulfilling her life has become since she met Ayaka… and how much Ayaka, on the other hand, is still stuck in a state of mind not unlike that of the early Yurine.

Cool Big Sis: Sumire sees her as this, and well, she has reasons to.

Covert Pervert: She may not show it all the time, but in addition to their competition, she's also definitely curious of Ayaka's body.

Deuteragonist: She's as much of a protagonist as Ayaka, as a good chunk of the chapters about their relationship are from her own point of view. Her Character Development is also somewhat more noticeable than Ayaka's.

Ditzy Genius: Sure she can ace any test and learn at the speed of light, but that doesn't prevent her from occasionally being strangely clueless or taking odd actions − like trying to catch a paper stuck in a tree, even though it's obviously out of her reach and she's sitting on the second floor window.

Friendless Background: According to herself. In the first chapter, Chiharu notes that her excess of ability makes her hard to approach, and she is pretty distant herself. Though meeting Ayaka, Mizuki and Ai helped her open up it seems.

Green-Eyed Monster: Downplayed but clearly played straight. Yurine envies/admires Ayaka because she has a "role" in their school (see I Just Want to Have Friends below), and participates in life to a degree that Yurine can't.

Heavy Sleeper: Because she feels like she has nothing better to do than sleep, as she considers herself a bother for other people.

I Just Want to Be Normal: She's sick of people praising, relying on or being jealous of her because of her talent. All she wants is to find someone who will make her feel like an ordinary girl, and Ayaka is that person.

I Just Want to Have Friends: Played with. She wants to belong somewhere, but is too dismissive of (or possibly disillusioned from past experiences with) people to engage with them.

Innocently Insensitive: She's so apathetic about talking to anyone, for any reason, that she comes off as rude. By the end of volume 7, she has thankfully improved quite a bit in this department.

Insufferable Genius: Has shades of this when she rubs Ayaka's "no.2" ranking in her face just to piss her off.

Lonely at the Top: And one reason she falls in love with Ayaka is that, finally, someone seems to be able to (eventually) best her.

Luminescent Blush: In chapter 35, she sports this when Ayaka holds her hand (because Yurine forgot her gloves); and later, for the first time her teasing backfires as Ayaka's (supposedly reluctant) kiss completely makes her lose her composure.

Mood-Swinger: Usually aloof and bored, but whenever she is with Ayaka, she can go from euphoric to teasing to pouty to Cloud Cuckoolander, all in an instant. In any case, she is clearly in heaven just by being with her.

No Social Skills: Generally ignores people, doesn't censor her speech, often intrudes on Ayaka's personal space, etc. As of chapter 22, she's improved with regard to the latter.

Photographic Memory: Implied, as she can memorize an entire textbook page with one casual reading.

Too Much Information: She ogles Ayaka. We know this because she tells her.

The Gadfly: An expert at rubbing Ayaka the wrong way.

The Tease: She takes an intense delight in playing with Ayaka, often physically. It can go quite far, yet the latter shows surprisingly little resistance to it.

Single-Target Sexuality: She has eyes only for Ayaka and only seems to feel any kind of satisfaction when she is at her side. Though chapter 11 subverts this when Ayaka tells her that in the end, she would just love anyone who can beat her. Yurine's answer is that it might be true, to Ayaka's shock. Afterwards she herself starts to worry that her feelings for Ayaka may not go further than that.

"Shut Up" Kiss: Gives one to Ayaka in chapter 12, when the latter warns her that her club activities might detract her from the tests.

Supreme Chef: Par for the course. So supreme that she can cook while sleeping.

Took a Level in Kindness: Through her interactions with Ayaka, Ai, and the gardening club, she becomes considerably less of a jerk over time, although she still has her occasional bouts of teasing.

Shiramine Ayaka

A self-proclaimed "model student", she is obsessed with being the first at everything and thus sees her world turned upside-down when Yurine appears in high school.

Aggressive Submissive: Kind of. For all her defiance, Yurine can play her like a harp when she's in a flirtatious mood.

Armor-Piercing Question: She gives one to Yurine in chapter 11, but she's the one hit hard by Yurine's laconic answer.Ayaka: You say I'm special to you but… in the end, you would like anyone able to beat you, wouldn't you?" Yurine: *Beat*… You may be right.

Belligerent Sexual Tension: Not belligerent on Yurine's side, but on hers, definitely.

Bitch in Sheep's Clothing: Subverted. When she's alone with people close to her like Mizuki or (though she hates to admit it) Yurine, she's quite aggressive and stubborn. But that doesn't mean the kindness and helpfulness she shows towards her classmates isn't genuine. The few times she has a supporting role in another girl's arc (mostly in volume 8 with Hikari and 9 with Mikaze), she appears much friendlier than when she's the focus.

Character Development: Chapter 15 shows that she has largely gotten used to Yurine's presence and has become somewhat more conscious and accepting of her sweet side. In any case she doesn't reject her as strongly as early on. Continued in chapter 23 where she lets Yurine spend the night with her on the beach, whispering what seems to be a "thank you" and kissing her forehead. At that point, while she still wants to defeat her, she no longer shows any desperation or anger about it. By chapter 40, her motivation has shifted from wanting to defeat Yurine so that she can forget about her to wanting to defeat her so that she can admit her own feelings to her.

Class Representative: Unsurprisingly, she seems to be this (at least in role).

Determinator: She will not give up until she has gotten her first place back from Yurine, and won't allow Yurine to give up either. By chapter 35 it actually has become a double-edge sword in their relationship: she refuses to bond with Yurine further as long as she hasn't defeated her, but at the same time she won't acknowledge any bond with her beyond their competition (despite obviously showing that she cares for her). This is the opposite situation from chapter 11 mentioned above, in a way.

Expressive Hair: Mostly in the early chapters, where they tended to float around a lot. It became more straight and static as the art got somewhat cleaner around volume 5.

Go-Getter Girl: Ayaka sees it as absolutely imperative to be the best at absolutely everything.

Good Angel, Bad Angel: Subverted, as their roles are reversed. The good angel tells her to focus on being the best and reject Yurine at all costs; the bad angel tells her that Yurine isn't a bad person and that there's nothing wrong with being friends with her.

Hidden Buxom: She turns out to be far more busty than she seems in her uniform. She's apparently a D-cup according to Yurine.

Not So Different: It's not as immediately obvious as with Yurine, being the School Idol and helping various people around at school, but as we go on it's increasingly clear that she doesn't have any actual friends either. Mizuki even sarcastically points it out in chapter 18.In another sense, during Ayaka's Heroic BSoD she acts antisocial and listless, much like Yurine's default state. Again, this is pointed out by Yurine herself (who had some Character Development in the meantime) in chapter 35.

Out of Focus: Despite technically being a protagonist, there are actually very few chapters from her point of view (if you don't count the extras). Chapter 1 and 2, chapter 11, half of chapter 15, chapter 22-23, chapter 40 and that's pretty much it; in other chapters she only appears for a few pages, if at all, and volume 7 is primarily centered on Yurine with Ayaka in a supporting role. It doesn't help that, rather ironically, Ayaka almost only interacts with Yurine (and sometimes Mizuki) while Yurine herself intervenes in other characters' arcs. This only changes in the last two volumes, where she briefly gives advice to Mikaze in volume 9 and finally gets full focus in volume 10.

School Idol: And that's her pride, even if Yurine is no.1 in grades.

Second Place Is for Losers: She does not take losing to Yurine by three points lightly.Mizuki: Why does it bother you so much to be second? It's awesome. Ayaka: Yeah, for someone like you who is around the 150th place, being first or second probably doesn't make much of a difference!

Smart People Wear Glasses: She occasionally sports these when studying.

Tareme Eyes: Art Evolution made her distinctively drooping eyes more prominent, making her look somewhat less aggressive in later volumes. It might also serve to outline her bad eyesight.

Tsundere: While she usually shows an admirable façade at school, she shows a more aggressive side when alone with Mizuki, and completely loses her composure when it comes to Yurine. She can admit she is awesome and can't help but look at her constantly, but refuses to acknowledge that she's attracted to her. Made more amusing by the fact that even Yurine herself can see it. Interestingly though, that dynamic starts to be reversed in volume 7-8, where Yurine is now the one losing her composure while Ayaka calmly listens to her worries.

Well Done Daughter Girl: Implied in a flash-back, where her mother scolds her because she got "only" 95/100 at a test, while Mizuki's mother praises her for getting an 88. And confirmed in chapter 22 where Ayaka breaks down under the pressure and decides to say "screw that, I no longer care if I'm not the best".

Workaholic: She will study to death and work harder than any student, but she admits than she doesn't really have a precise goal beyond "being no. 1". This seems to come at least partly from her mother's overly high expectations.

[thecleverdame]

Control and Release - 29

Series Masterlist

TEDTalk!Sam x Reader

Summary: After the rest of the staff is caught in a snowstorm, you find yourself acting as a personal assistant to the notorious Sam Winchester. As the arrangement becomes more defined, you and Sam begin a sexual adventure with dangerous consequences.  

Warnings: Dom/Sub, humiliation, embarrassment, sexual objectification, mutual masturbation, spanking, cum play, fingering, anal play, orgasm control, nipple clamps, dub-con, breath play.

Beta: @ilikaicalie

Words: 2.4k

Parts 1-35 are currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories, including the ABO series Gods of Twilight and Patreon exclusive content.  >> CLICK HERE <<

-

You fully intend to clean yourself up before the big presentation. Despite Sam’s insistence on your experiencing the full after-effects of your quick afternoon fuck, you’re not living in a twenty-four-seven sexual fantasy. This is real life and you can’t have cum dripping down your thighs while you’re presenting to Toni Bevel.

After a pit stop in the bathroom to clean yourself up, you head to the conference room. You manage to get there with just enough time to set up your presentation and pull yourself together before people start arriving.

Toni is the last to show up. She arrives with Mick, failing to even acknowledge your presence as she sits down and begins reading something on her iPad. Part of you wonders if she’s still carrying a torch for Sam, there has to be a reason she hates you in such brazen style. Maybe she hates everyone, she seems like the type.

The beginning goes well. You’re halfway through a slide show, trying to make office comradery seem invaluable when you can feel it. There’s a wet sensation and the slide of what’s left of Sam’s cum is making its way down your thighs.

It’s not that anyone would know, but the instant you feel it happening there’s a sick feeling. You fidget around, trying to clamp your legs together, garnering looks from both Cole and Toni. Stumbling through the next few slides you’re all too happy when a corporate video pops up and you push play, excusing yourself to run to the restroom.

Both embarrassed and a little turned on you clean yourself up for the second time and make it back to the conference room just in time to see the video finish.

“Does anyone have any questions?” you ask.

“I’m not sure I fully understand,” Toni begins. “So your position is to talk to people, make friends and...what? Help wayward outsiders acclimate to their new role?”

“It’s more nuanced than that.” You refuse to look away as she stares you down. She knows your secret, but you know hers too. Simply having the knowledge she’s slept with Sam Winchester and that he rejected her, shifts the power. She’s still the heavy hitter but you’ve gained a bit of leverage.

“Oh, I’m sure it is. The devil is always in the details.” She blinks, unmoving and locked onto you like a bird of prey.

“It’s been invaluable,” Cole speaks up, leaning forward. “My job is to pick teams that work well together. The liaison position isn’t just socializing. It’s analyzing the quarterly behavioral preference tests, sorting through the employee satisfaction survey we take every month. Winchester believes that pairing the right people is what sets W&S above and beyond other firms that provided these services. We’re effective because we have the right people in the right places. That’s what Y/N does.”

“The right people in the right places,” Toni repeats with a subtle hint of amusement and your cheeks turn red. “Right, then. I’m not sure this required an entire presentation but I can see the value.”

Almost everyone leaves and you check your email as Cole does the same.

“You alright?” he asks.

“I’m fine, why?”

“You seemed...agitated, distracted. That’s not your norm.”

“I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“I know certain topics are off limits, but if you need to talk to someone about the panic attacks, I’m here. I had a rough time after I got out of the service. I get it.” His offer is casual, in fact, he barely glances up and you’re grateful. Not everything has to become such a big deal.

“Thanks.” The truth is you like Cole, you have from the beginning and having a friendship would certainly make everything else easier. “Maybe we could have a drink one night.”

-

There’s a metal bar affixed to the door that leads to Sam’s bedroom from the parlor. It’s normally higher up, he uses it for pullups in the morning, but tonight it’s been lowered and repurposed. Your hands are in cuffs above your head, looped over the bar. The flats of your feet are able to touch the ground, but just barely, forcing you to focus on posture so that your weight isn’t a strain on your wrists.

The first thing he did was strip you naked and tie a blindfold over your eyes. You can’t see the rest but you can feel it, nearly shaking in anticipation, waiting not-so-patiently while he gets you ready.

There’s the click of metal and cold steel around both ankles. It only takes a minute to realize you can no longer close your legs. He’s using a spreader bar to hold you open. There’s nothing but the sound of him moving quietly around you and then a warm hand on your belly. You flinch at his touch, excitement and nervous tension building in tandem.

“Do you know what this for?” he asks. He’s close, so close that you feel his breath on your cheek when he speaks.

“Yes.” You nod, mouth open in an anticipatory pant.

“Tell me.”

“I came without permission.”

“You came twice without permission. Both times after I specifically instructed you not to.” He corrects, swatting your ass with an open palm. You yelp, twisting in the restraints, dangling and trussed up.

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“No, it won’t.” One finger trails up your spine and then around your ribs, stopping to trace the underside of your breast. “There are repercussions for a lack of self-control.”

“I understand.” This is definitely something new. He’s normally not one for toys and contraptions. While he often incorporates a dildo or vibrators, it doesn’t get more elaborate than that.

“Open your mouth. Stick your tongue out.”

Your jaw falls open as you wait to find out what comes next. A sizable ball gag is shoved between your teeth and fastened at the back of your head.

“This,” he grabs your pussy, cupping your sex with one huge hand. “This is mine. Your orgasms are mine. Do you understand?”

“Ahuh,” you mumble through the gag as his hand leaves your crotch.

“I’m not sure that you do.” His voice is deadpan, emotionless and yet filled with the disappointment of an unhappy father. Two hands cup your breasts and then tweak both nipples in tandem, squeezing and plucking until they’re stiff little peaks. Then he’s gone again, only to return with the sound of metal clanking in his hand.

Without warning you feel a metal clamp close over your right nipple, tiny little teeth sinking into flesh as you jerk against your bonds. Before you stop moving he manages to attach the second one as well, both of them painfully tight.

Your clit throbs and your pussy goes slick in a matter of moments. In the past, there’s been a build up to this point. He’d use the clamps but tighten them incrementally. Tonight he’s using them as punishment, crushing your tender buds with no warning.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, giving the chain between them a tug. You yelp into the gag and nod fervently in confirmation. “Good. I bet your cunt is wet.”

His hand pushes between your thighs, his middle finger wiggling into your pussy to check. He finds exactly what he expects, you’re slick with arousal, body forever betraying how much you enjoy the pain.

“You can’t help it, can you? You need it, to be disciplined, taught a lesson. This desperate little pussy is begging for it.”

“Uh,” you moan, feeling drool ooze from around the gag and slide over your chin.

Sam tugs the clamps with one hand and swats your ass with the other. Three tugs and three spanks as you squirm, utterly helpless.

“What’s the safe word?” he asks, leaning closer.

“Op,” you manage a muffled version of stop.

“Louder,” he instructs.

“Op!” you repeat.

“Good. I don’t expect you to use it unless you absolutely need to. This is supposed to be a punishment. You’re not going to enjoy all of it. Are you going to be good for me?”

“Yesh,” you agree.

You’ve never used the safe word before and the fact that he’s brought it up has you a little worried.

He swipes the drool from your chin and wipes it on your breasts, purposely pushes against the clamps. Whimpering, you hang there, trying to listen for any hints. You feel him spread your sex open to expose your clit. Then there’s something gooey rubbing over your little bud. He massages the substance for a few seconds and then backs away.

There’s nothing...then a cold sensation. It starts as a little tingle and then gets more intense. It gets colder and colder and the sensation becomes more complex. It’s straddling the line between stinging and tingling, more intense than you were prepared for.

You moan again and again, yanking at the cuffs and crying in desperation to close your thighs for some relief, but the bar at your ankles has you permanently open.

Nipples burning, clit engulfed in this sensation, your cunt is aching, slick sliding down your inner thighs. You’re often aroused despite feelings of humiliation but this is a whole new level.

“Control yourself,” he hisses and gives your pussy a nasty spank. You jerk, neck falling back as the clamps jiggle and your clit begins to throb harder. There’s a second whack, his hand managing to hit your clit and pussy at the same time. He wipes your juices on your belly. “Look at how fucking wet you are. You’re drooling from your mouth and this needy little cunt. How am I supposed to teach you a lesson when you enjoy the punishment this much?”

His finger finds your clit. It’s burning now, swollen and tingling with cold fire as he pinches it between his fingers. You try to pull away, twisting and shuffling your feet but there’s nowhere to go.

“Look at you...you should see yourself.” He presses his chest against your back, rolling your bud between his fingers. “Desperate and swollen and begging to be fucked. Do you want a cock in your pussy?”

“Hmm,” you groan, eyes opening and closing behind the blindfold. It’s not really a response, just a desperate sound. You’re so mixed up you don’t know if want it to stop or keep going. You don’t know if you want him to fuck you or spoon you. What you do know is that you’re aching to be filled.

“You’re so wet I could probably fist you...if I wanted to. Stretch you open while you’re strung up. You couldn’t stop me if you wanted too.”

