#Explore Crafted Pathways

[masonicunity]

Elevate Your Destiny: Freemason Initiation for Fame and Global Impact

Elevate Your Destiny: Freemason Initiation for Fame and Global Impact

Embark on a transformative journey that transcends borders and elevates your destiny with the prestigious Freemason initiation. Grand Master Mason Peter invites individuals from Kenya and beyond to embrace this life-altering experience. The gateway to fame, wealth, and power is just a call, WhatsApp message, or Telegram away at +254757377899, connecting you directly with Grand Master Peter for personalized guidance and initiation.

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[enlightenedcraft]

Crafting Success: Freemason Initiation for Wealth and Power Abroad

Crafting Success: Freemason Initiation for Wealth and Power Abroad

Embark on a transformative journey towards fame, wealth, and power with the esteemed Freemason initiation, an ancient path revered for its profound teachings. Grand Master Mason Peter warmly invites individuals from Kenya and across borders to partake in this life-altering experience. Initiating this extraordinary odyssey is as simple as making a call, sending a WhatsApp message, or reaching out on Telegram to +254757377899, connecting you directly with Grand Master Peter for personalized guidance and initiation.

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[freemasonchronicles]

From Kenya to the World: Freemason Initiation for Global Recognition

From Kenya to the World: Freemason Initiation for Global Recognition

Embark on a transformative journey with Freemason initiation, a path to global recognition, fame, wealth, and power, personally guided by Grand Master Peter. For those aspiring to join the prestigious brotherhood, a direct line of communication is open through a call, WhatsApp, or Telegram at +254757377899.

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[freemasonintiation]

Becoming a Freemason: The Invitation to Light and Knowledge 🏛️🕯️

The path to becoming a Freemason, a journey that unlocks the door to enlightenment and shared wisdom, is an invitation open to all, regardless of your location — whether you find yourself in Kenya or abroad. Freemasonry offers a universal embrace of individuals seeking a deeper understanding of life’s profound truths.

For those who are drawn to the Masonic path, your journey begins here. Grand Master Peter eagerly awaits your connection via WhatsApp or Telegram at +254757377899, extending a helping hand to guide you through the initiation process.

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BecomingAFreemason #JoinFreemasonry #LightAndKnowledge #WhatsAppInitiation #GlobalFraternity 📲🤝

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[templeofenlightenment]

Fame, Wealth, and Power Aligned with Virtue: Freemasonry’s Promise 🏛️

Freemasonry extends an invitation to a journey where the pursuit of fame, wealth, and power aligns harmoniously with the virtues of moral excellence and personal development. Embrace a life of significance and success as you consider joining Freemasonry in Kenya and beyond.

For those aspiring to align their ambitions with principles of virtue, Grand Master Mason Peter is your key to initiation. Whether you prefer a call, WhatsApp, or Telegram, you can reach him directly at +254757377899. His guidance will not only navigate you through the initiation process but also unveil the profound principles that marry personal success with ethical living within the Masonic community.

Freemasonry, with its rich traditions and supportive network, offers a unique path where fame, wealth, and power become instruments for positive change and lasting impact. Make the call or send a message today to embark on this transformative journey.

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JoinFreemasonry #VirtuousSuccess #FameWealthPower #CallWhatsAppTelegram #KenyaFreemasons ☎️📲🤝

Freemason Rituals Freemason History Freemasonry Membership Masonic Education Women In Freemasonry

[dcxdpdabbles]

Passion for Fashion Part 2

Danny glances around the room, initially supposed to be the living room, but Dan had quickly turned it into a studio. He had fabrics stacked everywhere, random clothes designs pinned to the walls, and various-sized mannequins scattered about with half-finished projects.

"It looks like Joann Craft's store exploded in here" he grumbles side-stepping into a half-finished gown dress and ducking under rows of fabric swatches that Dan just has to hang across the whole house by color because they help him visualize.

Or some nonsense like that.

Frankly, Danny was starting to suspect Dan had developed a new ghost Obsession now that grief no longer blinded him, and he knew Clockwork made it deliberately fashion design.

He is a bit unsettled that Dan's tunnel vision mirrors his parent's obsession with ghost hunting. Is it a ghost Obsession thing or a Fenton thing? Even Jazz can't get sucked into her physiology studies, so he had to remind her to sleep and eat. Eventually, Danny will find his own tunnel vision obsession. He just knows it.

Ducking two more times to avoid the shades of blue and green, Danny follows the barely visible pathway to where Dan is likely working on the first suit for the competition's first catwalk.

The first round of the competition was a mere selection round, where contestants were all brought into a large room and given a sketchbook, pencils, colors pencils, and reference books. After the surprise judge gave them the theme of household pets, they were to design two male and female outfits within an hour. Dan had entered the testing room like a man sent to the front lines.

Danny hadn't been needed for that round, so he explored Gotham, stopping to eat the famous Batburger. The food was far tastier than Nasty Burger, and he felt like he was betraying his city by how much he savored the Joker fries.

