Marinette was no Empath. Sure, she had a lot of empathy, but she couldn't actually feel other people's emotions. She could make people around her feel comfortable. Boundless Compassion. Warm and Full. Like cookies on a Christmas morning. Calm and Collected. But that wasn't because she sent out her own emotions to them. It was something about her that could lit up a room. She was adored by all. Complete opposite of him who had the empathy of a steam roller.
Gabriel Agreste was an Empath. He could feel other people's emotions and could send out his own. Intimidating people, manipulating people. Ever since he put on the butterfly brooch, ever since he became Hawkmoth. Contrary to Paris' beliefs, he did feel every single one of their emotions. He just chose to ignore the majority of them and pried only on the negative ones. After all they benefited his goal the most.
Anger. Disgust. Fear. Sadness.
These were the four main emotions of the human species he currently valued the most. After all there was too much uncertainty to counter with- let’s see- love or happiness.
He didn't anticipate it.
She was only an intern, just graduated from university. Adrien was delighted to see his former classmate again. Gabriel remembered her too. Not for the competitions she won. He reviewed thousands of files every day. She was just another file, another possible new intern. Nothing and no one ever stood out, but...
“Tell me about this one, Nathalie.“
His assistant went over the usual. He remembered her as the classmate he never akumatized. He shouldn't, but it seemed he was more of a collector than he thought. It was no secret that he was a perfectionist. Not akumatizing her, despite it leaving a tiny hint to his identity, it wasn't his style to leave unfinished business. Then again, the fashion industry was big, and so far no one had seen a pattern in his akumatizations. His staff members coughed awkwardly as he formed a plan. They never interrupted him, but he knew they talked behind his back about the times he was in ‘the zone'. He could tell that they were scared of the look of determination in his eyes.
“I'd like this girl to be on my new project.“
It was a six-months internship. He made sure not to let her see his son or even touch a sewing machine in the first few weeks, feeling her disappointment trailing behind him and Nathalie, taking notes or bringing coffee. He easily ignored Adrien's yapping. He wanted to start slower on his new project. Wearing her down wasn't an easy task. She was positive by nature. There were times he thought he found her facade cracking, only for someone (he suspected Adrien or her mother) to give her the ‘enjoy the experience’- speech. And then that honest smile returned, making him grind his teeth and reward her with more dull work and running errands.
He was starting to suspect she was a telepath or something with all the times she found ‘that paper he ‘misplaced’ from yesterday’ or ‘booking that table at that store he visited a few months ago’ or ‘making dinner reservations at that restaurant Jagged Stone likes so much for their next meeting’. However, it did make him smile just a little bit whenever she smuggled in extra coffee for him. Something Nathalie never would’ve done as she reprimands him to reduce his caffeine consume. Miss Heartless didn’t exactly take pity on him when it came to the side effects of his miraculous. At least she turned up the heating so he wouldn’t fall into hibernation and if anyone asked she'd explain it with her own condition. Marinette seemed to sense whenever he really needed another cup.
“Here,” she said as she handed him another cup carefully.
“I didn’t ask for one.”
“You work a lot harder now that the holidays are around the corner and looked like you really needed it.”
That explanation was as good as any other. And he was dead tired.
Serendipity could be a double-edged sword, as he learned from his former victims. Coincidence wasn't always his best ally. It teamed up with the shallowness of the business. One of the models commented on her appearance.
“If only you'd been a little taller. You would be a rising star on the catwalks at Gabriel,“ said Monique.
Marinette blushed at that and replied how she could never change her career. Fashion was in her heart. He studied her physical attributes for a while.
“Mlle. Dupain-Cheng, you are aware that you are to be my personal assistant when Nathalie takes her maternity leave?“
She wasn't. He hadn't even thought about a replacement yet. He quickly ignored the raised brows of the soon-to-be mother next to him. Marinette, caught of guard, jumped.
“You are not just an intern. As my assistant, your looks should reflect that. Your wardrobe is too college for our boardroom. It's hideous. Get changed.“
She lowered her eyes at this and nodded.
“Yes Sir, I understand.“
The models around them snickered as she ran away, blushing furiously. His eyes followed her every move.