“Oo,” you shake your head no. The idea of him fisting you is something you might be willing to consider but not in this position.

He chuckles, two fingers scissoring on either side of your clit and pressing down.

“You want my cock?” he asks, the heat of his chest pressed against your shoulder blades.  

“Yesh,” you nod furiously. There are tears on your cheeks while he slowly masturbates you.

“You’re not going to cum tonight. Do you understand?”

“Yesh.” You’re feverish now, broken at the thought of being this worked up but being denied relief.

His hand leaves your clit, fingers curling around your hip and pulling you back toward him. A moment later you feel his cock poking against your ass before slipping between your thighs. He takes his dick in his hand, guiding the head into your soaked hole from behind. From this position he can easily fuck you without the danger of getting any of the mysterious substance on himself.

With one thrust he pushes forward and pulls you back in tandem. You’re on your toes as he strokes deep inside. You whimper, drool dripping from your chin onto your breasts. Reaching around he gives the clamps a tug, slowly fucking you and yanking on the clamps in rhythm until you’re delirious from the wonderful combination of pleasure and pain.

You could cum if you let yourself. If you relax you’ll have an orgasm on the spot but you keep your mind focused on the task at hand, holding yourself together long enough for Sam to finish. He must be worked up because it doesn’t take him very long. He’s normally got unmatched stamina, but the buildup had an effect on him. It’s only a few minutes of his drilling into you before he grabs one breast, the other hand on your hip, pulling you back into him as he cums. His thrusts slow down, fucking you slow and measured until his load is running down your legs for the third time that day.

“Fuck,” he huffs. He pulls out, letting you feel the final drag of his cock before it pops free. You’re wound up tight, vibrating in pleasure and pain, hovering right at the edge of what could be the ultimate pleasure, but you’re not about to break the rules again.

You grunt into the gag, and immediately he’s unbuckling it, pulling it free from your mouth and letting it drop onto the floor.

“Are you alright?” he murmurs, his mouth pressed into your cheek.

“I think so. I’ll let you know in a minute.”

Sam quickly releases you from the restraints and then picks you up with a satisfied little grin and carries you to the shower where he washes you gently until all traces of the event are washed away.

“You were incredible,” he says, kneeling on the tile, wiping a cloth softly between your legs. When he does he places a kiss on your belly. You watch this beautiful man on his knees in front of you, the water cascading over him like something out of a dream. He catches you watching him and stands up.

“What did you put on me?” you ask as both his hands slide under your jaw. You’re still swimming somewhere on the edge of pleasure, whole body quivering like jelly.

Sam grins, tilting his head as he inspects your face, apparently enjoying what he sees.

“Toothpaste.”

“Really?” You’re surprised, amazed that something so simple could cause such delicious torture.

“It’s effective without being too much.” His thumb lands under your chin, tilting you up to focus on him. “It wasn't too much, was it?”

“I would have told you if it was.”

Once you’re both cleaned up, you wander out of the bathroom wrapped in a thick robe. Sam’s got a towel around his hips, balancing a laptop on one hand, already checking his email. You stop to admire the sight of him, wet hair slicked back and strong, long muscle. He somehow becomes more attractive the longer you’re with him.

Out of the silence, comes the muted music from somewhere outside the building.

“What’s that?” you ask, sitting on the couch.

He cracks open the door to the balcony and the soft strains of a violin waft inward. “There’s a string quartet playing on the street.”

“I love this place, being right in the city like this. I’d never want to live here full time or anything but it’s a nice change of pace.”

“I agree. Room service?” Sam towels off his hair and brings you a paper menu, before going back to his computer.

“Yes,” you snatch it away from him looking over the options.

It’s as you’re reading the ingredients list for the chowder that the old familiar sensation bubbles up. It starts as a tingling somewhere in the back of your head, accompanied by an anxious feeling. Unknown panic builds slowly as you try to regain control, taking a few deep breaths and sitting back against the cushions.

“Sam.” You close your eyes, fists balling up.

“Hmm?” He’s distracted.

“Something’s happening.”

“What kind of something?” he asks but in reality, he already knows, his voice moving closer and the couch sinking down beside you. “Right now?”

“Ahm,” you nod, opening your eyes to look at him. “I can’t breath.”

“Yes, you can.” He snakes a hand inside your robe, placing it over your chest. “Deep breaths with me. In through your nose, out through your mouth.”  He breathes in and out loud and slow as you try to match him.

For a moment you think it’s helping but then you feel a surge whirling up from the depths and before you know it you’re hyperventilating and your vision goes fuzzy.

“I-I’m gonna…pass out,” you wheeze, gulping desperately for air like a fish on dry land. You reach out, grabbing his hand and holding on tight as fear takes over.

“It’s okay, I’m right here.” He reassures you, watching with a furrowed brow as you stare at him wide-eyed, losing consciousness. His face is fuzzy, then blurry and the sound of his voice slows down. “You’re going to wake up in a few minutes and you’ll be just fine. I’m right-”

And then nothing.

[thereluctantguardian]

What Could’ve Been

Note: Someone on Reddit was talking about how Marty Scurll’s Dark Order could’ve been the start of a take over of AEW bringing in the Nightmare Collective, and the Blade, the Butcher, and Bunny under one giant faction. It would’ve have led to a massive civil war with people wondering who (or if) the wild cards (like Havoc, Darby, Janela, and Moxley) will side with.

This is my take on the idea so this takes place back when Moxley wanted a sanctioned match with Omega, Havoc was being fined for using weapons, Darby was still untested, and Janela (for the purposes of this story) was being targeted by the Dark Order.

This wrestling match had devolved into a brutal brawl almost as soon as the bell rang and none of the four men were giving any quarter. The roar of the crowd swelled in a wave of overwhelming noise as Darby Allin knocked Joey Janela down to the ground and immediately headed to the corner turnbuckle to set up a coffin drop. He checked over for the other two hardcore wrestlers; Moxley had Havoc in the far corner and was busy pounding his fist into the other man’s face. Neither man would interfere; Darby could win the whole match while everyone was distracted. He scrambled up the ropes as quickly as he dared, ribs aching from where Havoc had nailed him earlier. But no sooner had he gained his footing, positioned perfectly for the coffin drop, then the cheering turned into confused murmuring. Darby quickly looked around, fearing Moxley or Havoc were going to sneak his pin from him, and instantly froze as the Dark Order creepers started to come over the barriers, edging around the ring.

Darby slowly, as if moving too fast would trigger the creepers to attack, got down from the turnbuckle, eyes never leaving the growing hoard. One cautious step backward at a time, Darby slowly edged away from the ropes, moving past a dazed Joey who was only just sitting up groggily. Joey glanced around confused about what was going on, but the pounding in his head was quickly forgotten as he saw the creepers swiping at him from the ring apron. Alarmed, Joey flinched away from their reaching grasps, and his eyes widened as he saw Evil Uno and Grayson appear behind the creepers, eyes fixed on their favorite prey. Joey scrambled back in an award crab walk, anxious to stay away from the men who had been tormenting him for the last few months.

The change in the crowd finally clued Moxley into situation happening all around them, momentarily looking up from where he had Havoc pinned against the turnbuckle, body bent backwards as Mox shoved his forearm into Havoc’s face. He almost immediately locked eyes with the Butcher and the Blade. They were just standing there watching, while the Bunny smiled that secret smile that did not bode well for anyone. Moxley backed off Havoc, eyes still watching the trio as they were joined by more and more creepers, recognizing the growing threat for what it was. Mox snarled at them; if they wanted to interfere in this match, well, they were welcome to try.

Havoc, wondering why Mox had given up the advantage, slowly followed Mox’s line of sight over his shoulder to see the mercenary trio and the creepers. He leapt away from the corner where he was pinned, Moxley forgotten for the moment. Almost in unison, Havoc and Mox started to back away from the ropes, defiant but wary as they were clearly outnumbered. Mox felt something back into him, and he looked over his shoulder, snarl ready to go at whoever was at his back, but quickly realized that it was Darby backing up from the newly arrived Nightmare Collective who had joined the ever-growing horde of creepers. Mox gritted his teeth in frustration and anger as he took in the situation, biting out a curse.

Havoc stayed at Mox’s left shoulder shouting out a string of curse words that were sure to get bleeped out later, brandishing his staple gun that Mox had no idea where he pulled it from. He wildly gestured for the Blade and Butcher to come at him. Directly at his back, Allin remained unnaturally still, body tense and ready as he remained locked onto the Nightmare Collective. Mox had never heard of Darby hitting a woman before, and Darby didn’t look too eager to start now. The kid had heart and a set of brass balls, but Mox wasn’t sure Darby had the nerve to do what he had to do to get out of this situation.

On the other side of Mox, Joey sat on his ass staring at the Dark Order, and judging by his body language, Janela didn’t look too eager to get any closer to the cult. Finally, Joey scrambled to his feet, body tense and jittery, but fists up and ready. Moxley turned back to his own corner of the ring, regarding the overwhelming amount of creepers that scratched and clawed to get at him. As tough as Mox could be, he was still only one man, and numbers were not on his side. The truth was, they were surrounded, standing back to back in tight circle in the middle of the ring, his former opponents turned into temporary, uneasy allies against a bigger threat. Well, fuck it then. Mox sneered at the swarm of creepers, squared his shoulders, and brought his hands up, arms tight to his sides, motioning for the creepers to come get some. He may go down, but he was going to take as many of these bastards as he could with him.

As silently as the creepers appeared at ringside, a figure slowly emerged from the tunnel on stage, an umbrella carelessly tossed across his shoulder. He sauntered to the top of the ramp, barely even acknowledging the fine tension strung wire tight, ready to snap. The four wrestlers in the ring cautiously turned their attention to the man on stage, although none of them moved, keeping their guard up as if waiting for the man to give the signal to attack.

Meanwhile, the man surveyed the crowd as a king would his kingdom, drinking in the crowd’s attention as if it were his due, purposefully keeping the men in the ring waiting on a precipice just because he could. Mox hated the man on sight.

Darby heard Moxley grumbling, and wondered if Mox would end up throwing the first punch. If not him, Havoc was just as likely in Darby’s opinion. The crowd held their breath, a hush settling over the arena, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Darby’s sharp gaze watched as the man casually swung the umbrella down, resting the tip on the ground in front of him, leaning forward slightly to rest on the handle. A smirk played on the man’s lips as he finally looked down into the ring.  The man’s eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses, but Darby was sure they were glittering with mirth and satisfaction as he held every one is suspense.

 One moment passed.

 Two.

 Then three…

 The crowd was growing restless; either they were going to break or Moxley’s temper was.

 The sharp rapping of the umbrella against the metal ramp broke the near silence of the arena, and the four wrestlers in the ring whirled their attention back to the gaggle of creepers and factions on the outside, waiting for the attack that sound obviously signaled. But like a receding tide, the creepers withdrew instead of swarming the ring, much to the surprise and confusion of the four inside the ring. With one last smirk at Havoc, the Bunny led the Butcher and the Blade back over the barricade while Brandi waved the Nightmare Collective off, her amused gaze never leaving Darby until she disappeared behind the barricade. The Dark Order were the last to leave even as the creepers all slithered away, their focus trained on Janela; Evil Uno wiggling his fingers in a twisted version of a wave goodbye. Joey didn’t fully relax until both were out of sight.

Mox, though, furious at being deprived of a fight both before the creepers arrived and now as they slunk away, whirled to face the ramp, determined spend his pent-up energy pounding in someone’s face, but the ramp was empty. The man had already disappeared.

****

“What the fuck was that?!” Mox shouted as stormed into the back room where his three previous opponents were waiting. Darby was perched on a crate, hunched over, clutching at his ribs. Havoc was leaning back on a crate next to Allin, exhaustion evident. Joey was pacing erratically, smoking a cigarette, eyes focused on the floor as he paced.

“That ponce was thee Marty Scurll. I guess he’s done playing around,” Havoc said matter of factually.

“Scurll?” Mox asked incredulously. “The Elite, Marty Scurll?” Mox was only getting angrier about hearing another one of the Elite was fucking him over. “Sounds like an Elite problem.”

“You think they haven’t tried,” Havoc answered. “You think the Bucks, Kenny, haven’t tried to talk to him, get him to calm his tits? You think Cody hasn’t tried to talk some sense into his wife?”

“They are everywhere. They have eyes and ears everywhere,” Joey muttered around the cigarette; eyes downcast.

“Christ, it can’t be that hard-“ Moxley started, clearly already dismissive.

“Well, while you were gone, Jon, galivanting off in Japan, the rest of us were dealing with this shitshow here,” Janela sneered.

“Oh, what? You can’t handle a couple of guys in a mask, Janela?” Mox got right up in Joey’s face, nearly forehead to forehead with the smaller man. Joey shoved him back, shouting angrily. Mox wasn’t having it though, ready to come right back at him, when Darby’s voice cut through the din.

“Jon!” Darby raised his voice to her above the ruckus, causing both men to stop suddenly. “It’s not just a couple of creepers.” Mox turned away from Janela who also turned to look at Darby. Darby, still hunched over, tilted his head slightly to look at Mox. “They have people everywhere, in production, backstage hands, security, in the crowds…” Darby continued on, tone deadly serious. “People are disappearing, taken, sometimes mid match, sometimes they come back… a little different.” Darby paused glancing at Janela who refused to meet his gaze, and went back to sucking on his cigarette, eyes haunted. Mox glanced at Joey, realization slowly dawning on him, the furious line of his body radiating a different kind of tension as he took in Joey’s sudden change in demeanor.

“And other times,” Havoc stepped in, pushing past the uncomfortable tension, “they come back, fucked in the head. Brainwashed, spewing rhetoric, cutlish shit.”  Mox glanced remained silent, side eying Havoc as if weighing the weight of his words.

“I’ve dealt with cult bullshit before. This isn’t-��

“Mox.” Darby stated tonelessly.  “We haven’t seen or heard form Tony Khan in months.” Mox stilled as the reality of the situation set in. He glanced around at the other two for confirmation, barely believing what he just heard. Joey’s cigarette dangled limply from his lips, eyes blank, staring at the ground as if it could give him all the answers. Havoc met Mox’s gaze though, nodding wearily in confirmation.

“Shit!” Mox bit out, starting to pace erratically as if he couldn’t decide what direction he wanted to go in, getting angrier the longer he continued. Not that Mox had any great love for Tony Khan, but this wasn’t just a group of guys running around being assholes; when you kidnap the owner of a wrestling company, you are trying to make a statement, you are taking over.

“This isn’t something you can punch your way out of, Mox.” Darby Allin cautioned, as if he could see Mox was gearing himself up to kick everyone’s ass as if that would solve the problem.

Mox looked ready to argue, when a figure stepped into the room.

 “Gentlemen,” Marty greeted jovially. The reaction was instantaneous. Darby jumped down from the crate, not even wincing at his sore ribs. Janela spun away from Marty, cigarette forgotten on the ground, while Havoc scooped up his staple gun ready to go.

“You little bastard,” Mox sneered, reaching out to grab a fist full of coat, yanking the man up to his tip toes.

“Whoa, whoa!” Marty gasped, raising his hands in surrender. “Hold on there, Moxley. I’m just here to talk.” Mox glared at the man, but as Marty just hung there unmoving, he slowly set the man back on his feet, keeping a firm grasp on the man’s coat ready to pummel Scurll, just in case. “I just want to speak with all of you. I have a proposition.”

“I’m not joining your…” Joey started, but Marty quickly interrupted.

“No! No, not join. I’m not asking you to join.” Marty insisted. “I’m simply asking you to do nothing.”

Silence blanketed the room at that statement, as the four hardcore men stood there in surprise and confusion. Mox squinted at the man, not fully believing his proclamation, but the man was outnumbered 4 to 1 so coming in here wasn’t actually conducive if he didn’t have an actual offer, so Mox slowly release his death grip on Marty’s coat, and stepped back. He would listen. For now.

Marty took a moment to straighten out his coat before Havoc, annoyed at the delay, asked, “What did you mean by do nothing?”

Marty smiled at the group in front of him as if he wasn’t worried about the potential of an ass kicking by four angry hardcore wrestlers, and that made Mox grind his teeth in consternation. The smaller man better start talking fast or Mox would be glad to introduce him to his fist.

“Exactly what I said. All I want from you four is for you to do absolutely nothing.”

“What’s the catch?” Darby questioned. He didn’t for one second think this was legit.

“No catch, no clauses, no double talk.” Marty assured them. “You see, this is a personal matter between me and the Elite.”

“Then why drag everyone else into shit?” Havoc interrupted unwilling to wait for Marty’s grandstanding.

“Because the Elite made AEW. They started a whole new company, left me for dead. The Elite wandered off to this new thing inviting all their friends, Cutler, Nakazawa, Riho, smoozing at high end parties, becoming EVPs, Tony Khan gifting them with lavish presents, while I’m standing out in the cold with not even a phone call. Until they needed me, until they needed help. Until the Inner Circle became too much, and they needed me.” Marty’s calm demeaner deem to steadily diminish the more he went into detail. “Poor, little stupid Marty. Always come running when they call, like a stupid loyal dog. We all had a laugh over it,” Marty sneered. “Well, I’m done laughing.”

Marty seemed to regain his composure before continuing, “They forgot about me while they had everything in AEW. So now, I am going to take AEW from them. I will take everything they had and leave them with nothing.”

“Fascinating,” Moxley drawled arms crossed, unmoved. “What’s that got to do with us?”