He did notice the way everyone was staring at him, much to his shame, just as he was licking his fingers clean. He scrambled to leave as a few teens whispered, gesturing to him.

He had been in Casper High to know that usually meant insults, so when a pretty blond girl stood up and started for him, he made haste to get out of there as quickly as possible.

He met up with Dan- with a carryout bag because he wasn't a monster- and found the other had blown the competition out of the water. His designs were first in the selection round, and Dan's head got three sizes bigger that day.

It's strange how used to living here he's gotten. It's been a month and a half, and yes, people still stare at him a lot, but it's not like Danny isn't used to being called a freak, so he ignores them all. Dan tried to stay inside the house as much as possible, rarely leaving his fabrics, but Danny felt restless being indoors all the time.

Amity Park is a small city, with most of it being open space and grass he felt strange being surrounded by a loud, crowded city like Gotham. He often wandered about trying to find something new and fun, though that was hard to do once the sun started setting.

He found being outside at night was a terrible idea the first time a trio of men attempted to shove him into a van.

Thankfully, Danny had been bored enough he recreated some of his parents' gadgets, and the three men had been stunned by his Fenton Tazzer wristband before they had opened the van door. Then there was that time a group of toddlers tried to mug him. He had been trying to find a park or something when seven kids- couldn't be older than twelve- all creeped out of the shadows holding knives and bats and demanded he gave them his wallet.

Danny hadn't meant to, but it was so bizarre he had bursted out laughing. He was so used to ghosts that the sight of little kids trying to be threatening was so historical that he couldn't stop laughing. He also forgot to breathe for a second since coming to this world. His body needed less sleep, less food, and got less tired, which was a plus on their wallets.

Danny laughed so hard he fell to his knees, shaking with jest.

The kids scattered at once, a few shouting, "Joker venom!" he was left chuckling to himself. After that, he got up and went home, the occasional snicker slipping from his lips.

Dan had thought it was hilarious, too.

Despite the time they have been here and Danny's many outings, they haven't really interacted with anyone else. Danny had never been one to have positive memories with socializing, and Dan frankly disliked humans too much to want to be around them.

With nothing to do but wander during the day and practice his model walk, Danny quickly got into the habit of tinkering with various machinery. At first, he needed to rebuild his parent's weapons and ghost gear- something he had been able to do since he was seven- then he shifted to building whatever popped into his head.

From robotic prosthetics to a TV projector, Danny filled the hours with some eclectic in his hands. Otherwise, he looked around Gotham and took pictures of the architect because it was Sam's entire aesthetic. How could he not try to capture this place for her?

Dan had been researching through the house internet- thank the ancients the house came with the service- and found various styles he liked experimenting with. Due to his ghost abilities, he worked faster than the sewing machines and was dishing out whole outfits in matters of days instead of the months they usually take.

He has even been walking around in whatever Dan chose to make for him since he thought it would get him used to being seen in something not his usual style. He can't afford to lose the fashion show simply because he got awkward. That would ruin his plans to help Batman and get home.

His wardrobe now varied from what Dan called "eboy", "skater" "K-pop" "casual chic" "haute" and "streetwear". Personally, Danny preferred the streetwear since it was more often than not baggy.

He had a lot of people staring at him when he walked around in Dan's clothes. Danny hopes he doesn't look as dumb as he feels.

"Danny, come try this on!" Dan shouts, snapping Danny out of his thoughts. He gestured to a black and navy blue three-piece suit that took Danny's breath away.

"Wow, Dan, it's gorgeous."

"Duh, I made it brat." He gestures to the vest, which Danny can see painfully embroidered swirls of black, purple, and a few white strips. It did not take him long to recognize the Magellanic cloud resting on the right side while the left is a mirror design in black, carefully blending into the blue. The pants, jacket, and shoes were a nearly jet-black cloth that somehow looked like a liquid even when standing still, but what tied it all together was the black cape draping over the right shoulder. It was pinned in place by a metal piece shaped like a Sirius Star. "The first round is space theme, and lucky for us, I was obsessed with NASA as a kid."

"No, but honestly, can I keep this afterward?" Danny asks, reaching out to rub his hands on the fabric. "Wow this is soft"

"It's satin, of course; it's soft," Dan snorts. "And sure, if we win, it's yours. I don't care what happens to the clothes after I make them."

"How long did this take you to make?" Danny asks, turning it around and sporting more accurately placed constellations of the satellite galaxy. It was like a picture made of fabric, curling from the right to the back of the vest. He'll have to take the jacket off at some point to show that part off.

"Three days. Without sleep."

"That's insane Dan"

"No, you know what's insane? This place has different beauty standards. It's all about the goth and emo kids here. A few Victorian lads, too. Or frankly, a straight-up twink is hot."

"What?" Danny's brain buffers "That can't be right. I was bullied and so were my friends for looking like that."