His plan had backfired. In the next two days she went through fittings and measurements, changed her make-up and hairstyle. Again and again until Nathalie pronounced it passable. She looked good and she felt good. Even managed to sneak in, keep the Marinette style through accessories. He did not comment on her efforts. But he could feel how happy his ‘appreciation’ made her which left him fuming. He felt like jumping behind a bush the next time he felt just a glimmer of incensement coming from her just to be done with it. Also, he was getting sick of his secretary's sneering whenever he came running out of his lair.
Instead of a bush, he hid behind a column in the following scene. Her unease almost made him trip into it. They were working on women’s sleepwear and robes. A photographer he'd never seen before tried tricking her into being an extra. It could have been his chance to change her.
“It's the fashion industry. Do you wanna work here or not? Get used to naked bodies and full changing rooms.”
When it looked like she contemplated to strip naked, Gabriel stepped in and threw a robe in her face. Not too hard, he told himself.
“That should suffice to understand how these fabrics feel on you. No matter how expensive they are, if the fabric drapes or moves wrong on the person, they are rubbish.”
She fumbled with the cloak while searching through her pockets for her notebook at the same time. Her face was so red as she gathered the cloth so it wouldn't land on the floor. She rubbed it against the soft material soothingly.
“Do you see what I mean?”
She nodded her head and finally took some notes as a staff member took pity on her and removed the robe from her arms. Her pen ran over the paper as he continued to comment on their products. For someone who wasn't a stenographer, her pacing was admirable.
“Your make-up is a mess. Go downstairs and redo it.”
He fired that incompetent photographer after he had dismissed her like that. Staffers that didn't know how to interact properly in this business served no purpose. He would have someone else to write a review with Marinette’s notes. She seemed to be shaken enough to finally make a move.
He yawned in his lair as he sent out the akuma. It was always so warm up there he just wanted to take a nap. He almost regretted not furnishing the attic but then he’d have probably never left. He wondered if this was what rheumatism would be like as he reluctantly left and the pain in his extremities returned.
Without checking who he ended up akumatizing he went back to work. It never returned to him. Who knows maybe it multiplied like Stoneheart or the poor thing froze to death. It was hard to tell now that he had’t talked to his victim like he usually did. And there was no news evidence. He knew it didn't infect Marinette as she came back the next day, neat as a pin.
Marinette continued to be herself even though she wore their clothes now, got used to their business routines. Everyone was impressed by her progress and abilities. And he was running out of time.
They were planning a gala. He saw her walking into Adrien's office with a dress she designed for the occasion. (His son never closed his door.) He could hear her asking for his opinion. Adrien walked around her, looking approvingly.
“Try to keep your shoulders back and uptight. You are proud of your work, right?”
“I was talking about the dress, Adrien!” she giggled and pointed to the mannequin.
“That's great too!”
The dress neither needed adjustments nor had they the time for it. The gala was in a few days. He stepped in.
“You should rethink your choice of fabric here and the hem seam is sloppy. Our fashion is perfection. Perfection comes with the details.”
And with that Gabriel grabbed her arm and pulled her down the studios. He made her pick fabric after fabric in the atelier. Every time she thought she got the right one, he chose another. She was no stranger to carrying and lifting heavy objects – the flour bags in the bakery saved her a membership in a fitness studio – but now she was exhausted. He lifted the next heavy fabric from a stack himself as a new strategy formed in his head. This was the final straw, he mused. If this didn't work he...
“I hope you don't plan on using Adrien to jump up the career ladder.”
“Weren't you trying to seduce him back then?”
“He's just a good friend.”
“But you have always been quite interested in him, weren’t you? I made additional checks on all of my son’s ‘friends’, and-”
“Decided to hire me instead of banning me from your house or filing a restraining order like you did to Nino?”
He had completely forgotten about the akuma he created. After all he had created many more after that one. His former employee hit her with a spell before Gabriel could smack him out of the window with the fabric roll. Marinette was sprawled on the ground.
“Are you alright?”
His voice was several octaves deeper then he intended. He could tell she was not before he finished that sentence. She quivered abnormally at the roughness. Gabriel couldn't take his eyes away from the sight. He didn't care what his face looked like. He didn't care that he used one of their most expensive fabrics to bash his own akuma creation in the face... and that it was covered in said akuma’s dust lying wrinkled on the floor. All he could do was watch and listen to the sight of his intern. How was it even possible to look so alluringly? Hunched on the floor, shuddering.