“Tell me, how are you guys thriving in AEW’s system?” Marty smiled. “Laughed at..” looking at Joey, “looked down on because of how you look and how you act…” looking then at Darby and then at Havoc, “treated differently because of how you think?” Mox met Marty’s gaze, still unamused, but still listening. Marty, intending to drive the point home, advanced on Moxey. “You more than anyone would know how it feels, Jon. How many times did they laugh at you, call you a lunatic, treat you like you were stupid; how long did they forget about you until they needed your help? How often were you called a different kind of cat?” Mox stiffened at that phrase.

Marty turned away facing the group as a whole. “But with the Elite gone, all that goes away. No more Young Bucks, no Cody, and no more standing in their shadows. My AEW will bring the shadows to light.”

Joey stiffened as Scurll faced him directly. “No more being shoved to the back, Joey, bypassed for opportunities.” Joey leaned away slightly as Marty drew closer.” What about-“

“The Dark Order? Gone. They’ll never bother you again.” Marty waved dismissively. Joey looked away as if to think about it.

“Free to do what you want, Jimmy.” Marty went onto the next prospect. “No more fines. You can use any kind of weapons you want because you’re Jimmy fuckin’ Havoc.” Havoc’s eyes widened at the thought before staring down at his staple gun in contemplation.

“Darby, you don’t have to be just another attraction here,” Marty turned to the youngest member. “You were a champion; you can be one again. No one is going to tell you you’re too small, too skinny, or too weird to be the face of AEW.” Darby’s stance never changed, but a lick of doubt seemed to spark in his eyes.

Finally, Marty Scurll turned to Jon Moxley.

“So, what are you going to offer me? A shiny new belt, beating up people as I please with no repercussions? I can already take that for myself; I don’t need you for that.” Moxley groused.

“But I can give you what AEW and Tony Khan wouldn’t. A match, with Kenny Omega, sanctioned.” Moxley’s eyes widened at the prospect of a thing he’s wanted since the beginning. “Think about it, with Tony Khan and the Elite gone, no one will be there to protect Omega. You can have at him however you please. Street fight, cage match, deathmatch, straight up wrestling, a forklift on a pole, whatever. And it will count this time.” The offer was tantalizing to Mox, almost irresistible.

“All you need to do, when Cody rallies the troops in the ring,” Marty promised the other men “and I know he’ll do it, the grandstanding little prick, is do nothing. You don’t have to throw a punch, or join my team. Leave the fighting between me and the rest of the roster. I mean, it’s really none of your business, after all. I have no quarrel with you.”

Marty began to leave the room, his work done, but not without one final plea” “Just…sit this one out.” And with that, he was gone.  

The room was silent as no one wanted to be the first to speak. Apprehensively, all four men glanced at each other, unsure of what just happened before they each one glance away lost in the potential promises but uncertain of what they would do next.

[jaehyeonsgf]

Hey babe, I love your scenarios they’re amazing, I come to your blog to see if you’ve posted. Can I request a scenario with Jaehyun 17, 12 and 24.

12 : “whatever you have to say about me, say it to my face”

17 : “its like you’ve made it your sole mission to annoy me”

24 : “don’t underestimate me”

a/n : highkey wanted to write another fratboy!jaehyun, but I opted for idol!jaehyun and photographer!reader. hope you enjoy and thanks for your support :> it means a lot to me

warning : smut

[ view prompt list here ]

-

Landing a placement in SM Entertainment as a photographer meant that you’d have a stable income for the next few months, but it also meant that you find yourself in the company of a certain arrogant ass more often than you’d like.

Jaehyun is the hottest model currently and is making leaps and bounds in the k-modelling world, famously walking in the New York Fashion Week show, and he knows it. He knows that he is a big deal and he’s aware of how a single smile leaves a flutter of girls at his feet – that explains his bigger-than-his-wardrobe ego.

You wonder what would the public think of him if they saw what actually goes on behind the scene. They say that you should never meet your celebrities. That if you do, you’ll realise that they are nothing more than rich snobby kids, put together by absurdly expensive clothes, and that their personalities are nothing more than printed words, editing and a façade. You think that that is an accurate depiction of the contrast between the man you see in giant posters or interviews on The Late Late Show and the man that stands in front of your camera.    

You come to the conclusion that before any fragments of Jaehyun’s true self reaches the masses, his management will be willing to drop large sums of money just to keep it all under wraps.

The fact doesn’t disappoint you that much, you’ve already gotten used to the reality. It simply means that you’ll have to suffer under his reign silently for the foreseeable future, or at least the end of your contract with his management.

It doesn’t stop you from bickering with him when he acts up though.

“B-but I thought you said these were okay to use!”

“That was a week ago but right now, I don’t think that they don’t look good enough,” Jaehyun calmly answers, his eyes never leaving his phone screen. He continues to swipe through his Instagram feed and it does more to further annoy you.

You roll your eyes. You had pulled two all-nighters, editing photos from a Harper’s Bazaar Korea photoshoot, only to have it been rejected by him.

“Don’t you know how long I’ve worked-“

“You say that as if my job is that easy,” he quickly shuts you up.

You acknowledge that it’s not easy to stand in front of a camera and look as good as he does. There’s a reason that you chose a life behind the camera instead of in front of it. It doesn’t stop you from showing every trace of annoyance you have on your face.

His eyes glance up at you in the mirror and at the sight of your furrowed eyebrows and tight lips, the corner of his lips raises into a smug look. He takes your silence as answer.

“Great. So I don’t see any problems with you choosing another set of photos and have them done by… Wednesday,” he arches a sculpted eyebrow up.

You open your mouth to argue that two days aren’t enough. His eyebrow arches further up.

You sigh and brace yourself for another sleepless night.

The next time you see Jaehyun, it’s at another photoshoot and you have half a mind to commit a felony right there and then. It doesn’t help that his stylists had all rushed down to MNET to help out a group of newly debuted group, leaving you all alone with him in a luxurious hotel room.

You wonder where did the professional model go because for whatever reason, Jaehyun is simply not delivering enough. Usually a few prompts are enough to get the shots of Jaehyun you needed – thanks to how his expression, gaze and posture all coming together in the perfect union. It’s one of the few perks of working with Jaehyun, shoots are usually shorter and easier to coordinate.

But not today.

Today, he’s no where near half his usual capability. Today, his concentration is fixated on something else, rather than his job. Today, you predict, will be the day he finally pushes you off the edge.

“Soften your gaze,” you demanded through clenched teeth for the third time in a row.

The gaze he gives you is instead one of frustration.

“Y-you know what, let’s just take a break,” he breathes out, lifting a hand to run it through his hair, only to stop midway when he realises that his stylists aren’t around to help him position each strand in its perfect position. His hand forms a tight fist as he lowers it.

You frown. The both of you only have the room for the next two hours and the fact that you haven’t exactly taken pictures – well, at least not pictures that can be published – bothers you.

“We can’t stop just ‘cause you aren’t feeling it, Mr. Hotshot,” you say.

“It’s not like we’re getting any work done anyways,” he throws you a pointed look, as if to toss the blame on you. And, as if his point isn’t clear enough, he chooses to add in, “Don’t underestimate me. The only reason I’ve gotten here today is because I’ve never taken a single day off.”

Your eyes widen in the rage. Who does Jung Jaehyun think he is? Who does he think he is to cast the blame on to you, when it’s clearly his fault? It annoys you to no end that he actually thinks that you’re the one screwing it up.

Yet you choose not to retaliate. At least you try not to. You breathe and set your camera down on the nightstand, trying desperately to stay calm. Your best friend had shared with you a breathing technique that was supposed to work wonders to calm yourself down and you try it. You recall the instructions and breathe in, holding it for a moment, then letting it go.

Still, it doesn’t stop you from mumbling under your breath, “It’s as if you’ve made it your sole mission to annoy me. It’s not even my fault.”

You hadn’t mean for Jaehyun to hear it, but he does. And it flips a switch within him and in one deft movement, he has you back against the soft white bed and pinned under him.

“Whatever you have to say about me, say it to my face,” he almost growls out.

Getting what he wants isn’t a matter of privilege, rather it was a given. More of a right than a blessing. His status meant that everywhere he went, there’ll be crowds of people following him around, taking pictures of him as he goes through his day. His popularity doesn’t end with the masses. Modelling agencies from all over the world are pining for him to sign contracts with them. So, it comes as no surprise when people start doing things just to please him, just to gain his favour.

Still, he can’t deny the surge of satisfaction he gets when he manages to force his way through life. And he feels it, looking down on your blushing face and eyes fixated at the window beside the bed, rather than him.

It is then that you make the mistake of tearing your eyes away from the window. Because when your eyes meet his, something dangerous transpires.

You gulp visibly and remind yourself. He is… a client.

It doesn’t stop you from kissing him back when he places his lips against yours. You sigh against his lips and relaxes your body. The kiss starts out slow but then it isn’t. It becomes clashing teeth and rough tongues that speaks of desperation.

He is a client but God, if you aren’t excited for what’s in store. It’s been awhile since you’ve last were intimate with anyone. That isn’t to say that you didn’t have your chances, the chances were there but you just refused them. Your mind was simply too preoccupied with Jung Jaehyun and his lists of unreasonable demands to do anything else – sex included.

You bend one knee up, slotting it between his legs, feeling the growing erection. You’re rewarded with a lustful moan. It sends shivers down your spine but you refuse to acknowledge just how angelic it sounds next to your ears. Instead, you lift one arm up, snaking it behind Jaehyun’s neck and up into his hair. They aren’t smooth or soft because of the amount of hair product in them, but it doesn’t stop you from tugging on it. Your other hand quickly undoes his button up shirt.

His hands don’t leave you alone either. He steadies himself using one hand to grip on the headboard, as the other slips under your shirt. His warm touch is enough for you to elicit a hiss into the kiss. His hand is everywhere, from your waist, to your hips and rests against your ribcage, caressing your skin.

“Your clothes,” he says when he pulls away from you.

The both of you are breathless and you just know that your lips are swollen red. You push him upwards, so that he is sitting on his knees and you’re sitting upright. It takes only a brief moment before you’ve gotten rid of your top and your pants, leaving you in a mismatched black laced bra and a white silk panty. He takes the opportunity to work on his own pants, quickly pulling it off so that he’s in his boxer briefs.

Within moments, both your bodies are again pressed up against each other. His lips wander across your jawline and works down your neck.

“Wait- Oh god…” You exhale shakily and turns your head one way to give him access to your neck. “Don’t-I’m!” you try to warn him about how sensitive you are along your neck but Jaehyun gets there first with his soft lips.

Your soft mewls encourage his smug smirk and he decides to treat you by generously littering patches of red and purple down your neck and on to your chest. You know that they’ll bruise tomorrow but you don’t care enough to stop him.

Then his body leaves yours again and, this time, you let a whine out.

“Hold on, baby doll,” he comforts, using the side of his index finger to lift your chin up so that you’re looking at him.

He uses his index finger to split apart your lips and in an act of seduction, you lick his finger. The act catches him off-guards but he lets you have his hand. You take his index and middle fingers into your mouth, slightly hollowing your cheeks as you suck on them, playing with them using your tongue.

There’s something at the sight of you with saliva dripping down your chin and mouth full of his fingers that turns Jaehyun on even more. So, he removes his fingers and, instead, pulls down his boxer briefs, letting his fully erect length spring free. You let out a shaky breathe when you see his size. He aligns it to your swollen lips.

“Suck on this instead.”

You get on your knees and obediently swallows him into your mouth. You feel his length hit the back of your throat and a single tear rolls out your eye. You steady yourself, one hand on his hips before bobbing up and down, letting him complete destroy the back of your throat. He doesn’t try to control his moans and it’s soon that your name is bouncing off the walls, punctuated with the occasional hisses.

It made you feel good that the Jung Jaehyun is at your mercy. This lasts for a mere moment because without warning, his hand is gripping a fistful of your hair, shoving his dick down your throat making you gag from the unexpected move. Your voice is muffled by his cock and he doesn’t notice how badly he is wrecking your throat.

Your salvation comes the moment he pulls out and orders you to get on your hands and feet. You obey, sticking your ass high up in the air. This is the moment that you’ve been waiting for.

“You’re so wet for me baby doll,” he breathes against your warm core as he pulls your panty off of you.

A whine leaves your lips because you know the exact smug expression he has on. “H-hurry up.”

“Impatient,” he comments but is quick to reach over to, what you think is, his wallet.

But your hand flies out, stopping him. You’re already dripping in desperation and the longer you waited, the more it felt like torture. “Don’t… I’m on the pill.”

The way lust rolls off your tongue is enough to stop Jaehyun and his grin widens upon hearing the fact. It takes him less than a second before he slides himself in you and it makes a sinful sound.

It’s been a while and you’ve totally forgotten how amazing it is to feel completely filled. You sigh in pleasure. Jaehyun makes an equally loud moan, fingers lightly digging into your hips. The pleasure of your walls clenching so goddamn tightly around him is enough to overwhelm him and he almost comes, but controls himself. He steadies himself, letting you adjust to his length. It’s only when you desperately started grinding down on him that he starts thrusting into you.

He reaches forward and pulls your head back by your hair and his other hand reaches forward and grips tightly around your throat. He wastes no time and starts moving his hips, with each thrust comes quicker than the next.

In a blur of strained moans, desperate whimpers and gasps, Jaehyun keeps up with the brutal pace and nothing stops him. Not even as you came undone under him, shaking and shivering, yelling at him to stop, only for the moans and whimpers to completely fill your throat. Quickly after your first orgasm, the overstimulation builds up your second orgasm and this time, the knot is wound tighter. It only when you feel him coming into you that it snaps, bringing you into your second orgasm. Even then he doesn’t stop, until his creamy white cum seeps out of your drenched pussy.

He pulls himself out of you, taking a moment to take it just how absolutely ravaged you look. Hair in a mess, eyes glossy with tears, cheeks and chest flushed, your lips are slightly parted and there’s saliva leaking out of it, and the way his cum overflows out of you. It almost enough to get him in the mood for round two.

But it’s been a while for him too and he’s tired. So, instead he collapses beside you. You’re panting and take a moment to catch your breath.

But the camera by the nightstand is a reminder to yourself, the purpose of your visit to the hotel. And you pick it up, carelessly snapping away photos of Jaehyun, with his hair in a mess and his shirt unbuttoned. He lets you.

And when those photos finally come out, a month later, it surprises you that the public enjoyed the look almost as much as you do. So much so that his stylists don’t question why his hairstyle is different and why his lipstick has turned much redder.

Jaehyun invites you over to his house that night to celebrate its success – this time you make sure that your lingerie matches.

[coffeecomicsgalore]

A Night to Remember

Sabine and Tom are sly. Lila is back. Gabriel's intentions are known. Ladynoir have a sweet moment.

Ao3

Chapter 17 – The Plan

Tom and Sabine eyed the time on the clock, smirking silently towards each other as they waited for their daughter to make her presence known. Tom went back to kneading the dough as Sabine moved to the counter and packed a couple of delicious pastries for the new couple to enjoy together.

Sabine is not one to lie. If anyone happened to ask her if they were part of the whole idea, she would say no. Actually, she would praise Adrien for coming up with the idea that had won Marinette over. But she wouldn’t lie if anyone asked if the couple had listened to Adrien’s romantic declaration as he danced with Marinette against the moonlight. She would only smirk and play coy, adding that Marinette’s door had accidentally stayed open and the noise traveled throughout the house, so it was hard not to listen to the grand confession.

Then she would just smile in that innocent way and stay mum over anything else.

Including the part where she and Tom happened to pop their head through the skylight and see them kissing against said moonlight.

Not like it mattered anyways. The squeals that emanated from the living room while they were trying (keyword: not really trying) to sleep after Adrien had left their home could only contribute to the sight they had seen earlier.

Nope. Not one bit ashamed for sneaking a peep at their daughter’s unplanned date.  

They already knew once the couple heard the giggles and the pop of the wine bottle’s cork that everything worked out perfectly. Of course, there was also an exchange of a bet that had been between them since the kids first met, but the teens didn’t need to know those little details anyways (Sabine won by the way).

Sabine could hear the leaded footsteps as her daughter ran down the steps to the bakery, hearing the clatter of dishes as she lost control of her movements and stumbled into the pans that were ready to be used for the day. As she shook her head in self-satisfaction, Sabine looked up through the bakery entrance and saw the gray sedan pulling up beside it. A mop of blond hair had made his way out waving goodbye to his driver before walking through the door.

“Good morning, Adrien.” Sabine said sweetly as he made his way towards the register.

“Good morning!” He said as his eyes were full of wonderment and love.

Tom emerged from the kitchen and placed his large hand on his shoulder. “Son! How are you this morning? Get any sleep?” He winked.

“I did for once!” Adrien laughed. “Is Marinette ready to head to school?”

“I’m coming!” Marinette walked through the door with a wet rag in her hands. She tried to wipe down any flour that had inadvertently attached to her clothing when she fell into the pans. She could hear the chuckle coming from Adrien, but her pleasant mood did not allow an ounce of embarrassment to show through. Marinette kissed her maman and papa, trading the wet rag with the pastry bag that Sabine held out for them.  

"Thanks, maman,” Marinette said as she opened the bag to smell the delicious treats. She grabbed a croissant and handed it to Adrien, a precious smile on her face making his heart soar. He snatched the croissant and bent down a little, allowing Marinette’s lips to press against his. What meant to be a peck, turned into two, three, four pecks, the last one lingering a bit longer than planned.

Sabine cleared her throat while Tom watched in awe. Marinette and Adrien pulled apart as a shade of crimson dusted their cheeks. Adrien rubbed his neck nervously as Marinette covered her face.