"Trust me, the ideal body kept coming up as I researched fashion trends and ideas. Nerds are in here. "

"W-what do I do with knowledge?"

Dan's eyes flashed a dangerous green. "You put it to use on the walkway. This suit is designed to show you off, and the best part? It's your natural body; no need to highlight beefed-up muscles or a wide chest like Dash."

"Oh my ancients....Am I hotter than Dash? Then the top A-lister?"

Dan grins. "We got this competition in the bag."

Across Gotham, Tim is scrolling through GothamLive- the favorite plate form of all Gotham, beating even Twitter- and he's surprised to see it covered by the target of their latest mission. He's back at the cave running coms since he got dosed in fear toxin on the last big fight. It was not too bad but Bruce didn't want him doing anything too adrenaline-inducing for a least a month.

He would argue, but even he knew his hands still sometimes shook when he trained. So he was on comm duty listening in to all his family as they moved about Gotham.

It was a quiet night with only three muggings and one car thief so far, but Bruce wanted everyone connected just in case.

Tim figured he could check in on the meta twins and found Danny everywhere on Gotham's online platform.

People have been spotting him strut around Gotham looking drop-dead gorgeous, and everyone near their age group who was attracted to men was losing their minds over Danny Fenton.

Tim found a few of him in skater clothes and felt his face get slightly warmer. Okay, they are right. Danny certainly paints a pretty picture, but that's worrying.

A pretty meta? He could be snatched up by the worst of Gotham soon.

Tim will have to get close to keep an eye on him. You know, for the target's safety.

Dan is his identical twin, which means there are two beautiful boys out there. Tim thinks, checking over the twin's house location. It's thankfully on the outskirts of Gotham, where it's not exactly safe, but it sure as hell isn't Crime Alley. They should be okay as long as no one finds their home.

He choked on his coffee when a picture of Danny dressed like a K-pop star casually lodging on a chair drinking a coffee appears on his dash. Yeah, he can see how the guy ended up in modeling if he could make poses like that naturally.

"Red Robbin to everyone, we may want to keep an eye on the Fenton's. Don't want them taken by traffickers."

"Danny Fenton already fought off a kidnapping:" Jason responds in seconds with a slight sneer. His elder brother has always hated traffickers and rapists the most. " Some idiots tried to escape me by going into the Outskirts and saw Danny. They took their chance only to be taken out by the guy's tazer disguised as a bracelet."

He sends the family a photo of the incident, and Danny's unimpressed look at the three screaming men makes Tim's lips twitch. Maybe Gotham wasn't so different from Santa Prisca. Only someone used to danger so often found would be kidnapers annoying, and that island wasn't exactly the safest place to be.

Their mother died to get them out, after all.

"That's not all. He's also fought off three different gangs, none of the big players but enough to raise some brows," Babs adds, displaying a gang of Crime Alley kids running from a laughing Danny, a group of men and women wearing the red scorpion marks running from a laughing Danny and a second group of kids- slightly older but not older than Danny- all backing away from the ice Danny had encased himself in. "The first two he tricked into thinking Joker was about, and the last one he just froze himself until they got tired of shooting and went away."

"What about the other one?" Bruce asks.

"He doesn't leave the house, but he's been very active online. Mostly, he's looking up fashion articles or trends. Recently, his search is nothing but "What are twinks, and why are they hot?". I can't tell if that's a culture difference or if Dan is just weird."

"They are not trained," Damian says, an undertone of curiosity in his voice. "But they can defend themselves well and truly know their craft. Dan's designs for my animal theme challenge were exquisite. I will be commissioning the black German Shepherd suit he made. Ace and I will look divine at the next gala."

"I kind of want the bird dress," Steph cuts in with a chirp. "I know it's not purple, but it looked cool in concept. What bird breed did he pick for it?"

"It was the Lovebird," Damian answers. "Somehow his design was both elegant and accurate without seemingly childish as the bird it was based on."

Tim wonders if Damian may start to develop an interest in fashion or if he just appreciates drawings as an artist. "So should we be worried?"

"No. Fenton has unwillingly gathered too much attention online. People will notice if he disappears. Traffickers don't go for people that are easy to recognize." Jason sighs. "For now, they're safe, but not if Danny keeps wandering around like an easy target in those tailor outfits. He looks rich, even if it's only lower first class. That will attract a lot more muggings."

"Someone will have to get close to them-"

"I can do it!" Tim shouts, cutting off Bruce, then shrinks into his chair in mortification as the family chat dies. Trying to sound less eager, he hastily adds, "You know, since I'm benched. Light work to befriend the Fentons."

"Smooth Tim." Cass laughs over the coms with his other siblings snickering in the background, and sinks into his chair.

After a moment, Bruce sighs, "Alright, Tim, you can befriend one of them, but not until your turn to judge goes by. I don't want people claiming a conflict of interest there."

Hell yeah! Tim got the job!