“Huh...? Oh no,” she croaked.
He was no stranger to lust but he felt as if it had punched him right in the stomach. A tingle trailed down his spine. Down, down and took a leap up when a weak groan left her mouth. He could feel it, feel her struggling against the magic. A cough shouldn't make his pants uncomfortably tight. But he knew that the pelvic floor was just one of the many areas that were strained during tracheitis. (Hence, the back pains people can experience during influenza.) And he knew that it was the pelvic muscles that were contracting during orgasms. It was all her.
As she tried to get rid of the dust in her lungs, he did everything to ignore the ache in his pants. He should have- would have seen this coming if he hadn't been so focused on ruining her. Then again, sexual harassment in the fashion industry has been widely known and ignored. The ex-photographer/now-akuma was another small predator. So yeah, maybe he deserved this one. His blood boils in anger and his – No, her arousal as he recaps his options. Her emotions were drawing such a clear picture of him embracing her. Her eyes told him to come closer, and hold her tight. His breath hitched as he tried to look past her seductive expression. She had no control over her actions. He could feel her embarrassment burning underneath the forced arousal.
“I'll get you some help,” he stated with no real intention of doing so.
He had to leave. He had to transform and call back that akuma. Cleansed or not. Who cared if she was trying not to have an orgasm as she was lying on the cold hard floor. That she was squirming, doing her best not to act suspiciously. Clawing at her tights so she wouldn't touch other places. He wasn't a sadist, but her suffering was fascinating. After all, he didn't have to imagine what it was like. Hell, she could be moaning like a slut right now, pleading with him, and yet nothing would be worse than the concentrated energy of her emotions directed at him. He was an empath and that’s why he…he had to... had to-
Despite his thoughts he found himself dropping next to her, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. He didn't have the energy to stand any more. He could feel how close she was from stripping right in front of him. They were both breathing shakily. His head came up with fantasies he had not known himself capable of imagining. He was falling and flying at the same time, hovering just above the ground.
He snapped back as he heard someone at the door. It feelt like he was in another galaxy. Way too close to that blazing ball of fire which was her crumpled state trying to burn him. There was a voice sounding like a spaceship intercom trying to call them.
“They have been down here for quite a while. I’m gonna ask father if he wants me to go ahead.”
Adrien’s voice. Right. He started to share a car with his son, so Adrien wouldn’t get the stupid idea of bringing her home. He shoved them deeper into the storage, in a dark secluded alcove where he couldn't hear his son shouting their names anymore.
He kissed her again. Once, twice with a little bit of tongue licking the corner of her mouth before he collected himself. That was only to quieten her, right? Weren't they having an argument before? Why was she gasping, and why was he kissing her again and again and again? Everything was just so hot, and his head just wouldn’t stop spinning.
“That is hardly appropriate. I should have-”
“Appropriate?” she laughed huskily and another wave of lust ran over him.
“You are under the akuma’s influence. You aren't thinking. Let's keep things professional.”
“But you're not. You weren't hit...” she grinned mischievously. And it dawned on him. She knew. She knew who he was. And her grin turned wider as she kew that he knew that she knew.
Their next kiss was messy and wet, and she did taste a little bit of chocolate. It disturbed him. He was in a daze as the world tingled and tilted. Marinette flinged her hands into his hair. It reminded him of something… he was supposed to defend himself, not to lean his head into her neck, tongue darting out...
He cursed as his son got the bright idea to call her mobile. Which was in her pocket. On vibrate. Her fingernails clawed at his scalp and they both nearly collapsed in a puddle of goo, convulsing from the static shocks running through her body. As luck (he doubted it) would have it, he shoved his hand in the right pocket. She let out a surprised mewl feeling his hand on her thigh – it was kind of, and he cringed as he thinks that – cute. How could she still be so cute when their bodies were getting wrecked by pleasure? So cute.
It was insane how he couldn’t look, couldn’t get away. Her heaving chest reminded him of a cornered animal. And he felt like a steed cut by the mounted rifleman with a whip as he too was writhing pathetically under the influence of his own demonic butterflies.