“Sorry!” they said in unison while the adults snickered in return.

----

Walking to school together this way felt like a dream. Their fingers were intertwined as they shared a laugh and Marinette hovered the pastry bag in front of his face, enticing Adrien with another croissant.

Adrien purred in her ear. “You know, bug, you should really be careful feeding a stray.”

“Why? Because they never go away?” Marinette teased back.

Adrien looked smug. “Exactly! And I don’t know how long you could keep me away for. I might just come back every night.” He stopped in front of the steps and leaned his face close to hers. So close, in fact that their noses were almost touching.

Marinette poked his nose back the same way she always did as Ladybug. Her smug tone matched his while a devious smirk stretched her lips. “Well maybe I want to keep this stray kitten. Maybe that’s my intention. I’ve always wanted a kitty. I think this is just the perfect opportunity to finally have one for myself.”

Marinette walked away, leaving an awestruck Adrien behind. Marinette stopped and turned just enough to shout, ‘Don’t dish if you can’t take, chaton’, before walking through the doors of the school.

--

Sitting in the back of the classroom alone to stew in her own misery, Lila sat with eyes narrowed and teeth clenched. She was back at school after disappearing for the last week. On top of everything else, her mother caught wind of her devious plans and grounded her until the end of time. The time alone was not spent in waste though. She spent her time seething and planning, all while she waited for a purple butterfly to make her way towards her. Oh, how she wished that a butterfly was to come right now and akumatize her into a pawn. She wanted to take down those two brats any way she could. They ruined her life and she wanted revenge.

The class refused to acknowledge she was in the room. The moment she walked in, the students that were already seated and conversing glared daggers into her soul before turning back to the conversations they had started. No amount of crocodile tears or lies could fix this problem, so revenge was the best plan of attack.

She could still try to get Adrien away from Marinette. But how? Those two were close enough already. It was only a matter of time before they finally started dating. But they are both too oblivious to see what they have in front of them. With Gabriel not taking her side, she had to figure this out on her own.

All too quickly, Lila’s thoughts were halted when a squeal from Rose filled the room. She turned to the blond and watched where her gaze fell. Her eyes immediately saw red when she witnessed the travesty that stood in the doorway before her. She clenched her fists together so tightly her nails drew blood.  

“Marinette... and Adrien?” She said through gritted teeth. “Together!” Oh, how she was seethed over the sight. How was she to pull this plan together now?

Lila spent the next ten minutes glaring at the back of the new couple’s heads, trying to think of a way to destroy them both. As if the sun had shone through an overcast day, Lila overheard the girls talking about the dance giving the brunette an idea.

“Oh, Marinette,” she said to herself with a tone overt of venomous intentions. “This dance will be a night to remember, don’t you worry about that.”  

--

Gabriel stood at his computer, brows furrowed as he overlooked the many design concepts that were flashed across his screen. Plenty of designs made its way through the disarray of pages in front of him, but none met the Agreste standards. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took one swipe of his screen to close out everything in its path.

His stillness abruptly shifted as the feelings of anger and disgust filled his senses. Gabriel could feel the strong emotions and moved quickly towards the large gold painting that stood behind him. Three buttons took him to the lair and it took four words to transform him into his villain form. Hawkmoth stood at the ready and sought after the anger which only intensified once he transformed, but he had felt this anger before.  

“Lila,” he said as vengeance formed a bubbling act in his chest, “I have been feeling your anger over the last week. But, my dear child, your anger has yet to reach its full potential.”

Hawkmoth closed his eyes a bit longer than normal, trying to gain some sense of her anger without releasing an akuma. He knew it was not the time to send one of his precious butterflies out into the world. He was saving it for when his plan ran its course.  

Lila had proven to be a good ally in the past many times over. After her time as Chameleon, he knew that she wanted an akuma to be released so she could pawn it on herself to get revenge, and he knew that he needed to continue teasing her in this way to help his plan along. Giving in now would only hinder his final goal.

Nathalie had been giving him a report of everything that transpired over the last few weeks. Gabriel had always known that Kagami and Adrien were never formally together. It was a matter of time before a slip of the tongue would unleash the hell around him and he knew that Lila would do anything for Gabriel, especially since the modeling contract he handed her on a silver platter dangled precariously in front of her greed-filled eyes.  

As he knew it would happen, she ousted herself as Adrien’s newest beau to the media and knowing how Adrien’s mannerisms had become increasingly brazen as of late, Gabriel knew that Adrien would bite back. The “bite”, though, was infinitely better than he ever imagined it would be. Firing Lila was another tier to the commotion, and with that, the brunette has tried to seek out Gabriel and demand an explanation to no avail. Making herself look like a fool in front of the waiting press outside his doors just increased her anger tenfold. But finding out that Nathalie slipped information to Lila’s mother informing her of her actions over the last few years? Well, that was icing on the proverbial cake.

What sent this plan in a forward motion was the news that Adrien and Marinette had officially become a couple. Knowing that this would just add more anger to the pawn, he waited patiently for her anger to intensify, and he didn’t have to wait long for that to happen. He looked to the clock on his staff, knowing that her anger had to be intensified due to Adrien and Marinette entering the classroom together. He had known that if Lila happened to be in school and see the scene unfold in front of her, the feeling of vengeance would increase at an intense speed – and increase it did.

He wanted to savor the anger bubbling inside Lila. He knew that in order for this to continue, he had to throw in more wood to the fire. So, he stood there, listening to the sensory overload of Lila’s anger and hatred towards the people around her. “Soon, Lila.” He cackled maniacally as his thoughts clouded his better judgement. “Both of our wishes will come true.”

---

Running across the rooftops, Ladybug and Chat Noir raced against each other in a competitive fervor. Chat had enticed her with a race and she so happily obliged. It was not unusual for races to happen during patrols, but knowing that the love of her life was under the mask made “patrolling” a little bit better.

Only a little. And maybe a bit more fun. Yeah, that’s it. Much for fun.

Normally, Chat would follow his Lady everywhere she turned, but tonight he had something else up his sleeve. Turning to the right through the neighboring arrondissement, Chat led Ladybug to their favorite spot on the Eiffel Tower.  

While the change in location was nice, it wasn’t along their patrol route tonight. Once Ladybug landed on the beam, she looked to Chat confused and unsure. Chat smiled as he watched Ladybug’s gears turn in her head and waited for her to question his decision.  

“Chat?”

“Milady.” He grabbed her hand and slowly brought it to his lips, kissing her knuckles ever so carefully and never leaving her gaze. The blush that spread across her cheeks made the slow process worth it. “Since I have many, many nights of dates to make up for-”

“Chat...” Ladybug tried to interrupt.

“- and since I spent last evening swooning you with wine, pastries, and kisses,” he waggled his eyebrows as he stood back to full height, “I wanted to give you a special evening here where we can be all by ourselves.”

Ladybug smiled lovingly to him. “My kitty is quite the romantic.” She took a step forward and jingled his bell. “And what has this cat planned for us this evening?”  

“While I would love to take you out on a date on this tower and give you everything your heart desires, I thought we could start with this perfect view and maybe share a dance with me?”

Ladybug tilted her head and finally noticed the light music playing in the background. Chat must have wired his baton to play a few songs. “Of course, kitty. I would love to dance with you.”

The romantic atmosphere made the dancing slightly impossible as they got lost in each other’s eyes. Little teases of kisses that wanted to be shared tantalized the feeling that surrounded them. Once the song ended, Ladybug held on to his shoulders, giving her some leverage as she tiptoed herself up and planted a sweet, lingering kiss to his cheek.

“I love you, chaton.”

Chat beamed. “I love you, princess.” He reached down and planted a chaste kiss to her lips. Looking back at her eyes, his mind finally remembered why he brought her there in the first place. “Princess? Would you allow this knight in shining leather to escort you to the dance?”

A quiet giggle left her lips. “This princess would be honored to be escorted by her prince.”

[fanfictionaries]

Oh So Many Years: Ch. 1 - Sunrise

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fred Weasley 

Summary: 

With her fourth year at Hogwarts soon approaching, Hermione Granger is another year older and at least three years more mature. After practically living her third year over twice, Hermione feels different. More mature. More daring and brave.

Frederick Weasley meets an entirely new side of Hermione Granger while she stays at the Burrow, there to accompany them to the Quidditch World Cup. She's quicker. Cheekier. Wittier. Fred can't help but wonder if something happened to cause such a sudden change in the swotty Gryffindor, or if she'd truly always been...actually interesting?

Warnings: Swearing, Death, Smut/18+ NSFW

Author’s Note: This is a story I hold really dear to my heart, I hope you like it as I continue working on it. 

<Masterlist>

Surprise, surprise

Couldn’t find it in your eyes

But I’m sure it’s written all over my face

  The first rays of sunlight shown through one of the small east facing windows of the Burrow. The brightness woke Hermione Granger softly as it kissed her face with it’s warm embrace, causing her to open her eyes slowly, blinking in the new day. She peered through the glass and watched the sun as it rose over the hill, a golden glow illuminating the trees from behind and casting long shadows onto the lawn below. Hermione snuggled further into the warmth of a large hand-sewn quilt. She loved the Burrow. Sometimes it felt more like home than home did – not to dismiss any of the love and happiness found in her childhood home, but there was something so alive about the charming Weasley house. A loud snore from the red headed girl beside her cut the serenity of the moment short, and Hermione couldn’t help but chuckle. She turned her head to look at the youngest and only female Weasley child sprawled out on her stomach, face mushed into the pillow, mouth open, and a small drool stain beneath her lips. As another snore ripped from the young witch, Hermione reluctantly sat up and stretched her arms wide with a yawn. She’d never get back to sleep with that going on.

  “Ginny,” she nudged her companion, but only got a grumble in return as the stubborn witch refused to wake up. Hermione nudged her again, this time a little more roughly.

 “What?” Ginny whined, squeezing her eyes tightly.

  “It’s time to get up. We have an early start today, remember?” Hermione reminded, but only got a muffled cry of protest as Ginny buried her face in her pillow.

  “I expect to see you downstairs in thirty minutes Ginevra, so use your time as you please,” Hermione sighed as she clambered over her friend, not trying to be graceful about it in the slightest. After dressing quickly, she stopped by the bathroom to brush her teeth before she hurried down the rickety and twisting staircase with the thought of a nice cup of tea circulating in her brain. Mrs. Weasley was taking out a batch of muffins from the oven when Hermione reached the last step, the whistling sound of the kettle filling the cosy kitchen. She made her way to the stove to quiet the screeching kettle, as the scent of cinnamon and blueberries drifted through the air.

  “Thank you dear.” Mrs. Weasley smiled as she wiped her hands on her apron and drew her wand out from her pocket. With a flick of her wrist the muffins exited their tin and swirled through the air before landing neatly into a basket on the kitchen table. Hermione hummed in response. With familiar motions, she prepared the tea, making sure to grab two cups – one for her and one for Mrs. Weasley. There was something so soothing about the small act. Sitting down at the table, she placed Molly’s tea in front of her and sipped her own as she watched the incredibly energetic mother of seven crack eggs into a bowl. Hermione quietly observed Molly Weasley and wondered how she did it. Having seven children is a lot of work in general, but with her specific bunch of rowdy boys and equally rowdy girl, it took a special kind of person to be strong enough to handle them. After cracking what seemed like at least three dozen eggs into the large mixing bowl, the elder witch waved her wand sending its contents to be whisked and scrambled on the stove top.  With a light sigh Molly Weasley turned her attention finally to her tea and then to the young witch across from her.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” Molly asked, taking a sip from her cup.

  “I was just admiring you Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione admitted sheepishly.

  “Oh goodness, whatever for?” Molly laughed.

  “I don’t know how you do it, taking care of everyone the way that you do. My parents found it trying just to raise me and I wasn’t even a difficult child. I can’t imagine what they would have done if they had had to raise seven, let alone just Fred and George.” Hermione rubbed at a tea stain on the side of her cup with her thumb.

  Molly snorted.

  “It’s most certainly not easy, I can guarantee you that. Of course, some days I do wish I could go back to a time where Arthur and I were nineteen and just married—" Molly’s voice turned thick with nostalgia “—but, given the choice, I’d have all my children again because I’m damn good at taking care of the lot.” The two shared a smile, acknowledging the truth in her statement. They sat there for a while, chatting idly, as the eggs scrambled, and bacon flipped on the stove top aided by the occasional flick of Mrs. Weasley’s wand. Conversations like these were common in the early morning of the Burrow whenever Hermione came to stay, as the two of them were usually the first to rise. Their talks often consisted of school, Harry, Ron, and even occasionally fashion and magazines. This morning, however, they had settled into a comfortable silence and Hermione began again to focus on the strength that Mrs. Weasley had. Hermione liked to think that one day she would be just as strong as her. Already she felt stronger, more grown up. It, of course, had everything to do with the sheer amount of time she spent merely existing during her third year. While all her classmates were living their third year happily, she was practically living it twice, three times over. It was surprising the amount of change that could happen to a person in that sort of situation. She assumed it was what had given her the courage to punch Malfoy in the nose that year. She smiled at the thought.

  After a while Molly stood up. “Would you mind going and making sure everyone is awake dear? Breakfast is just about ready.”

  “Of course, Mrs. Weasley.”

  Hermione set her tea down and made her way to the upper levels of the house. She stopped outside of Ginny’s room first and knocked. When she didn’t hear an answer, she opened the door to find her still lying in bed, this time with the blankets pulled completely over her head to shield her eyes from the bright sun.

  “Ginevra Weasley! I told you to be out of bed ages ago!” Hermione scolded before grabbing a fist full of the quilt and pulling it off the redhead’s sleeping form. With the sudden loss of warmth, Ginny turned over, staring daggers at the bossy girl in front of her. Their gazes locked as they challenged each other silently – neither one wanting to break eye contact and lose. Much to Ginny’s great annoyance, her stomach let out a ferocious growl that broke her resolve. She huffed and sat up.

  “Of all the people for my brother to befriend, he had to go and find a girl who’s just as stubborn as all of us…” Ginny grumbled more to herself as she started to rummage through her clothes. Fully satisfied, Hermione crossed her arms and smiled with a small hmph. Reminding Ginny to pack a bag as Mr. Weasley had instructed them to do, she exited the bedroom. She turned to her left and headed up the stairs to the next level where the bedroom of Fred and George resided. Their door was painted a ghastly explosion of purple and orange that Hermione took in for a moment before knocking. The seconds ticked by as she waited for either of the Weasley twins to answer. What should she do? She couldn’t possibly open the door like she had with Ginny. She knocked again, this time placing her ear to the door to listen for any signs of life.

  “Can I help you?”

  The sound of a voice right in her ear caused Hermione to nearly jump out of her skin. She let out a little yelp as she turned around to come face to face with Frederick Weasley.

  “Merlin!” She placed a hand to her chest, feeling the strong thumping of her heart under her fingertips.

  “Now, what do we have here? —" Fred crossed his arms boldly and leaned against the wall, blocking Hermione between himself and the door behind her “—Hermione Granger, spying?” He spoke the words as if it were the latest scandal in the gossip columns of Witches Weekly.

  “I was not spying!” Hermione responded indignantly.

  “I don’t know if you know this—" Fred started flatly, not believing her for a second “—but I happen to be an expert on all things spying, snooping, and meddling. You can’t fool me.”

  Hermione rolled her eyes and scoffed, fighting hard to bite back the response she really wanted to give. Instead, she would not give him the satisfaction of an answer.

  “So, why were you trying, and quite poorly I might add, to spy on us?”

  Hermione did not respond, instead she mirrored him, crossing her arms, and standing pin straight on her tip toes to gain a level playing field.  

  “Trying to get us in trouble?”

  Again, Hermione did not reply.

  “Gain some kind of leverage on us for blackmail?”

  Hermione watched as a twitch of irritation flashed across Fred’s face at her lack of response. But then, it transformed into a wicked grin.

  “Not trying to catch one of us naked, are you Granger?” Fred looked at her triumphantly, obviously feeling as though he had won the battle. Hermione felt the heat of embarrassment spread across her face and before she could stop herself, she responded with as much bravado as she could.

  “Hah! —” she guffawed heartily, throwing her head backwards exaggeratedly “—Why would I possibly want to induce vomiting Frederick?”

  Fred stood in front of her, his smug grin melting from his face into a dumbfounded expression. Frederick Weasley, for the first time in his life was utterly speechless. Hermione smirked and without another word pushed past the lanky ginger and continued up the stairs to Ron’s room.

  As she distanced herself from Fred, Hermione couldn’t help but let a small rush of excitement flow through her body. She did not know what had caused her to respond that way but the thrill of once and for all shutting up one of the Weasley twins was satisfying enough that she did not care. When Hermione finally made it to the top step, she let out a long exhale and knocked on Ron’s door. Not hearing an answer, she knocked again for safe measure and then opened the door a crack. This door she did feel comfortable opening.

  Honestly, why did no one set an alarm? she wondered to herself when she saw her two best friends still asleep in their beds. Ron was spread out like Ginny that morning – arms wide, mouth open, and snoring loudly. Harry on the other hand was tossing and turning, clearly in the middle of a very bad dream. She approached the little cot in the corner cautiously, noticing his pale and clammy skin. His chest rose and fell rapidly. Hermione grabbed Harry’s arm and shook him, trying to rouse him from his sleep.

  “Harry! Harry!” she called his name, hoping it would bring him to. Harry awoke with a start, looking up at her with confusion spread across his face. He said her name as if acknowledging her presence and his reality. Hermione stared hard at the boy. He hadn’t changed much since the last time she saw him, except his hair was longer. It hung damp and matted to his neck and forehead; his scar shone through the dark locks looking pinker than usual. His chest rose and fell harshly as his breathing slowly returned to normal.