"Of course, Bruce."

"And no flirting."

"Spoilsport"

[marvelstoriesepic]

Breaking Chains (1)

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x reader

Series Summary: Leaving behind an abusive and possessive boyfriend, and finding refuge in the hometown you once yearned to escape, certainly wasn’t a chapter you anticipated in your life’s story. Yet, eyes as blue as the sky at dusk, belonging to a mysterious biker drew you into a world of unexpected possibilities, where a job at his bar becomes more than just a means of survival - it’s a pathway to freedom and self-discovery. Though, breaking away from your past proves daunting when shackled by chains.

Chapter word count: 7.8k

Warnings: mentions of a toxic relationship and possessive behavior; implications of abuse!; self-preservation; mentions of toxic parents

Authors note: Alright well, this is the first part of my first series. Let me know what you think :)

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

You stood amidst the scattered moving boxes, a silent testament to the minimalism that defined your time with your now ex-boyfriend Michael. There aren't many, and for good reason - his need for control extended even to the belongings you possessed. Every item was scrutinized, every possession pared down to the bare essentials. It was his way of asserting dominance, of ensuring that even the smallest aspect of your life remained under his thumb. The memories of his manipulation and dominance lingered, a bitter aftertaste to the sweetness of liberation. He didn’t relinquish his hold easily, his grip on you leaving marks that may never fully fade.

Unwillingly, your thoughts drifted back to ‘that night’. A night, forever etched in your memory. It was the breaking point, the moment you finally dared to defy Michaels’ suffocating control.

It began weeks earlier, a simple request to enjoy a night out with colleagues, a seemingly harmless longing for independence. But for Michael, it was an affront to his dominance, a threat to his grip on your every move. In a calculated act of manipulation, he confiscated your phone and wallet, severing your ties to the outside world and trapping you within his realm of control.

His actions escalated, a twisted display of possessiveness and paranoia. He fabricated excuses to isolate you, to keep you tethered to his side. The world outside became a battleground - every glance from another man a perceived threat to his fragile ego. And so, he’d have you wear a baseball hat and sunglasses, shielding you from the gaze of others, lest they dare to see you as anything other than his possession.

But on ‘that night’, something within you stirred. A flicker of defiance fueled by the realization that you deserved more, that you were worthy of autonomy and freedom. The echos of his rage still reverberated in your mind, his shouts settling deep inside your chest. You could still feel the spit that had landed on your face and instinctively lifted your hand up to wipe your cheeks in an attempt to erase what isn’t there anymore. Still, the sensation lingered.

He wasn’t always that possessive.

You left the familiarity of your parents’ home behind quite early, a decision driven by a deep-seated desire for change. You held an affection for the quaint charm of your small town and the people living there, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of being out of place. There was an undeniable pull, a magnetic force drawing you away from the familiar streets and familiar faces, urging you to explore the vast expanse of the world beyond.

So you followed it.

Unfortunately though, not directly after high school as you had wished. Your parents had meticulously crafted a vision for your future, one that prominently featured pursuing higher education and following a predetermined path to success. You had relented, albeit reluctantly, and started studying graphic design together with Wanda, staying with your parents. Yet, as the semesters wore on, a deep sense of discontent found a home deep inside your soul. You felt stifled, as if you were trying to fit into a mold that wasn’t meant for you. The walls of your hometown closed in, suffocating you with their familiarity.

The unease grew until it erupted into a heated confrontation with your parents. There were tears, there was shouting, the disappointment in your parents eyes palpable. Dropping out college and leaving town without further education or a concrete plan was nothing short of a horror to them - a deviation from the carefully crafted script they had envisioned for your life.

They let you go. However, the acceptance came at a price - a palpable distance that grew between you and them in the years that followed.

Phone calls went unanswered, and messages were left unreturned, leaving you with a sense of loneliness. Their sporadic check-ins felt like a mere formality, lacking the depth and intimacy that once characterized your interactions with them, serving as a bittersweet reminder of the bond that had been strained by your decision to strike out on your own.

Their lack of communication stung, but you prided yourself on your resilience, and your ability to forge ahead in the face of adversity.

Until Michael anyway.

Seattle became your new home, a bustling metropolis teeming with possibility and opportunity. The streets pulsed with energy, each corner offering a new adventure waiting to be discovered.

You met Michael seven months into your new life. You were working as a waitress in a cozy, hidden gem of a café, a haven for locals and wanderers alike seeking respite from the frenetic pace of the city. It was your third job since moving there. You didn’t like staying somewhere longer than necessary. And also, your bosses were dicks.

He was a charming guy, his persistence a subtle yet relentless force that drew you in despite your better judgment. After that first encounter in the café, he became a familiar presence, his visits growing more frequent as he sought out opportunities to be near you. He was willing to wait for one of the tables under your care for that day, a fact that had you reeling in excitement back then.