He nearly choked on his own saliva as his hand finally got a steady grip around the phone and escaped her pocket. His triumph was cut short as she launched at him quicker than he could react. She flipped him over with an unsuspected strength. He didn’t feel any pain as his back hit the ground. He was too distracted with what was in front of him. The phone flew out of his hands through the air and he could hear the plastic crack when it hit the floor. She licked her lips as she sat on his lap. Legs around him in an inescapable grip. Then she took his hand which had been frozen in mid-air over the shock and pulled it closer to herself. When she sucked his fingers into her mouth, it was like she was sucking in what was left of his conscience.
He registered how incredible good it feelt. Just as nice as her grinding hips on his groin. His arm went weak and numb. She grinned around his fingers, pulled them out with a pornographic pop of her lips, licked over the tip again cheekily and said slyly:
He almost didn’t hear the mocking “My hero” followed by her amused purring. His hormone over-driven blood was pulsating in his ears.
“It’s an aphrodisiac, you know the solution.”
“It’s wrong. Isn’t – ungh – this enough? It’ll stop once you reach an orgasm, right?”
“How would I know, it’s your akuma.”
Damn right, he thought as she scoffed. What was he thinking creating such a lecherous villain?
“We can’t. I… Shouldn’t you… OW!”
Of course her hands found his nipple without really searching for it. It was like her hand was between his jacket and shirt, and immediately on the erected nub. Like a moth drawn to the flame. Heh.
“Goddammit, whatever hero vs. villain scenario you’re making up in your head, it is not happening right now. I know neither of us would’ve ever considered it, but stop trying to play the gentleman when you usually don’t give a fuck about anyone else. I’m dying here. Do you really wanna go down like this?”
True, it was hard to tell who initially started to molest who. His resolve crumbled. His hips were responding to her movements, finding a matching rhythm. The skirt of her dress inwardly rode up on her thighs. Only her panties and his pants separated their burning crotches. And he was starting to fondle her left breast as well. If there was only one way to end this madness, so be it.
And for once, he really was. Well, maybe more for himself than for her. He hoped he’d regain control eventually, but it would be too late not to commit adultery then.
He couldn’t tell if it was the akuma's influence or if she really wasn’t a virgin but she inserted his member almost too smoothly to be one. She broke the immovable spell on his hands, reattaching them to her hips from where he let them wander. She really had nice, firm legs and oh wow that ass was really something. He probably grabbed her too tightly like a drowning man grasping a safety buoy. He pulled her down by the neck for another bout of kisses.
After a few thrusts, he started another futile effort to regain control, but his willpower was wiped away by another wave of feelings she sent at him. This bizarre feeling that was pounding through his body.
Bliss, bliss, bliss. What was this feeling? It’s… C’est… miraculous.
Marinette had already ripped away his bow-tie and half torn off the collar of his shirt all while nipping and suckling on his neck. The miraculous was his least concern as her mouth was devouring him. He was so very much not in control of these akuma induced urges, he didn’t notice when his hands fumbled with the zipper on the back of her dress until she sat up again to let it fall down her shoulders, exposing her naked body. The crumbled pile of clothing between them would’ve bothered him, if he wasn’t drawn back again, mesmerized by a trail of sweat running between the valley of her breasts. He could feel how her pants and hums weren’t just from pleasure but also from impatience.
He kissed her again and it felt like one of the better moments of his life. He knew of course it was a lie, an illusion created by the akuma and she smiled at him sadly and apologetically. She shouldn't sympathize with him, it was unsettling. It had been ages ago but right now he felt like he wanted to cry. From anger or sadness or something else he didn’t know. He felt so good and it was so wrong and frustrating as the world jingled again and he was suddenly in a very dark, soundless tunnel. From there on, everything was just cotton wool to him. The great butterfly floats due to the Buoyancy force.
She took only a millisecond to pause, staring at him before she threw her dress into his face and ran away. He took a long sniff at her scent, moaning in delight. Unable to resist, unable to recover, he saw the flashing light of a transformation through the fabric over his face. He heard the door shut behind her. She left with his miraculous as he was laying in his afterglow.