  “Are you alright?” she asked tentatively.

  “Yeah, it was just a bad dream,” he assured her unconvincingly. Hermione nodded and stood, biting her tongue, and giving Harry some space. If he didn’t want to tell her, then she guessed he didn’t have to. With a particularly loud snore coming from Ron’s bed, she picked up a pillow from the cot below her and threw it at his head. Then, marching over to the window, she drew back the curtains letting in the bright daylight that had broken over the hill and risen higher into the sky. Ron jolted off the mattress, hugging his covers up to his chest and looking dazed. He frantically looked around the room before spotting Hermione glaring at him with her hands on her hips.

  “Bloody hell, Hermione!”

  “Honestly, Ronald, get up! Your mother says breakfast is ready!” she scolded before making her exit and leaving the two boys to get ready.

    Fred couldn’t help but stay rooted to the spot as the little Gryffindor bounded up the stairs away from him. The situation had been all too rare. Fred and George always revelled in their ability to efficiently tease the Miss Hermione Granger. In fact, she was one of their favourite victims because when you teased Granger, you got the most genuine reaction you ever hoped for. Unlike others who would attempt to act as if the picking and the prodding didn’t affect them, Granger made it very known. Her hair would grow twice its size and her face would flush so brilliantly that you’d think someone had jinxed her to make her skin turn red. Over the years she grew more towards the occasional small bout of lecturing on how to treat people, how they should not be so insensitive – blah, blah, blah. So, when the little know-it-all came back with one of the best comebacks he ever heard, he hadn’t known whether to be offended or kiss her square on the mouth.  

  He walked down the stairs and into the kitchen, snagging a warm muffin out of the basket and taking a large bite before planting himself next to George at the table. He savoured the flavour of the baked good with a grin spread wide across his face. A few moments later, footsteps sounded from the stairs, followed by the entry of his sister, little brother, Harry, and lastly Granger. As he made eye contact with the last of the party, he was met with a scowling and defiant glare, the girl’s chin raised haughtily in the air. George nudged his side, looking between the Granger and himself curiously.

  “I’ll explain later,” Fred told his brother.

  Still picking at his muffin, Fred observed his family. His mother was flitting about the kitchen, doting on everyone as she continued to cook and clean. His father was casually following her around, gently but persistently trying to convince her to sit down and eat something herself. His little sister was chewing on her food with the reverent and polite façade she put on whenever Harry came about. Usually she was just as bad as Ron, slovenly shovelling her mouth full and practically inhaling her meals. Now, her long-standing crush on The Boy Who Lived was as clear as ever as she daintily nibbled on a piece of bacon and stole not too subtle glances at the subject of her affection. It seemed, however, that Ron’s affection for Hermione did not slow him down in the slightest. He scooped eggs, bacon, and toast into his open mouth as he chatted with Harry. In his animation and general lack of manners, he spat little bits of food out on the plate and table in front of him.

  “Honestly, Ronald!” Hermione pushed her contaminated plate away from her in disgust.

  “What?” Ron respond lamely.

  Fred shifted his focus back to his own food, and his thoughts to his and George’s latest endeavours. This past year they hoped to transition from mindless pranks and jokes to something of actual substance. As they approached their sixth year, they knew they needed to start thinking of the future – they couldn’t very well live with mum and dad forever. There was also the little problem of their O.W.L.s, which were, to quote their mum: ‘so disappointing she could cry’. While Fred wasn’t quite as upset about his scores as his mother was, he did have to admit that it limited their options. When he voiced this concern to his brother, George very adamantly claimed that they were too good to work for anyone but themselves anyways. And thus Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes was born. Why try and work for some sad sop when they could own their very own joke shop? So far, they hadn’t told anyone but their closest friends about their plans, but their futures were looking promising already, having designed numerous prototypes over the summer. In fact, order forms were already printed out and ready for the new school year and they were planning on putting together some sickles to take out a small advertisement in the back of a few popular magazines.

  “Do you suppose we could invent something that binds mouths closed?” George whispered, motioning towards Ron’s full mouth of food and Hermione’s nagging voice. Fred snickered and started to theorize with his brother on how they could go about that possibility. They were just starting to make a list of avenues to research when their father, Arthur Weasley, stood from the table and proclaimed that it was time to shove off and get moving. Fred and George exchanged a look that meant they would continue the topic later and grabbed their packs before following their father out of the kitchen as they waved goodbye to their mother.

  As the group walked leisurely through the garden and into the surrounding wooded area, Fred and George trailed a few yards behind and chatted lightly about the Quidditch World Cup and how lucky they were that their father was able to get such great seats this year. It was, in fact, the first time in ages it was being held in England. The Hungarians versus the Irish! It couldn’t get any more exciting than that. Eventually their conversation faded into a comfortable silence and Fred found himself transfixed by the swishing of a long, frizzy, brown ponytail swinging back and forth like a pendulum. His mind wandered to the enigma that was Hermione Granger. She was considered to be the brightest witch of their age, and that was no exaggeration. The thing about Hermione though, was that while exemplifying all traits of someone uptight, prudish, and entirely against fun, she was best friends with his idiot of a little brother and the Harry Potter. For a witch who was pretty much the poster girl for rules, Hermione Granger got herself into a lot of trouble with the two of them. It was astounding that she hadn’t said goodbye to them and their adventures years ago. Thinking back to their small interaction earlier, he wondered if he had glimpsed a side of Granger that she perhaps only revealed to Ron and Harry.

  “Why do you think she stays friends with those two gits?” George asked, reading his mind.

  “Beats me what she sees in them. I mean, Harry’s not all that bad, but our ickle Ronikins is a right idiot,” said Fred, letting out a dramatic sigh and shaking his head as his younger brother bob along in front of them. His gaze shifted back to the uptight Gryffindor in front of him as she walked arm in arm with the red headed girl beside her, talking animatedly. He glanced at his baby brother to see him sneaking a look at Granger with big puppy eyes.

  “When do you suppose our ickle Ronikins is going to finally man-up and tell Granger that he fancies her?” asked Fred.

  They walked forward through the understory watching as Ron continued to sneak seemingly covert glances at Granger.

  “Probably never—” George let out a rude snort “—What do you suppose he sees in her?” 

  “I’ve seen her doing his homework quite a few times. S’pose I’d fall for any bird that did that for me long enough. Though, I don’t know if the lecturing would be worth it,” Fred grimaced at the idea of being with someone that constantly berated him.

  “Merlin, does she sound just like mum when she gets all angry. Could you imagine that?—” George shivered “—Maybe our baby brothers got a little bit of a mommy issue?”

  “If he does Georgie, I don’t want to know.”

  After a short while of walking through the tall grass, they came around a corner to find a figure standing next to a tree. The stranger was an older man, probably around the same age as his father with grey hair and a slightly shorter, rounder shape. He watched as his father hurried his steps and stretched out his arms in a familiar gesture.

  “Amos!” Arthur Weasley shouted out.

  “Arthur! Took you long enough,” Amos joked.

  “Sorry about that, some of us got a bit of a sleepy start,” Arthur responded before embracing his friend in a brief hug.

  A young man swung out of the tree that Amos had been standing near and landed next to him with a surprising amount of ease. Fred recognized him as Cedric Diggory. He was a seventh year Hufflepuff, and while Fred had never met him personally, he always considered him to be a bit of a prat. Then of course, he was still bitter about their loss to Hufflepuff during the previous year’s quidditch season thanks to him. Fred and George stood near the back of the group and watched as introductions were made between everyone, finding more amusement in the comical way in which Amos Diggory fawned over Harry, than spreading niceties themselves. George nudged Fred and pointed towards the two girls in their company who were giggling to each other, peaking at the golden boy of Hufflepuff from under their lashes. Absentmindedly, Fred wondered if Hermione would consider seeing Cedric Diggory as ‘vomit inducing’. Ginny, leaning over, whispered something into Hermione’s ear that made her pull back, cheeks enflamed and hand over her mouth. Fred couldn’t say for certain, but it looked as though Hermione was fighting a laugh. Then quickly she swatted Ginny’s arm and scolded her with a scandalized expression. Ginny merely rolled her eyes and smirked. His sister had always had a bit of a wicked streak. Fred liked to think he and George had played a part in that.

  “What was up with you and Granger this morning?” George asked casually once they began to walk again.

  Fred regaled the whole event in the hallway in a hushed but animated voice – George interjecting and nodding when appropriate. He was equally as surprised and impressed by Hermione’s response. They began to think of possible explanations for Hermione’s out of character remark. However, they slowly broke down into both more ludicrous and preposterous theories and soon they had fallen far behind the rest. The pair didn’t notice this, of course, until they heard the slightly faded voice of their father calling after them from up ahead. 

  “Fred! George! Catch up!”

  The two picked up their pace, holding tightly onto their packs and jogging up to the group that circled an old boot. When they approached, they observed Hermione closely for possession, as their latest theory had been that she had somehow been taken over by an evil (and much cooler) spirit. Almost as if she sensed their eyes on her, Hermione turned to face the two with a confused expression.

  “Anything I can help you two with?” Her small nose wrinkled as she looked between the two.

  “Hmm, what do you think Fred?”

  “I don’t know George.”

  “I suppose you’d see it in the eyes, yeah?”

  “I think you’re right. We’ll have to cross this one off the list.”

  Hermione looked at them, a bored expression plastered across her face at their incoherent ramblings. She chewed on her bottom lip, looking as though she were currently engaging in an internal debate. Clearly coming to some conclusion, she crossed her arms in front of her before speaking snootily.

  “I would say to take a picture as it would last longer, but I don’t think I’d want to subject that kind of torture to even a reflected image of myself.” 

  Her statement hit them like a rogue bludger, but before they could answer, their father yelled once again.

  “Fred! George! Hermione! Hands on the boot!”

  Quickly, all three reached forward and pressed their hands to the old boot, Fred barely placing a finger onto it before they were pulled upwards. His stomach lurched as he twisted and whirled through the sky, wind and shapes whipping around him, before he landed hard onto the ground. Slowly he sat up, feeling fuzzy and confused. Looking to his right he saw George sitting up as well, his expression matching what he felt exactly. A flash of denim appeared in his line of sight as a pair of legs walked between them. Following them he watched as Granger passed them, trailing behind the rest of the group into the thick of a new forest line.

  He looked to George who stared bewildered at frumpy little Granger walking confidently away. And as she walked, all it did was leave them to wonder…

  Who is she and what has she done with Hermione Granger?

Chapter 2>>>

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[tiaragqueen]

Bun Bun: Prologue

Chapter 1

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[Edited]

“In the beginning, some people try to appear that everything about them is "in black and white," until later their true colours come out.” - Anthony Liccione

          “The execution shall begin!”

          It was such a simple sentence; one that most people wouldn’t think twice about. In fact, many of them enjoyed watching the executioner beheaded criminals' heads. It was like a personal amusement for them; something that invoked satisfaction and, possibly, sadistic pleasure. The criminals' expressions varied from one person to another. Some terrified, some wailing, some struggling, and some emotionless.

          You didn’t judge people's preferences, though. Had you were in their position, you would certainly get the same satisfaction from seeing an evildoer disappear from this world. It wouldn’t change much. Crimes would definitely still exist - it was an intrinsic part of life and essential for laws to stay active because, without crimes, the police force would be useless - but at least it would discourage one person from acting on them.

          But this was different. Someone that you knew, someone that you were more than acquainted with, someone that you used to love, was the convict today. Watching the person, who had been an important figure in your life, being beheaded wasn't the same as watching an ordinary criminal.

          Your palms were clammy underneath the white gloves, and you contemplated the possibility of returning to the castle without anyone noticing. The execution had yet to start, but you were already dreading it more than listening to the court's decision regarding his death penalty. You were supposed to be anticipating this. Heck, you had even promised to your parents that you would attend. For the first time in twenty years, you were about to witness a cruel death with your very own eyes.

          So why were you hesitating now? Did you still have some feelings for him?

          No, you shook your head. Of course not. It was impossible. Ridiculous. Any lingering sentiment that you had for him died the moment you discovered just how malicious he could be. The betrayal and disbelief had stained the rose-colored lens who your naïve self had adopted during earlier years due to the circumstances you were in. Safe and sound. No crime or rumors ever reached your innocent ears, and your parents had made sure that you wouldn’t catch a glimpse of the executions that occurred regularly.

          You had been in the dark for as long as you could remember. And had he didn’t show how terrifying an ordinary person – a gentleman – could be, then you would have lived up your day believing that the world was all rainbows and sunshine. Because why would you be evil, when you could spread kindness instead?

          Well, clearly not anyone shared the same opinion as you. Some people were just determined to achieve something, and you had never expected that you would be the target of that dogged determination. Sure, you were a princess and many envied you, but to be desired to the point of obsession?

          Sometimes, you just wanted to rip the stupid tiara from your head and pretended that you were an average peasant for once. But who were you to get that privilege? No matter how hard you tried, no matter how many times you wished upon the sky or the falling star, you could never be one.

          However, you kept hoping that maybe – in another lifetime, where everything wasn’t so complicated and strict and more manageable – you would be an average peasant that you always dreamed of.

          For now, you just had to deal with him. The one person who had scarred you for life and opened your eyes to the brutal reality. That absolutely anyone was capable of corrupting and be corrupted. Although you weren’t sure if you were ready to see his face again. How could you not? It's been a long time since the last time you saw him.

          Was he okay? Did he get torture in there? Had the reform for even the slightest bit?

          A tall young man, in his early twenties, climbed up the wooden stairway to the platform. Despite the two guards who were trailing close behind, and the townspeople who immediately threw insults at him like there was no tomorrow, his face remained stony. His body was much skinnier, to the point where you could see the bones protruding from the once bulky skin. His hair was dirty, littered with some dust that hung on the dark locks. Yet, his eyes were still cold as always. They reflected the derisive and angered faces of the townspeople like a deceptive mirror that showed their true, rotten selves.

          It was through those eyes too where you learned that not everyone was as kind as they appeared to be. That they only acted cordial either for the sake of gaining your favor or out of courtesy.

          And he had been one of them as well, although he insisted that his kindness was ‘real’. You knew you were fully aware, and you acknowledged it. The sincerity and affection that lit up his hollow irises whenever he saw you was far from fake. You can never be as happy when you meet someone unless you truly like them, especially in a royal world where everyone is pretending to be someone they're not.

          “He looks worse now,” you heard Rosé whispered beside you. She clutched the hem of her black apron, nervous about being in the same area with him although he was standing a good few meters away from her. Her fear was warranted, however, given his infamy in your kingdom.

          You threw her a glum glance, silently agreeing with your personal maid. You had no doubt that he often refused to eat if not the guards having some sort of a personal grudge against him.

          “I won’t eat,” he’d said during your first and last visit to his cell. “I will show you how much you turn me into this way.”

          It was unfair of him to put the blame on you because obviously, you couldn’t control other people’s feelings. But you knew that you had influence to this sudden change too, not that you would admit it out loud. It would only prove his statement - thus feeding his ego - and that was the last thing you wanted to hear from him.

          Jungkook stood with a hunched back in front of you, glassy eyes staring off the distance. What he thought about was a mystery, but you were sure that he didn’t repent on his sins or pondering over his inevitable death. In fact, you could safely say that he enjoyed being a criminal.

          That was just another proof of how messed up he was on the head.

          “Is there any last word, Jeon Jungkook?” the executioner's deep voice boomed.

          A hush fell over the boisterous crowd as they waited for his last answer. The last response that would either strengthen their convictions over his unforgivable actions or convince his innocence, however ridiculous it might sound. Regardless of his sudden decision to show a bit of humanity within him, Jungkook couldn’t miss the blade that glinted menacingly under the sun; the 175 pounds blade that would soon become the end of his life.

          If he had any, that is.

          Your breath hitched the moment his eyes landed on yours. His gaze was heavy, meant to condescend you despite your higher position. Like you were nothing more than a delicate doll to be dressed in pretty dresses and shoes. Somehow, you had a ridiculous hope that maybe he would overlook you within this sea of raging people.

          But of course, nobody can miss their loved ones even in a desert. It’s hard not to.

          A smirk graced his pale features, and you visibly tensed up. Despite his lanky figure and hollow cheekbones, he remained the same attractive boy you had met in the past. “I shall see you soon, Your Highness.”

          It was a promise, one that he would definitely carry out one way or another. How? You didn’t know. He would die within minutes anyway. But Jungkook wasn’t one to go back on his words, regardless of how ludicrous or absurd they might be.

          So, maybe, he believed in another lifetime. Just like you.

          Rosé gently grabbed your forearm in a comforting manner as you both watched the executioner raised the rope that held the weighted blade. There was no hesitation, no reluctance, and no lingering movements when Jungkook bowed down to place his head on the lunette. He was like a dutiful child, ready to face whatever consequences that befall him.

          And without further hesitation either, the executioner released the rope.

          You squeezed your eyes shut, hearing the blade fell with a thud. Rosé whimpered as she hid her face on your side, unable to witness the cruelty of his death as well. Tears leaked from your eyelids and left wet trails along your powdered face. You didn’t know why you were crying when you should be happy that he was dead now.

          Perhaps, deep inside, you still harbored some feelings for him. You just refused to acknowledge them. But it was impossible, right? It had to be.

          After a few minutes, Rosé slowly withdrew from the awkward side hug and you braced yourself to see it in person. Bile rose to your throat as you bit your bottom lip to suppress a sob from escaping.