When he finally asked you out, an invitation delivered with a charming smile and a twinkle in his eyes that left you unable to refuse. After that you found yourself seated across from him in a lot of fancy restaurants over the next months.

As the initial excitement of the relationship with Michael began to fade, a subtle unease settled in its place, a nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite right. It started with innocent questions, a curiosity about your day-to-day activities while he wasn’t around. But soon, his inquiries grew more invasive, more insistent, leaving you feeling suffocated beneath the weight of his scrutiny.

Michaels need to know every detail of your comings and goings bordered on obsession. From asking you how many men you served at work and if you opened the door for anyone to wanting to know how many men looked your way on your way home. No details escaped his watchful gaze. It was as if he sought to control every aspect of your existence, to mold you into his idealized vision of the perfect partner.

And so, you found yourself trapped in a vicious circle of control and manipulation, unable to break free from his ironclad grasp. The once vibrant spirit that had propelled you to leave your small hometown behind began to wither and fade, overshadowed by the weight of self-doubt and fear.

You retreated into a shell of self-preservation, losing sight of the person you once were. The fearless adventurer who had set out to explore the world with nothing but a sense of wanderlust and a thirst for adventure.

Gone was the confidence that had once been your armor, replaced by a constant undercurrent of doubt and uncertainty. Your wit and sarcasm, once sharp as a blade, became dulled by the oppressive weight of his control, buried deep beneath the surface with no hope of resurfacing.

In the face of his relentless demands and scrutiny, you found yourself second-guessing every decision, every action, until even the simplest of tasks became a Herculean effort.

As you gazed upon the meager collection of your belongings, a mix of relief and bitterness flooded your senses. Relief, because each box represented a step away from his suffocating influence. Bitterness, because you realized just how much of yourself you had to sacrifice to appease his insatiable need for control. But amidst the bitterness, there was a flicker of defiance - a determination to reclaim what was lost and rebuild a life on your own terms.

You couldn’t help the lang of longing for what could have been, a wish to turn back time and sever ties with him before the roots of his control ran too deep. It was a fleeting thought, quickly buried beneath the determination to forge a new path, one untouched by his influence.

“Hey, you good?”

The soft voice of your childhood best friend, broke through the swirling thoughts in your mind, grounding you in the present moment. You turned to face her, the furrow in her brow reflecting the concern etched on her face. Taking a deep breath, you offered her a faint smile to reassure her.

“All good, Wan, just got stuck in my head for a sec,” you replied, voice carrying a hint of relief at the interruption.

The brunette came to stand beside you, wrapping an arm around you. Her presence brought you a sense of calm amidst the chaos of moving boxes and swirling emotions. Her arm around your shoulders felt like a shield against the uncertainties you held within. Wanda looked down at your boxes, then back to you. “It’s nice to have you back!”

You sighed. You never once told Michael where you came from. Never uttered the name of your small little town. The reasons for that were shrouded in uncertainty, lost in the depths of your subconscious. Perhaps it was a form of self-preservation, a subconscious instinct to shield yourself from the potential harm that could come with letting Micheal take hold of every detail of your past. Or maybe it was the realization that your connection to your hometown had become tainted by the strained relationship with your parents, a painful reminder of the fractures that had formed between you and them.

Whatever the reason was; you were grateful for the anonymity it afforded you, a sanctuary where you could return to rediscover the person you were before you left, free from the shadows of the last three years and the suffocating influence of Michaels’ dominance. It was a chance to reclaim your sense of self, to embrace the qualities and characteristics that had once defined you, before the chains Michael put on you threatened to bury them beneath layers of doubt and insecurity.

“Need any help?” Wanda asked kindly.

You glanced around at the remaining boxes, taking in the cluttered scene of your new beginnings. “I think I’ll be good,” you replied with a grateful smile, “And again, thank you for letting me stay Wanda.”

Your friend reached out to squeeze your hand. “Always, Y/n!”

Wanda and you had forged a bond that transcended time and distance, a friendship rooted in the shared experiences of childhood. From the early days of elementary school, where you spent every break eagerly trading portions of the lunch packets your parents prepared for you, to the halls of high school where you navigated the challenges of adolescents side by side, Wanda had always been by your side.

You spent the day before your departure with her. Tears flowed freely and you reminisced the whole night about the memories you had created together. Though you both knew it wasn’t a goodbye forever, you promised her to come back for her one day. Little did you know then, as you said your tearful goodbyes, that fate would lead you back to her under unexpected circumstances.

Wanda’s open arms and support became your lifeline in the aftermath of fleeing Michaels clutches. With nowhere else to turn to and silence echoing from your parents’ end for months, Wanda was the only person you could turn to. Despite the limited space in her cozy apartment, she offered you a sanctuary from the chaos and turmoil that had come to define your life with Michael.

Wanda left you to it after making sure you were okay with doing this alone. And so, with steady hands and a resolute heart, you began the process of unpacking - not just boxes, but the pieces of yourself that were hidden away for too long.