          Jungkook’s head laid on the ground, facing you. His eyes, although lost their sparks of life, were tender. Like the eyes of a lover who loves their significant other so much they’re willing to give the world for them. His warm gaze, which usually turned ice cold to other people who he felt was bothering you, sent an imaginary stab into your chest.

          Why? After all the immoral actions he’d done, he had the guts to stare at you like this? Like you were his whole world, and he was the little stars that have lights on to your otherwise dark life?

          Why? Why did he still love you after you rejected him repeatedly?

          And most of all, why did his death hurt you so much?

          You gripped the cold steel of your parasol and silently wept against your chest. You might be mourning over his death or the doom that had befallen him the moment he met you. Nobody knew. Nobody could bring themselves to care. All they wanted was for him to perish.

          And granted was their wishes.

          “Jungkook...”

[v-thinks-on]

Generations - Part 5

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Jim awoke in an empty bed, but he was not alone.

Spock was sitting at the table in the other room, reading over a mug of Vulcan spice tea. Jim attempted to focus to get a better look at what he was reading and Spock projected it over the bond. To his surprise, it was not a PADD in Spock’s hands, but an old book written in a blocky script that almost looked like it was Klingon, but which he belatedly recognized as Romulan. It was apparently an ancient book of Romulan philosophy that had been passed down through the generations, graciously loaned to Spock by one of his students.

Jim could feel Spock’s pride and even affection for the young Romulans, so eager to learn about a culture that was no longer and not yet their own. It was not an easy life on Romulus, but better than decades spent wandering the galaxy in luxury alone. Jim refused to begrudge Spock his happiness, but still he could not help but wish that Picard had freed him from the Nexus just three years sooner.

Spock closed the book. I am pleased that you have returned. Though he did not deny that Jim’s presence made matters more complicated.

Finally, Jim hoisted himself out of bed and joined Spock in the main room. Spock was dressed already, of course, back in his stately Vulcan robes. He had gotten up and meditated hours before, and he even reassured Jim that he had eaten a small breakfast.

“Good morning,” Jim said aloud.

Spock did not retort that, as they were not in orbit around a star, morning had no real meaning. Instead, he replied, “Good morning, Jim.” He watched Jim with restrained fascination.

Jim smiled.

Spock could only raise his eyebrows at the familiar expression.

More seriously, Jim asked, “Still subsisting on hardtack?”

Spock did not deny it, though they both knew that wasn’t what the Vulcan bread was called - it was accurate enough.

“You’re not going to ‘reacclimate’ if that’s all you eat,” Jim insisted.

Spock knew better than to argue.

Jim went over to the replicator and got a mug of coffee for himself and a proper breakfast for the two of them. “Unfortunately, I don’t think this place has a kitchen, so this is the best we’re going to get.”

“Thank you,” Spock said.

Jim sat down beside him with a smile and took a long sip of coffee - not quite right, but good enough.

Spock put down his tea as the strong flavor slipped through the bond like all of Jim’s thoughts, aided by the fragrant smell. For an instant, it was as though it was just another morning in their apartment in San Francisco eighty years ago, or in their quarters on the Enterprise some years before that. Jim was almost sent reeling by how much time had passed so quickly.

Spock knew the time around Jim’s retirement had not been easy, but he felt a deep pang of nostalgia. Again he was struck by how little Jim had changed in the intervening years. Spock looked largely the same, but there were tell-tale signs of how the years had affected him.

“I have a lot of catching up to do,” Jim acknowledged ruefully.

Spock raised his eyebrows in disagreement. He knew Jim could perceive his feelings, but he said them aloud for emphasis, “I am not disappointed, but relieved.”

“I know,” Jim said. He brushed his hand against Spock’s, letting their conflicting emotions mingle in the hope that together they might find some order.

Spock’s gaze softened in the suggestion of a gentle smile.

“You look younger already,” Jim teased.

“I feel younger,” Spock said seriously.

Jim leaned back in his chair and let out a sigh. They both longed for the past, even though they both knew they could not return to it.

At last, Jim stood to get ready for another day on the Farragut.

Spock watched Jim go until he was in the bedroom, out of sight. Only then did he return to his reading.

  Counselor Troi rang at Captain Kirk’s quarters.

To her surprise, it was not Kirk who answered the door, but Ambassador Spock. She could sense that they were both there, of course, but, like most Vulcans, the ambassador was a telepathic wall. He was not completely unreadable like Data, but all she could sense were carefully constructed shields and practiced restraint. Even Kirk seemed more muted by association.

“Hello, Ambassador,” Troi greeted him with a smile. “I’m here to see how Captain Kirk is doing, though I would be happy to speak with you as well.”

Spock inclined his head in acknowledgement. “The captain will be out momentarily,” he said and waved her inside.

Spock returned to the couch and she sat down in the chair next to him.

“How are you?” Troi asked once they were both settled.

He quirked an eyebrow at her in something that looked like disbelief or skepticism, but with his mental shields, she couldn’t be sure. “I am fine,” he said at last, though he didn’t sound entirely certain about it, as though the words were forgein to him. “How are you?”

“I’m doing alright,” Troi said. “How is Captain Kirk?”

“He is in remarkably good health for his age,” the ambassador replied. Troi almost thought she detected a touch of wry humor.

“Yes, it looks like the Nexus kept him in a kind of stasis,” she explained. 

Spock nodded. “It is a fascinating phenomenon.”

Before he could continue, Captain Kirk emerged from the other room. “Counselor,” he said with a smile, as he joined Spock on the couch. They sat side by side, not quite touching.

“Captain Kirk, how are you doing?” Troi asked.

“Fine,” he said. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

He seemed much happier than he had been before the ambassador’s arrival, even muted as his emotions were. But Troi could not forget the unease she sensed at dinner the night before. She turned back to Spock and asked conversationally, “What are your plans now that you’ve returned to Federation space?”

“I will return to Earth with the captain and assist him in reestablishing himself.”

Now she could feel that uncertainty and determination coming from Kirk.

“Do you have any thoughts about what you might want to do on Earth once you’re settled?” Troi asked him.

“We haven’t decided yet,” Kirk said with a very purposeful smile. “What are your plans while you’re waiting for the Enterprise-E?”

“I haven’t had a chance to think about it. I’ll probably continue to meet with my patients, possibly do some sight-seeing.”

“Are there any sights you recommend? Anything new over the past eighty years?”

“A vacation sounds like a wonderful idea. I’ll have to think about places to recommend.”

“I’ve never been to Betazed. What’s it like?” Kirk remarked - Troi detected something of an ulterior motive, though she couldn’t tell what.

“It’s a very beautiful planet, very varied like Earth.”

“Did you spend your formative years on Betazed?” Spock asked - she felt some satisfaction from Kirk.

“Yes,” Troi said, “My mother insisted that I get a proper Betazoid education.”

Spock nodded in understanding. “My father agreed with Ambassador Troi about few things, but it appears that they had analogous opinions on child rearing.”

“I learned about my human side from my father,” Troi explained. “He liked reading me stories about the old American west.”

“Sarek forbade my mother from raising me as a human, but I do recall her reading me some of the stories she enjoyed as a child. Alice in Wonderland was a particular favorite of hers.”

Troi could feel Kirk’s fondness, though she couldn’t sense the ambassador’s own feelings.

“It captures many feelings that come with living on an alien planet,” she said.

“Yes.” After a pause, Spock asked, “Why did you choose to join Starfleet?”

“Psychology as a field doesn’t exist on Betazed as it does on Earth. As a counselor, I felt I would be most useful to non-telepaths. Living among humans took some getting used to, but I never really felt out of place.”

“You are fortunate.”

Troi felt a burst of gentle affection from Kirk as he moved his hand to rest against Spock’s, if only barely. It was a subtle gesture, but as soon as they touched, Kirk’s feelings seemed to vanish behind Spock’s mental shields.

It took Troi a moment to catch up with what Spock was saying - “I came to the same conclusion that my skills were most needed among humans.”

“Yes, there is nowhere you are more needed than on a ship full of illogical humans,” Kirk teased.

Spock shot him an unreadable look.

“At dinner you said Vulcans have become too extreme in their pursuit of logic,” Troi remarked, inviting him to continue.

Spock inclined his head in acknowledgement. “They have forgotten that logic is only the beginning.”

“What would you say comes next, after logic?”

“Openness; acceptance of that which does not conform to our ideals. Vulcans have become closed-minded. They regard all who do not conform to their narrow definition of logic with derision. Centuries of alliance with Humans has not changed that, but there is an understanding between Vulcans and Romulans because of our common origin. The Romulans also have much to gain from reunification with Vulcan.”

“Good luck, Ambassador,” Troi said. Only belatedly did she notice how uncomfortable Kirk looked, though she still couldn’t sense any of his emotions.

“Thank you,” Spock said.

Troi hesitated. Very carefully, she said, “I understand that a lot has changed for both of you in a very short time. Uncertainty and some uneasiness are a normal part of the adjustment process. I just want to encourage both of you to communicate openly with each other in this difficult time. Sometimes, even for telepaths, it’s important to say things aloud.”

Kirk removed his hand from Spock’s and Troi was suddenly hit with a burst of turbulent emotion.

“Thank you, Counselor,” Kirk said, polite, but pointed. His smile did not match his feelings.

Before he could change the topic, Troi said, “It was good talking with both of you. I should probably be going.”

“It was good speaking with you as well,” Spock said and showed her out the door.

 Jim could feel Spock’s immovable determination, the will to do what needed to be done - his purpose in this new world Jim had found himself thrust into. It was dangerous, but as much as he dreaded losing Spock again, Jim had no right to get in his way and any attempt would be cruel as well as futile. But still, Jim was too stubborn to give up.

As the door closed behind Counselor Troi, Spock turned back toward Jim. They could both feel an argument brewing, boiling beneath the surface. They each knew everything the other would say long before they said it, but their feelings still threatened to burst out into the open. Maybe Troi was right, some things needed to be said aloud.

“If you’re going back to Romulus, I’m coming with you,” Jim said at last.

“It is too dangerous,” Spock attempted in vain. He sat back down next to Jim and fixed him with his most unyielding look.

“If it’s too dangerous for me to come, then it’s too dangerous for you to go alone!” Jim badly wanted to be able to make it an order and end it at that, but Spock hadn’t been his first officer for a long time and now Spock outranked him.

“It is not your fight.”

“Bullshit,” Jim snapped. “I haven’t come back from the dead just for you to die on Romulus!”

“I have no intention of dying.” Spock kept his voice steady even as he warred with Jim’s frantic emotions that were much stronger than anything he had experienced in his time alone.

“Then let me help!” You don’t have to be alone!

“It was because of me that you were sent to Rura Penthe. I will not allow you or anyone else to walk into danger on my account.”

“And I got you killed!” Jim cried. For an instant, Spock felt the full force of the anguish of the broken bond, though it rapidly subsided.

Spock rested a hand on Jim’s arm as a reminder of his presence, though he did not risk skin-to-skin contact. He looked Jim firmly in the eye. “The decision was mine.”

“And I decided to board the Klingon ship!” Jim retorted. “It was my fault we ended up in the situation in the first place; it was me Khan was after, I didn’t raise the shields fast enough, I should have gotten us out of there.” He pounded a fist on thin air in vehemence.

Spock tightened his grip on Jim’s arm. “You did nothing wrong.” He tried to impress the words on Jim’s mind, but he rejected them, sending a shudder through the bond. Spock shored up his shields and tried again with words alone, “I followed you willingly and would do so again. It was not your choice to meet with the Klingons, I forced the duty upon you even though I knew the risks.”

“You should have told me,” Jim acknowledged. “But you were right; it was the right thing to do, and maybe being forced to fight for the treaty did me some good. Anyway, you got us out of there in the end.”

“It was the least that I could do. You risked everything to return me to life and I did little to repay you.”

Jim gave him a searing look - Do you really believe that?

“I will not permit you to waste the remainder of your life in the catacombs of Romulus or imprisoned on Remus on my account,” Spock insisted.

“It’s not up to you,” Jim snapped. “If I can’t stop you, then you sure as hell can’t stop me.”

“Jim,” Spock attempted.

“You can’t keep me locked away on Earth, not while you’re out risking your life half-way across the galaxy.”

Jim could feel Spock warring within himself, torn between his mission on Romulus and the safety of his newly reawakened bondmate.

“Jim, I am unwilling to risk anyone’s life but my own,” Spock tried again. His tone was sharp, but internally, Jim could feel him pleading.

“Your life isn’t any less important!” Again, Spock saw himself pressed against the glass - out of reach - dying.

“Jim,” Spock said softly, but urgently.

Spock let his hand brush against Jim’s, conveying as much of his living presence as he could. Jim’s breathing steadied, though his fierce determination lingered in his eyes.

“I must meditate,” Spock said at last, withdrawing from the contact.

“Go ahead,” Jim said with a dismissive wave. He was disappointed, but not surprised. He conveyed his understanding clearly through the bond.

“Thank you,” Spock said, before retreating into the bedroom.

  When he was done meditating, Spock found Jim in the ship’s gym, standing off to the side with a towel slung over his bare shoulders. Jim’s breathing had returned to normal by the time Spock arrived, but Spock could see the sweat on his torso and feel his muscles aching from exertion.

“You will be sore tomorrow,” Spock remarked.

Jim smiled at him. “I know. That means I did it right.”

Spock raised his eyebrows in a silent argument, but did not debate him.

“After spending eighty years in stasis, I have to do something to get back in shape,” Jim said.

“Your muscles did not deteriorate while you were in the Nexus. Physiologically, you changed very little, as though you did not experience the passage of time.”

“I know,” Jim said with a touch of impatience. Spock seemed distant; their bond was still mostly shielded for meditation and his emotions were carefully restrained.

Spock rested a hand on Jim’s arm and attempted to convey some reassurance. “I may be able to ameliorate some of the discomfort.”

Jim glanced up at Spock to confirm that he really was suggesting what Jim thought he was. Spock nodded, and Jim smiled despite himself.

Jim tossed his towel in the laundry, pulled his shirt back on, and gestured for Spock to lead the way, back to their quarters.

Slowly, their bond reopened. Jim could feel some of Spock’s unease and guilt for having abandoned him to meditate. All of Jim’s human emotion had been too much for a Vulcan long accustomed to living alone. But, Spock insisted, that just meant he needed to reacclimate to it.

They arrived in their quarters and went straight to the bedroom. At Spock’s direction, Jim sat down on the edge of the bed and Spock positioned himself cross-legged behind him, as though to meditate.

First, Spock eased off Jim’s shirt, his fingers trailing gently behind, sending shivers down Jim’s spine. Then he got to work, rubbing circles in Jim’s shoulders. Slowly, his hands traveled down Jim’s back. The warmth of Spock’s hands against the human’s cold skin relaxed Jim’s aching muscles on its own. Well practiced, precise movements kneaded away the remainder of the tension.

Their minds came together with the steady rhythm, they seemed to move as one. There was comfort, warmth, reassurance, a familiar presence that had been absent for much too long. It soothed the crashing waves of Jim’s mind and vitalized Spock’s desert with lightning and rain.

I am here now, whatever would come in the future. And even if they were separated, their minds remained together; parted from me and never parted, never and always touching and touched. The familiar litany echoed between their minds, working its way through Spock’s hands into Jim’s back, to seep into his bones. Even his mind seemed to soften with the rhythmic motion, drawing them even closer together.

Relief surged through them in waves. They were no longer alone, their thoughts and emotions swirled together into one. It was peaceful and warm in the eye of the storm. Only there, were they whole.

Slowly, together Jim and Spock emerged. Jim leaned into Spock’s chest. Spock’s legs had unfolded to bring them closer, until their bodies were pressed together. His hands had left Jim’s back to splay across his face so his fingertips rested against Jim’s meld points. Spock’s chin leaned against Jim’s shoulder.

Spock felt a rush of embarrassment that he had initiated a meld through no independent conscious thought of his own.

Jim merely grinned in response and leaned even more heavily into Spock’s chest. Spock obliged and wrapped his arms around Jim’s torso, pulling him closer. A lick of illogical fear made him hesitant to let go.

You are not alone. The words echoed between their minds.

They stayed like that for a while longer, each soaking up the other’s presence. Even for Jim, it had been a long time since they’d been so close.

Spock silently apologized. He had intended to spend more time on Earth after their retirement, but he had gotten caught up in negotiations with the Klingons and he always assumed they would have plenty of time - not enough, but more.

“I wasn’t great company,” Jim admitted. Retirement had not been easy for him. Spock’s absence hadn’t helped, but even when Spock was there, he wasn’t happy.

Spock raised his eyebrows in disagreement. His regret was clear enough without words.

Jim turned around in Spock’s arms and kissed him on the lips. Sparks of gentle human affection scattered across Spock’s mind. His lips tingled with the soft, purposeful touch.

[keeroo92]

Hunger Ch4

@dmcvvitale @tehrevving Here’s part four! Other than hints of necrophilia and a quick murder, this came out surprisingly vanilla. Enjoy!

Word count - 4,048

Part 1 --- Part 2 --- Part 3

___________________________

The city was quiet, subdued in the darkness of night. Only bars and nightclubs remained open, all other businesses unlit and hidden behind protective grates. Old newspapers skittered across the pavement in the breeze, accompanied by the thumping bass from the warehouse across the street. The streetlights offered periodic refuges from the shadows, a place for his prey to feel safe.

She was anything but.

The vampire crouched on the lip of a brick building, watching her every move as she pulled her phone from her bag. He’d been waiting for her to leave the club for hours, keeping himself occupied with memories of you, but at last his prey was in sight. Slim fingers tapped at the screen and the foolish woman forgot to pay attention to her surroundings. A mistake she would not repeat.

He licked his lips, running his tongue over his razor-sharp fangs. Her scent was a pale imitation of yours, her flesh several shades too dark, but the same silent need emanated from her like a siren’s call. It would have to be enough.

He slithered down to street level, keeping to the shadows until he was ready to make his move. His prey remained clueless.

Fool.

He crept closer, waiting for the familiar thrill of the hunt to flood his senses. This was his purpose, as a predator. To hunt and feed and kill those unfortunate enough to be his prey. What a perfect example tonight’s prey was, in her revealing mini dress and heels. A night of fun and revelry, only to end in blood and death. All that she could’ve become, could’ve done with her life was his to take. His to ruin.

Yet he felt no excitement, no anticipation or lust. He was empty.

Bored.

He shook himself, trying to recapture the joy of hunting. What a masterpiece she would be, eyes glazed in death with her own blood splashed across her frozen limbs. She was a canvas, and he the painter. A statement of broken dreams and stolen possibilities, begging to be realized.

V sighed.

He didn’t care.

She was nothing, a boring and plain human. Her lack of attention made hunting her too easy, child’s play. It left so much to be desired, and he was nothing if not a creature of desire. Perhaps she’d scream, beg for her life? He did so enjoy it when his prey begged…

“Please, Master…”

The vampire smirked. Your begging was sweeter than all others. Just remembering the whine of your voice sent surges of need coursing through his veins, a flood of endorphins only you had the power to summon.

He needed to decide. Were you worthy? Would you truly be his equal, or would you fall short? You had yet to disappoint him, in all the months of lustful and hungry experimentations, but the possibility still echoed in his mind. What if he turned you and everything changed? What if you lost your appeal?

A sharp pang of hunger twisted his stomach; he needed to feed, pondering your future could wait.

He flitted into the light and covered his prey’s mouth, other arm tugging her into the darkness. She tried to scream, her throat vibrating in terror as her eyes darted around, but barely a whimper slipped past his tight fingers. The cheap plastic of her heels clicked on the pavement as she struggled, desperate to free herself.

Her panic did nothing for him. If anything, it felt like he was taking the trash out. A chore, dull and tedious. What once brought him immense joy and satisfaction now barely required his attention.

Unacceptable.

He shoved her against the wall and leaned in, taking a deep sniff. The aroma of blood was enough to pique his interest, but only just. It was maddening; where was the thrill? Where was the excitement, the overwhelming rush? What was wrong with him?

Frustration pooled in his belly and he growled. His fangs sank into her flesh with no mercy. The moment he once drew out as long as he could was now only a task to complete. The crimson gush was flavorful and satisfying, but it tasted muted. Like a watered-down soda, lacking the body and decadence of the past. He had to force himself to keep drinking.

Venom dripped onto his tongue and he forced it into her wound; he didn’t care enough to keep her mouth covered any longer. She reacted quickly, pressing her body against his and humming as he slurped. What a pathetic creature. So utterly inferior, his cock twitched out of habit alone.

“Fuck me, Master…”

He snarled. Even thinking of your voice caused more of a reaction than the mewling chaff he was feeding on. Images of you flooded his mind, sprawled out and drenched in blood and ropes of his cum with that blissful afterglow. No matter how he tried to focus on his prey, you refused to leave his thoughts.

So lovely, such a good pet…

His meal moaned and tried to grind against him, lost in the grip of his venom. She tugged at his clothing, clumsy fingers scraping on his shoulders. It annoyed him and he sank his fangs even deeper. The river of scarlet flowing into his mouth quickened and the girl keened, arching her neck to give him wider access. As if he needed permission.

The thudding beat of her heart was fading. Even the knowledge that she was almost spent did nothing for him and he bit deeper still in irritation, tasting cartilage and gristle. Her arms fell away to the sides and her head drooped, her weakness growing every second. The torrent slowed to a pathetic drip and he reluctantly held her up as the last dregs passed his lips.

The girl went limp and he pulled away, watching as her features froze. What a disappointing meal, barely adequate to quench his hunger. She was so ordinary, truly a dinner to forget. He frowned and lowered her to the ground before turning away, wiping his face clean.

As he headed home, he pondered his dilemma again. You were the only one who held his attention now, the only meal he craved and yearned for. If nothing else, the girl in the minidress proved that much.

Yet you would die, and he would be left to return to old habits. It wasn’t a matter of if, but when. While turning you wouldn’t eliminate the possibility of your death, it would halt the aging process. You would gain considerable strength and power and no longer be at risk for several common ailments.

He already knew you’d embrace the dietary changes, and the idea of sharing a meal with you sent lightning racing up his spine. You always looked so delightful with blood smeared on your skin. To see you feed would be marvelous; how enticing it was to picture you making your first kill, looking back to him with blood dribbling from your reddened lips. The possibilities were endless.

You’d be more than his pet; you would be his equal.

The only potential downside was he would lose his dominance, but perhaps you were worth it. Never had a human held his attention this long, nor had he ever considered turning someone. Throughout the centuries, he’d met numerous remarkable people, yet you stood alone above them all. Unique. Irreplaceable.

Worthy.

It’s time.

Within minutes, he arrived at your door and knocked. Your car sat in the parking lot and a dim glow of illuminated bulbs made it clear you were home. He shifted his weight and peered through the glass, spotting your approaching form with ease. He stepped back to make room for the door to open.

“V? What are you doing here?”

He raised an eyebrow and stared at you until you remembered to invite him inside. Easily his least favorite side effect of his condition. You led him to your living room and sat beside him on the small couch, angling your body to see him better. The tasteful pajama set you wore brought a smirk to his lips.

“I have a proposal for you,” he began.

You leaned back, a startled look on your lovely features. “Uh, what?”

“You enjoy our time together, yes?”

He had to choose his words carefully. It shocked him to find how nervous he was, butterflies in his gut and palms clammy. He wanted this, more than he’d known. To have a companion, someone to soothe the loneliness of his existence, to share in his hunts and meals… and you were perfect for it, already acclimated to his needs and discovering your own. Though it was obvious to him how perfect a sanguisuge you’d be, convincing you would take some effort. He couldn’t afford to miscommunicate.

“Of course! Isn’t it obvious?” you replied with a light blush.

He smirked. “Indeed. But have you considered the long-term aspects?”

“What do you mean?”

He rested a palm on your knee, tattooed fingers rubbing circles in your flesh. The next few minutes would change everything, for better or worse.

“You are human, I am vampire. You will age and die, yet I will not.”

He stared deep into your eyes, letting his earnestness shine through. It wasn’t easy. He hated being vulnerable and to do so made his skin crawl. He was a predator; never should he feel so exposed.

He swallowed. “I can change that.”

The spike in your pulse was audible, going from a normal rhythm to a pace that would alarm anyone in the medical field. Your eyes went wide and you stiffened, frozen like a deer in headlights. He didn’t speak, letting you process his offer before explaining any minutiae.

“You mean… you can make me a… a vampire?”

He nodded. You stood and began pacing, arms crossed and brow furrowed in thought. It was a good sign that you didn’t dismiss him outright, yet as you turned around for the fifth time he grew annoyed. Surely you had questions? Why didn’t you speak? He licked his lips.

“I do not make this offer lightly.”

You hummed in acknowledgement but kept pacing. The vampire sighed and leaned back to wait, rubbing his temples to ease the first twinges of a headache. Another ten minutes passed before you broke your stride and came back to the couch with a sigh.

“I don’t know. Don’t get me wrong, I’m interested. But there’s so much you haven’t told me about what you are.”

He nearly growled. He was offering you the gift of eternity, and you didn’t know? Perhaps he’d overestimated you after all. “What do you want to know?”

You brought your legs up and turned to face him fully, cross-legged like a child. Glimmers of curiosity and excitement shimmered in your eyes as the questions poured out. “Can you die? I mean, are we talking total immortality or just invulnerability to certain things? How old are you? What’s the best thing about being a vampire?”

He smirked. Where to begin…

“I am three-hundred twenty-six years old. Quite young, for my kind. Barring an accident or a rare illness, I will live forever.”

He paused. What was the best thing about being this way? It wasn’t something he’d thought about before. There was the power, of course. The heightened senses. Longevity. Supremacy over all.

But the best part?

Freedom.

He met your eyes again with sparkling eyes. “The best thing about it is the freedom. Not a soul can command me, and I have all the time in the world to achieve whatever I wish. I never feel rushed, as I did before.”

He fell silent, waiting for the next round of questions. Perhaps he should’ve told you more before now but sharing his secrets did not come naturally to him. With an internal groan he scolded himself, struggling to remain patient instead of tackling you and turning you right then and there, just to get it done.

Three hours passed before you ran out of questions and fell silent, considering all he told you. Again he stifled the urge to take what he wanted and turn you, but he knew from personal experience how toxic an unwilling change could be. If he was going to have you for eternity, he couldn’t afford to start off by forcing you into it.

Don’t think of her as something to hunt, think of her as a comrade.

It was odd to realize how differently he saw you now. No longer were you just prey, or a pet to be used whenever he pleased. Weak as your body was, your mind was formidable. How else had you survived his attentions without breaking? Not to mention you kept coming back for more.

“I… I’ll do it,” you said, breaking his thoughts.

The vampire’s lips stretched into a feral grin. You were so perfect, why had he ever doubted you?

“Lie down, then.”

Your eyes widened. “Here? Now?”

“Why wait, pet? Are you going to change your mind?”

You glared at him and crossed your arms. Even petulance looked lovely on you and he smirked as you stammered a comeback, already scooting into a prone position.

“No way!”

He barked out a laugh and crouched, brushing your hair aside and dropping his fangs with a click. A glance at your eyes showed him how sure you were and he hummed in approval, lowering his mouth to your neck.

“Wait!”

He leaned back with a quizzical look. Your hands were at your belt, pulling away the denim with a bit lip and tinted cheeks.

“Can you do it while we’re… um…”

He smirked, a knowing twinkle in his gaze. “Yes, but why?”

Your flush deepened and you looked away, unable to hold his stare as you answered. “I… I want my last moments as a human to be… with you inside me.”

Truly, you were a delight. Such a perfect complement to his perversions, it sometimes seemed as though you read his mind.

He trailed his fingertips down your stomach, dipping under your top to caress the soft skin and leave goosebumps behind. Blood flooded his cock and he leaned down to kiss you, a rare treat for your honesty. Your lips opened to his without preamble and he flicked his tongue forward, teasing you.

He pulled away to tear off his clothes, impatient to feel you around him again. What would it feel like, when you changed? Would you massage him or go limp? If he timed it right, maybe you’d change mid-orgasm.

He smirked.

Your fingers stroked his naked thigh and he refocused his attention; you had undressed while he was distracted and already had yourself on display for him. Such a good girl.

He grabbed his belt and used it to tie your wrists over your head, draping them over the armrest. You whimpered at the sight of his hardened length and he arched his hips forward, allowing you to taste him. Your lips looked so lovely, wrapped around his cock.

He fisted your hair and forced your head into the right angle, rolling his hips faster and deeper as you started choking.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

You moaned, the vibrations echoing up to his balls as you opened your eyes and met his gaze. What a vision. He rolled forward again, tilting your head so he hit the back of your throat with a muttered curse. The things you were doing with your tongue had him panting, reeling at the glorious wet heat. The resistance of your gagging was bliss, knowing how easily he could force his cock further despite your body’s revolt.

“Good girl,” he sighed.

When he felt his peak approaching, he jerked your head with such force it felt like he was taking you from behind. Your neck was straining to take him, muscles spasming as tears leaked from your still open eyes. He knew you couldn’t take much more and pulled away, using his hands to stroke his saliva-covered length into ecstasy.

You were still gasping for air as he climaxed with a deep groan, hot ropes shooting into your open mouth and across your face. The gooey white mess complimented your skin perfectly and he shot the last few strands across your collarbone to drip onto your breasts as you swallowed.

But he was only getting started.

He climbed onto the couch and lowered his hips to meet yours, his still hard cock coming to rest against your folds. With a subtle motion he had his head teasing your clit and you whined, begging him to send you over the edge as your arms reached up to scrape at his patterned sides. His earlier recollections of your pleading were nothing compared to the music of your cries.

Just this once, he did as you asked, bringing you to a shuddering climax just as he sheathed himself. It always felt incredible to be inside you, but to have the very first thrust feature your quivering walls was sinfully decadent. You massaged him well, like you were made for him. Arcs of lightning danced across his nerves. Fire trailed after your nails as you clawed at him, red trails mixing with the black of his tattoos. He leaned down and rested his weight on one arm, using the other to rub at the bundle of nerves between your legs.

“Are you ready?” he asked, popping his fangs with a sharp click.

You nodded, determination coloring your eyes alongside the arousal.

He slammed into you as his teeth descended onto your sternum, right over your heart. The blood that flooded his mouth tasted like honey and strawberries, so much more delicious than his earlier meal. He suckled as his hand drew lazy circles around your sensitive core, his cock still plunging deep inside and making you curse between moans.

He gorged himself, slurping away until he knew you were almost dry. Years of practice made it easy to know the exact moment to strike. Your arms fell away to rest by your hips, even the flush on your cheeks muted from blood loss.

As the flow slowed, he increased his pace and dripped a dose of venom in your system. The last few beats of your dying heart were thunderous as you clenched around him and wailed, hands twitching feebly as if you wanted to touch him but lacked the strength.

Three seconds after your heart stopped, he bit deeply into his cheek and laved his own blood over your wound. His hips slowed as you went completely limp, internal muscles sagging around his length. For a few seconds, he couldn’t help but worry he’d done something wrong. What if it didn’t work, what if he killed you?

Come on, come on!

He gave you more of his blood, siphoning off every drop that leaked from his cheek. How long did this normally take? To lose too much of his own blood was unacceptable, but how much did he have to spare?

I should’ve called Michael before attempting this.

But then he felt it.

A single thud under his lips.

He stopped breathing and focused. Another thud.

Then another, and another. A steady rhythm; you were coming back.

---Reader---

The first thing you noticed was sound. A wet slap, panting breath and creaking furniture. A delicate hum in the background, electricity flowing through the walls. You heard the wind outside, the flies in the next room buzzing over the fruit bowl. Everything, all at once.

For a single heartbeat, it was too much. An overwhelming storm of noise, too much for your mind to comprehend.

Then V spoke.

“Keep your eyes closed for now,” he murmured. “You’ll get used to it.”

Every fiber of the couch beneath you was a copper wire, scraping at your sensitive skin. Flames of arousal licked at every inch of your skin, begging for his attention and release. His weight hovering over you was like the sun itself as he rolled his hips. Your nerves sang a heady opera at his touch, howling glorious ecstasy to the skies as you instantly shattered. The slick fluid leaking from your body tingled on your skin, the white lines on your face and chest radioactive in their intensity.

Holy fuck!

You keened his name, wrapping your trembling arms around his body and pulling him closer. All you wanted was more contact, more stimuli, more, more, more. Every ridge of his length inside you was so detailed you could’ve drawn it with your eyes closed. The hairs on your arms stood on end as waves of energy pulsed through you, a torrent of wanton delight. You arched your hips and met his pounding thrusts and felt your ass reverberate with each slam.

The sweat on his skin and yours, the taste of his breath and the scent of the air freshener in the next room left your nostrils twitching, hungry for more input. The dishes in the sink, musty rain on its way, plastic and cotton. You smelled everything.

I need to see, need to look at his face.

You opened your eyes slowly, a millimeter at a time. Dim outlines of V’s body and the couch seared into your mind, the light so bright you wondered if you’d go blind. You waited for what felt like years as your eyes adjusted, instantly staring at the vampire above you in awe.

His skin was breathtaking, alabaster streaked with onyx. The planes of his shoulders dipped and shifted as he brushed the damp strands out of his eyes, and his eyes…

Shades of emerald and jade mixed together in filaments, a line of hazel here and there. A ring of dark pine surrounded his pupils, a frame for the mesmerizing gaze half-hidden by dark eyelashes. It was like you’d never seen him before, so many facets and details never even hinted at with human senses.

You knew you were staring, but you didn’t care. Every inch of his flesh was brand new, smooth and sculpted and beautiful.

He looks like a Greek sculpture come to life…

Fangs popped out of your canines, piercing your lower lip in a flash of sweet agony. He grinned down at you and twitched to scrape at your walls, tapping at your cervix. It was too much and you crested again, gripping him with all your new strength as pleasure rolled through you. You cursed and went rigid, turning to ash and basking in the scorching light. His hips stuttered against yours, following you into paradise and making a deliciously lewd noise as he spewed his seed deep in your body.

His grunts were a beacon and you smirked as you reached out to pull his shoulder to your lips, sinking your new toys deep into his flesh and getting a taste of his blood. He threw his head back and hissed as the fluid filled your mouth, the flavor so much more intricate than ever before. It was a fine wine, notes of cinnamon and something you couldn’t identify that fit him perfectly blended together.

“Not too much, pet. Wouldn’t you rather go hunting?”

Hunting. Right. You struggled to focus through the euphoric haze clouding your mind, releasing his shoulder and lying back on the rough couch. Your nerves were jangling, exhausted and energized by everything they’d endured so far. A deep ache of hunger tugged at you, demanding satisfaction. You licked your lips, savoring the last taste of V’s blood.

“Yes, please…”

He pulled out with a wet shlorp, smirking at you as he stood. A smear of red decorated his shoulder where you marked him and your hunger howled for more. Only the knowledge that his blood would do nothing to ease the gnawing emptiness kept you from pouncing.