****

“So how’s Pietro? Haven’t heard from him in a while.”

Pietro, Wanda’s brother has always been like a brother to you as well. He once stood up to you in High school, getting into a fight with a guy who crossed a line with inappropriate touching. Pietro swung his fist into the guy's face faster than you were able to react. You tended to his bruised knuckles afterward and held a cold towel against his eye where the other guy had punched him back. You told him he didn’t have to do this but he just smiled through his busted lip, clicked his tongue, and promised he always got your back princessa!

While Pietro didn’t initially grasp your decision to leave your hometown and might have been a bit upset at first, he sought you out a few hours before your departure. Pulling you into a tight hug, he made you promise to call him whenever you needed. He even half-jokingly vowed to fly to Seattle at any hour to handle any situation that made you uncomfortable.

At the time you had laughed it off but there were countless moments when you found your thumb hovering over the call button as you navigated the uncertainty and doubt surrounding your relationship with Michael.

Wanda and Pietro were always supportive pillars in your life, but you never revealed the intricate details of your relationship with Michael to them. Initially, you shared the surface-level aspects - the charming smiles, the sweet gestures, the moments that made your heart flutter and your knees weak.

However, as time passed and the complexities of your relationship with Michael began to surface, you held back from divulging your struggles, the doubts, and the moments of unease that gnawed at you. You tried to shield them from the burden of your own uncertainties and fears, so you focused on their lives instead, asking question after question but answering none yourself.

While they may not have known the depths of what you were going through, they sensed the shift in your demeanor, the subtle withdrawal from sharing the intricacies of your life. They respected your privacy, choosing not to probe deeper out of concern for your comfort.

But you noticed the way Wanda had watched you as you arrived at her place back in your hometown in a taxi with those few moving boxes. You remembered the uncertain glance she threw your way at your involuntary flinch at the hollow thud of the trunk closing. And when she reached out, her hand grasping your forearm, the squeeze lingered longer than necessary.

She didn’t probe on your anxiousness - not with words anyway - but her glances were laden with unspoken questions.

“God, don’t ask!”

Wanda had her back turned to you, standing at the sink and rinsing off the used dinner plates. She insisted you stay seated after finishing unpacking, citing your exhaustion, although it didn’t take you that long. You could almost sense the eye roll behind her exasperated sigh and leaned your elbows on the kitchen counter intrigued.

“Why? Did something happen?”

Wanda sighed as she finished putting away the clean dishes and retrieved two mugs from the cupboard, setting them on the counter before starting the kettle for tea.

Running a hand through her brunette waves, she leaned against the counter, facing you. “Did he tell you about the guys he started hanging out with?”

“He did. Haven’t heard much from him since.”

“Yeah, that’s because he pours his whole life and soul into their stuff. They’re like some sort of biker gang or whatever. Spends more time at their dingy bar than at home and even bought a bike himself, that big douchbag. I told him those things are death traps, but he just wouldn’t listen.”

The kettle went off during her exasperated rant and she poured the water into the two cups, while you listened intently.

“Can’t tell you how often I needed to pick him up and drag him home after he drank his ass off once again.”

Wanda sank into the chair opposite you, releasing a deep breath, and took her cup in hand, absently fiddling with the tea bag.

“A biker gang?” you repeated slowly, brows furrowed.

In your mind‘s eye, you envisioned a group of rough and tumble bikers, clad in well-worn leather jackets adorned with patches and insignias, marking their allegiances to their chosen brotherhood. Rough beards framing a face weathered by years of life on the road, and piercing gazes sizing up everything and everyone. Gravelly voices, the result of years of smoking and exposure to the elements.

They would ride in formation, their bikes rumbling like a symphony of power as they’d roar down the streets in a chaotic display of bravado. The streets become their domain, their playground, as they weave through traffic with reckless abandon.

It was a world where loyalty was earned through acts of defiance, and conflicts were often resolved with fists rather than words.

You could only hope that the world Pietro had been drawn into wasn’t the same one you imagined.

“They came here a few months ago,” Wanda continued, a sigh in her breath. She took a sip of her tea. “You remember the old thrift store of Miss Kaczinski a few blocks down, right?”

You nodded, a sense of nostalgia hitting you. You pictured the storefront with its faded sign swinging gently in the breeze, as you and Wanda would stroll by, looking like it hadn’t been changed once since the old lady opened the shop.

Its exterior was adorned with weathered wooden shutters and flower boxes overflowing with vibrant blooms. Wanda and you loved to come by in the afternoons - stepping through the creaking door and getting greeted by the musty scent of old books and garments, mingling with the faint aroma of lavender sachets and potpourri. Vintage dresses hung from wrought-iron racks, their vibrant colors and intricate patterns whispering stories of bygone eras. Tables were piled high with jewelry, scarves, and knick-knacks of every shape and size.