“Get dressed, then.”

You pouted and fought your way to vertical, legs trembling as fluid leaked from your core. When you looked down to find your clothes you smiled as you spotted the two black dots over your heart, a mark of your new existence. It was a thrill to know you had eternity to spend with your vampire. Forever to dwell in bliss and euphoria, time to explore all the possibilities.

Your hunger screamed for a meal.

First things first.

Time to hunt.

Part Five

[rickonwrites]

Tabris x Ser Perth 

He expressed respect and courtesy regarding how to address elves. The warden and her group spend the night in Redcliffe preparing for the battle, and with the shadow of death; grave and morbid, hanging over them all an unexpected human seeks comfort in her stoic strength and perhaps, gives her reason to reconsider the worth of shem. He is religious, noble and unfailingly polite.

-

“It is decided then. We will stay the night and help the town prepare for the coming battle.” Tabris paused to look every member of her motley crew in the eye. A stern gaze that brooked no argument, the set of her shoulders firm and determined there was no bartering with their fearless leader.

She lingered the longest, and rather tellingly, on Morrigan. Dark grey, almost black irises locking in with wickedly golden ones. After a beat, the witch huffed and shrugged. “”Tis your death wish, I suppose. Be not fooled that I should not transform myself into a bat and leave the moment things turn dire.”

Tabris grinned, a slight crinkle of lips. “It won’t. We will live, and we will win. Have some more faith in me, Morrigan.”

“After all, what’s a village full of undead compared to the Archdemon hey?” Alistair quirked, shrugging off the moue of disgust the witch threw his way with evident satisfaction.

“I for one look forward to spending a night behind a nice, locked gate, for once.” Leliana proclaims, to a chorus of mixed opinion. “No more having to keep watch and huddle pathetically by the fire!”

“Aye, and to wake with a blade in our faces!” Ogrin said, causing the party to shake their heads and begin preparations. Anyone else and the comment could have been ambiguously construed as sarcasm, but the dwarf’s bloodlust was without parallel.

Tabris could only inwardly smile, hiding her amusement. It would not do to show levity now when she needed to be the decisive, clear-headed leader. She hadn’t expected half the party to voice dissent when she first proposed they stay to help Redcliffe. Morrigan was no surprise, and to a certain extent neither was Sten. But even Zevran had deigned to comment on her becoming soft for a shemlen cause. There was the Blight to consider, and the need to recruit forces. She had thought the decision to be obvious.

But perhaps, she conceded, distractedly nodding in greeting to a passing soldier, there was some wisdom in their concerns. The conclusion seemed already foregone. A poisoned Arl, a wave of undead to plague the village, and only a handful of barely disciplined local militia. Half the town seemed to have already packed up and left, and the few who chose to stay were hiding in the Chantry, praying for salvation in the form of a shapeless, incorporeal deity. Not only that, but should they somehow achieve the impossible and rescue the town there yet lay a darker mystery in the castle itself. A mystery that had the elf’s nose twitching, as if she could already scent the dark magics involved.

Tabris sighed, subconsciously resting her palm against the worn pommel of her blade. And yet she could just as little deny the truth behind the benefits of defending the village. The ever looming if - if they won, if they survived, if they secured Redcliffe as an ally and gathered enough force - would not be so easily dispelled by the mere chance that they could die in the attempt.

Alistair was right, she thought, as her step ascended the wooden stair of the Chantry’s entrance. How could any of them fathom defeating the Archdemon and its hordes of darkspawn if they could not even handle this?

Knots of displaced villagers stilled in an expectant hush as she nudged the heavy, oak doors open. She spared them little more than a cursory glance before she strode forward purposefully to the red-haired man waiting down the long, dim hall.

“These are the people that move your heart to take up sword in their defense?” Morrigan's snide, but softly uttered quip reached her pointed ear.

Tabris did not glance back to shoot her companion a cautioning glance as much as she wished to, though she did lift a shoulder in resignation. “You know were I in their place I would not hesitate to defend my Alienage,” she replies after some thought, keeping her voice low. “It’s why I am here after all. And so you should also expect my mind to be of yours, Morrigan. However, yon bronze-haired buffoon is correct. Our need for reinforcements is too pressing, I would not pass any opportunity to gain allies however few or beleaguered they may be.”

“And risk our lives in the process? Whilst I am no frightened filly to shy away from battle, I am also not so fool as to knowingly join a battle with such odds stacked against us.”

She could feel Morrigan’s piercing gaze at the back of her neck, the woman’s disapproval palpable. Tabris took a moment to look around her, taking in the sight of mothers and children huddling in corners and meeting their wide, baleful eyes with a directness she never thought she could employ amongst humans. My, how far she had come.

“Whatever happens on the morrow, there is no questioning that the Archdemon that lies heart to our quest shall be a thousand-fold worse. Think of this as ripe opportunity to test ourselves and those we call our companions, and judge well before it is too late to turn into a bat and fly off with tail tucked between your legs whether an encounter with the Archdemon is something we may yet survive. If your spells cannot smite a walking bag of bones, then you’ve joined our quest merely to die.”  

There was a terse pause, until finally Morrigan’s conceding grunt was as much indication that the elf’s infamous gift of coercion had worked its intended effect. Satisfied that she would get no more protestations from the witch, Tabris braced herself to deal with her next hurdle.

“Bann Teagan,” she greeted him, choosing not to bow as she felt Alistair fold himself beside her.

The man barely batted an eyelid, gazing at her with open curiosity and, painfully obvious, hope. “Grey Warden, I hope you’ve not returned to tell me you’ve changed your mind?” His voice was light. Lighter than she knew he felt inside. What he clearly intended to be a friendly jest was transparently a poor attempt at concealing his fears, as his voice audibly trembled on the last vowel.

Tabris had no patience for courtesies and gentle rejection. She shook her head adamantly, “No. We stay. We will help you fight - or die in the fucking effort.”

Teagan stilled for a moment before his shoulders went slack, the corners of his lips lifting in an easy and relieved grin. He lifted a pale, lily-white hand to tousle his head of red locks. An oddly boyish gesture for someone of the noblesse. “Thank the Maker! The way you were striding in here I thought you looked far too grim to be delivering good news.”

“The only good news we need to hear is at the end of this battle, when we defeat your enemies.”

He nodded, in easy agreement. “Yes, yes. But with you in the mix I’ve no doubt our chances have increased tenfold. Do not think me a stranger to the legendary tales of the strength and cunning of the Grey Wardens. I am indebted to you my lady. You may count the fiefdom of Redcliffe an ally!” He was delighted, and without a second thought reached out and squeezed her gloved hands; his large hands covering hers neatly. Tabris concealed the jolt of surprise the unexpected gesture elicited and forced her fingers from their instinctive descent toward her dagger’s pommel. Humans were so sentimental sometimes.

Gently extricating herself from his grip, she inclined her head in acknowledgement of his praise. “As I said, such words of debt and gratitude are best left until battle’s end. You speak too soon, ser.”

“She is right,” a new voice, baritone and earthy, joined them. “We’ve still much to do to prepare for the upcoming battle.”

From the corner of her eye Tabris noted the Knight Commander approaching from the Holy Mother*’s chamber. She winced inwardly. She’d not be in favour with the old hag after she had refused the offer of a blessing. Words and goodwill were at the bottom of the list of things needed to win. Tabris was too practical to engage in such pretensions. She knew what needed to be done, and she would bear the cost of it with eyes wide open - not with some incorporeal promise from a deity not of her own people’s.

Ser Perth joined them, a slight sheen of sweat at his temple. He glanced at her appraisingly, an impressed grin tugging at the corner of his lip.

“Fresh from a bit of prayer?” She asked, actually expecting it to be so though her tone gave off the impression of levity.

He inclined his head, brunette locks rustling in the process. He seemed just as undone as Teagan. “Just finished collecting the last of the charms her Holiness blessed for my men and I. I must thank you again for convincing her to do such a kindness for us. Morale amongst the other knights really has seen improvement.”

Tabris inclined her head smoothly in acknowledgement, expertly hiding her thoughts on the matter. Unfortunately, she needn’t have bothered. Zevran spoke up in poor attempt at an undertone, as if lending voice to her very thoughts, “For a blooded, sword-wielding, grown man you are awfully naive if you think a small trinket like that will keep you from a darkspawn’s blade in your back.”

He shot his fearless leader a quick, sneaky little grin - the barest twitch of his lips - before keeping his attention on Ser Perth’s response. It took all her will not to roll her eyes at the assassin. Chastising words would be had. She silently promised him that much.

“You are the Antivan assassin, yes?” When the knight spoke, his voice held none of the obtuseness Tabris had anticipated, especially in one of his ilk.

Zevran inclined his head, corners of his lips drawn in amuse anticipation. “I see my reputation precedes me.”

“I’ve been to Antiva - only once, and only very briefly. But I’ve been there all the same. For all that the Antivan Crows were just another organization run by just another group of deadly men - of which you and I know, there are plenty in the world - talk of them would have you believe them akin to gods. Do you think this so, assassin?”

“We have never called ourselves as gods, and have always declared ourselves as the Crows that we are. Though the comparison is somewhat flattering, yes.”

** TBC **

[greyred]

3x3

Three appointments in three days. 

That’s how restoration begun. 

I was pretty down mentally and physically when I wrote my last entry. But I guess you gotta hit the bottom to start all over again. Life is like a funny computer game. I remember when I was a kiddo and loved playing Tetris, when levels got too easy, I would smash the blocks to bottom randomly before fixing them up, so the game would be more interesting, would give more tension, resistance. Thrill. My whole life have been seeking for thrills. Subconsciously. And now I don’t know any better. As with past weeks I managed to get my life back on track I also ended up picking up a new hobby that is definitely thrilling and highly dangerous. I’ve been past weeks sober, in order to balance my body and mind, but my soul has still life on it’s own. And now it feeds on speed and cars. Don’t get me wrong! I’m not talking about drugs! I’m back in zero-tolerance again as I’ve always been. I’m talking about speed that you can reach with driving a machine, an automobile. New friends, new hobbies. Right now there is nothing more thrilling than driving 200 km/h while being totally sober and feeling like you will have a heart attack any second. Or you will literally crash and be dead. Heh.. lucky i’m somewhat suicidal, so I don’t really care. But on those little seconds when you think ‘Oh MY God We gonna crash!’ in that small break in a second - I feel like I do want to live after all. Because the danger of death is as close to touch, it becomes a very real thing. And something you can not really control. Depends on a way you decide to take your own life you still have a backing up time. But not at a highway! And that pure sober adrenaline that I have been enjoying lately have oddly given me back a will to live.

Now going back on those 3x3 days when all this started. The satisfaction of accomplishment is one of the best depression cures. It’s not the pills (medication for depression like AD’s) that cure you, it’s your actions. It’s not how medicated zombie you are, it’s what you do with your time all in all. That’s why I don’t believe in pills. Essentially they’re just legal drugs. I believe in therapy. Fresh, powerful, motivating ideas and ways how to accomplish tasks in your life. Or how to simply enjoy little pleasures. It all starts from little things, you get up and do one, just one thing in your house that you have been postponing. The satisfaction will give you motivation to do more. It will come by it’s own. You just gotta give it a little push at first, to get the ball rolling. Eventually you get “high” on completing different obstacles that at first seemed impossible. First you get things done, secondly you boost up your mood and confidence and in the end you feel proud, guilt-free. Accomplishments. 

Sounds easy to say, right ? Let me tell you how I got my ball rolling. I knew I had appointments and responsibilities to follow, so I pulled my big-boy pants up and got myself outside. The scary outside, with people and places. Three places to be in one day, three days to follow. Everything on time. I executed them well, until it was an hour to meet a temporary social worker for my boring but important paperwork. Let’s say, sometimes you don’t click with another human being. And that’s that. This happens and it’s nothing to worry about. We don’t have to click with everyone. I think she might have lacked of social skills, because I got two panic attacks in her office, first one i dodged, the second one was unavoidable, so I had to leave the building at once. On my way back to home, counting minutes in metro, I got somehow frustrated about that unfortunate situation. I had still 2 appointment to follow after that one but I was fleeing home like a coward. Yes the understandable side of me accepted it. This happens, nothing to be anguished about, you can continue next day if needed. But I got frustrated because I felt like one unfortunate person in my day had ruined not only my mood but also my plans. And I love my plans. I love making lists, and following them strictly. How could I get the “high” of accomplishment if I will just let this happen and run away? As the metro drove in direction to home I suddenly got up and walked out. Not at my home stop. At the stop where was going to happen my next task. I was too mad to give up. I was rebelling! Rebelling against my own panic attack. Took all that anger and converted it into energy. Pure energy. Despite of awful weather, despite of panic attack and public & social anxiety, I was just a raw power that decided not to run, but fight back. And that’s how I accomplished the rest of the tasks. I did them one by one. I could have turned back to home any time I wanted, but I didn’t. With every step further, I gained more power. I was playing that life’s Computer Game with fury.

And in the end of the day I was yet again - proud of myself. It was all worth it. Perhaps that unpleasant person was a good thing after all. I try to find something good in bad moments. It sure was an efficient exercise served by life itself. And yes, there will be bad days where you don’t really feel like going anywhere and that’s fine too. But also there will be better days when you will have the strength to impress not only people around you but the most importantly - Yourself. One is sure, nothing will happen when you sit at home surrounded with your own haunting, overthinking demons. The most hardest thing to do with depression is going out, the most effective cure for depression is going out. I know the feeling of controversy. Yet.. No one will do and live your life other than yourself! Always, remember that.

What comes to my social life. If anyone can handle my sharp ups-and-downs right now being besides me then the Marine seem to be progressing in that area. Which is quite refreshing. I’m very used to the fact that it takes a few months for one to grow to know each other until you can see a person behind the mask. And I sure am one hard candy! Yet without words I feel how he really tries to understand me. We don’t have to talk about every little perspective and detail and a tail of the thought and idea as I’ve had to do in the past. It’s like a mutual understanding of each other. That’s something you can share only with a person who have seen life more than a regular bloke. Been in a long relationship as well. I’m glad he has kids from past relationship, because I sure will not reproduce. And I’m entirely aware that one day I still might fcuk this thing up. But I no longer live in the shadow of fear of that. I love the way how easy he makes everything. We just are. No restricting specific boundaries. All that corny nonsense that you have been copy-pasting from one person to another and in your brain you know it’s going to lead to nowhere. I am taking this one differently. Am lucky and grateful with a reasonable and understanding companionship. And enjoying while it lasts. And if one day shall be the last day, then that will be enjoyed in it’s full as well! 

You learn from mistakes. We all do. We educate ourselves with experiences and situations, with people and time. As we grow older we learn how to adapt and overcome. And the number of mistakes, which should rather be called lessons of life, varies from a person to person. We are all different. And that is okay. You should not race your life achievements with no one else than yourself. People in your life come and go, yearning for past will only do harm. Sometimes people come and stay, sometimes they leave, sometimes they are not worth of your time and energy. For instance I tried to stay friends with ex-bf, Sancho. I usually manage to break up in good terms. But sometimes it’s simply impossible. How ever tolerable I was with his quirks, he still managed to go full-psycho on me in the end and made it simply impossible to keep any communication in future. Sometimes I have to make a hard decision and just delete person from my life. As I have done it before. He played his cards himself, no one else to blame. And it’s not just that, it’s with everyone in your life. It’s acknowledging that your time and your energy is the highest value you own. And using and directing it in useful ways. My psychologist told me - I should be more selfish and learn how to say ‘No’. As I’m disastrously selfless when it comes to sharing my time with people. Sometimes I would promise to meet someone, or go somewhere just because I didn’t know how to refuse. And later suffer in all of my politeness. I think I’m getting better in not consenting the vibe. We should all be more selfish with our time. Only so little to spend in this chaotic planet. Shouldn’t we aim for complacency. And yet still be motivated to desire for more, progress, move on. Yet not to forget to stop time to time and feel and enjoy the achievements and little beautiful moments. For the life is never done, it’s never complete. It will keep on going with it’s beautiful chaotic ups-and-downs as it did before us and as it shall continue after us. Just like people come and go in your life, it’s just the same with the whole existence.

There’s miles to pass and I’m not in a hurry. Life changes in every second and for me personally it have been rich in colors, abundant in experiences, I’m curious where it will take me. And I’m happy to share my observations with my readers. 

I am once again in the verge of change. If that already hasn’t happened. I believe I have given a good push for this ball to start rolling. And I’m keen to pursue. The change comes when you want it for yourself because of yourself. I believe that is the most effective way. If you wish to change for someone else, then no matter how long you play this game - you will always be dependent of that person’s presence. Like I was once dependent of my ex-husband for so many years. Now after all those battles with life and myself I feel I have never been more independent like now. I’m able to fill my own tasks. And need no one to hold my hand. In past half year especially I have changed a lot, or maybe I should say - grown a lot. I am more selfish. And I will not drag anyone with me, nor shall i hitchhike on someone’s else’s back. I am what I am today. And tally with people and surroundings that make me feel home. That doesn’t mean one couldn’t obtain inspirations from other rooms. That is called healthy development, yes I just made up a new statement and agree with that thought of mine. I reflect and write about my own beliefs and views. I recognize and respect that people have different ways to create and cope. This right here is mine. 

--

Last night I saw a vivid dream that I saved the world. In this real life here, one should start with oneself. 

This time it started with 3 x 3 days. And have ever since multiplied. We’ll go up and down, and up and down. And heed every moment.