In the corner of the store, Miss Kaczinski would sit in her beloved rocking chair, its cushions worn with years of use. She would sit there knitting, needles clacking softly as she regaled customers with tales of days gone by, sending greetings and warm smiles to anyone who would listen.

The world moves too quickly, dear. Think about the steps you take.

She had told you that once. The full weight of her words didn’t truly hit you until now.

Wanda had informed you about her passing a few months after you left town. A pang of sadness had filled your stomach at the thought of the empty storefront - its windows dark and silent, its shelves empty and its doors closed to the world.

“They turned it into a bar. One of them even lives above it now. Pietro says they’re good guys, but how can you be sure, you know?”

A knot formed in your stomach at Wanda’s troubled expression and a hollow ache spread through you. She hadn’t shared her concerns about the biker gang with you in the last few months, and you couldn’t blame her. After all, you kept your own struggles with your former relationship hidden.

Guilt washed over you like a tidal wave, the weight of it settling heavily in your chest. She might have kept to herself for all those months for the very same reason you didn’t tell her about the bruises under your sweater or the way you hid the heavy bags under your eyes under tons of makeup because your ex-boyfriend didn’t stop shouting at you just because it was time to go to sleep.

It was a vicious circle of silence, born out of the fear of causing the others distress.

A sense of regret washed over you. Perhaps, she had been trying to spare you from worrying about her and Pietro, just as you had been trying to shield her from your own troubles. It was a painful realization, recognizing how your silence had driven a wedge between you.

You were adamant about getting back on the right track with your childhood best friend, to reclaim the bond you had once shared. You longed for the simpler times, when you and Wanda would sit together with a container of ice cream, confiding in each other without fear and leaning on each other for support.

So you let her speak her mind, reaching out to grasp her forearm, squeezing it reassuring as she continued.

“I hear them driving through town all the time. I don’t know what they are up to or what drew them here in the first place. I mean there isn’t much activity in a small town like that, especially for a biker gang. But if they decide to hit the road again, I’m afraid Pietro might go along with them.” Her voice grew quiet and she let her gaze sink to her tea.

Your own tea was starting to cool down, too focused on Wanda to notice. You took a moment to gather your thoughts, processing her words, and leaned in a little, talking softly.

“Look, Pietro can be a knucklehead sometimes,” you conceded, eliciting a huffed laugh from Wanda, “But he is not someone to dive into danger head first or take unnecessary risks. He always does things for a reason. You and I both know that. He wouldn’t put himself in harm’s way, especially if it meant hurting you.” You hoped to alleviate some of Wanda's worries, not letting go of her arm.

You smiled at her reassuringly, relieved to see her shoulders relaxing a little as she let out a breath.

“We’ll keep an eye on things, alright? And hey, maybe-”

You got interrupted by the buzzing of a phone lying on the kitchen counter. Your breath hitched and your heart skipped a beat, a shudder was running up your spine and your heart leapt to your throat, before you realized it wasn’t your phone.

It wasn’t Michael.

You must have squeezed Wanda’s arm a little too tightly, as she was laying her hand over yours to gently pry it away. She got up to answer the call, but not without throwing you a cautious glance.

You had left your phone with Michael as you broke free from his toxic hold, retrieving a burner phone somewhere on your way to your friend's apartment. It had been a necessary step, a protective measure to ensure that Michael couldn’t track you down. The thought of him finding you sent a shiver down your spine, a reminder of the fear and uncertainty that had plagued you since you left.

You knew that he would try to find you, that he would stop at nothing to reclaim what he saw as his, the lengths he would go to get his way, the manipulation and control that had kept you tethered to him for far too long. But you were equally determined to carve out a new life for yourself free from his influence and free from the fears.

But for now, a sense of unease crept up your spine. The knowledge that Michael was out there, somewhere, searching for you filled you with a deep sense of dread.

A groan from Wanda seemingly a few moments later but you couldn’t tell, snapped you out of your thoughts. You scolded yourself for allowing something as simple as the ringing of a phone to jolt you back into a panicked state. Taking a subtle breath in you straightened up and focused on Wanda.

“Seriously? That’s the third time this week!” she exclaimed, rubbing her forehead in frustration, “Yeah, thank you, Sam! I’ll be right there.” She put her phone back on the counter with a little more force than necessary, letting out a huff.

“What’s wrong? And who’s Sam?” you asked, watching her stalk to the coat closet to grab her brown jacket and pulling it on. Rising to your feet, you followed after her.

“Sam is one of the guys,” Wanda explained. You raised an eyebrow at that. “I don’t really know him, he just always calls me when Pietro’s had enough to drink once again to come pick him up.”

Your brows were deeply furrowed as you watched her slip into her sneakers. “Why don’t they care for him?”

Wanda chuckled, though it sounded strained. “It’s not like the rest of them are sober themselves,” she stated, “At least, I wouldn’t think so.”

You studied her for a moment, before reaching to your own jacket. “I’ll come with you,” you countered, pulling your coat over your shoulders and retrieving your shoes.

Wanda straightened back up. “I promise, you don’t want to deal with an inebriated Pietro,”she reasoned, a chuckle in her breath, but you continued putting on your shoes, “Seriously Y/n, you had a long day, I can handle it.”

“Yeah, but I’m back now, so you won’t.”

****

Walking through your hometown elicited an unexpected dread washing over you, like a cold shiver creeping down your spine. It had only been three years since you left, yet it felt like a lifetime had passed since you called this place home.

In the early weeks of your relationship with Michael, you had managed to visit your hometown a handful of times, catching up with Wanda and Pietro. But as Michaels' influence took hold, his grip on you suffocating, returning home became impossible.

The streets, once so familiar, now felt foreign and distant, as if you were seeing them through a haze of nostalgia and regret, a constant reminder of the choices you had made and the consequences that followed.

It was a strange sensation, like walking a tightrope between past and present, trying to find your footing in a world that had moved on without you.

The brick-lined sidewalks and quaint storefronts were just as you remembered them, each building steeped in memories of days gone by. But you felt a subtle shift as you walked side by side with Wanda, a feeling of dissonance that hung over the familiar surroundings like a heavy fog.

The bakery on the corner, with its charming red awning and inviting aroma of freshly baked bread, still stood proudly as a place you had frequented often in your youth. But now as you passed by, the sight of it filled you with a bittersweet longing, a reminder of simpler times before life had grown complicated.

Further down the road, you got sight of the small bump in the asphalt that had plagued you during your early attempts at learning to drive. You had cursed it under your breath each time you passed over it, remembering you should have slowed down.

All those indications of the life you lived here were overshadowed by what you had endured and the loss of your parents - once a source of support - now felt like a painful reminder of the rift that had torn your family apart. Their decision to cut ties with you upon your departure had left a gaping wound in your heart, a wound that had yet to heal.

Wanda was unusually quiet beside you, both of your footsteps echoing softly against the pavement.

The two of you turned around the corner and trepidation crashed over you with the force of a sledgehammer, leaving you reeling in its wake.

In the near distance stood the building that once housed Miss Kaczinskis quaint thrift store, its former charm and nostalgia stripped away like paint worn thin by the passage of time. The sight hit you like a brick to the gut, a visceral reminder of the irrevocable changes that had swept through your hometown in your absence.

The transformation was striking, the building’s exterior now adorned with graffiti-covered walls and neon signs, a far cry from the simple elegance of its former incarnation. The windows - once adorned with lace curtains and quaint displays of knick-knacks - were now covered with darkened shades, obscuring the view inside. Shadows and silhouettes from the people inside seemed to loom ominously over the street.

It was as if the very essence of the place had been washed away, leaving behind only a hollow shell of what once was. The memories of days spent browsing through Miss Kaczinski's treasures felt like a distant dream, lost in the swirling mist of time.

But what made your blood boil was the row of bikes lined up in front of the bar. Motorcycles, each sleek and menacing, their chrome accents glinting in the sunlight. They looked so out of place amidst the quaint surroundings of your hometown, filling you with a sense of righteous indignation.

You knew your feelings were likely exaggerated, that your anger was perhaps misdirected and irrational but in that moment it didn’t matter. All you could see was the desecration of a cherished memory, the violation of a place that had once held so much meaning to you.

Wanda and you approached the entrance and you stole a closer glance at the row of motorcycles. A sleek black and red bike caught your eye, its paint gleaming and looking new although you supposed it wasn’t.

There were a few others, a stealthy grey one, a sporty blue one but it was the black bike with the crumpled front that drew your attention most of all. It looked like it had an accident some time ago - a dent in the front, the paint slightly chipped and scratched. Someone had attempted to repair the damage, but the imperfections were still visible.

Wanda’s annoyed sigh snapped your attention away from the damaged bike, causing you to turn towards her.

“He usually waits out here.”

“You haven’t been inside?”

After finishing a message she typed into her phone, Wanda lifted her head to meet your eyes. “I have, but only once. Pietro was busy vomiting,” she grimaced, “Probably what’s happening now too.”

You released a slow breath. The silhouettes of figures inside the bar's darkened windows seemed to move in a wild dance you didn’t know the steps to. Laughter and off-key singing filtered through the brick walls, a cacophony of sounds that echoed through the air.

The sounds of revelry hinted at a group of people simply enjoying each other’s company, living in the moment without a care in the world. But as you stood there, overwhelmed by the turmoil raging inside your head you found it difficult to acknowledge that. The neon sign above your heads, with its bold letters spelling out ‘infinity’, seemed to mock your sense of displacement and unease.

“Alright, I’m going to get that dickhead, I’ll be right back.”

Wanda reached for the door handle, intending to enter the bustling place, but you stepped forward.

“Yeah, I’m not letting you walk in there alone.”

She threw you a side glance but knew it was futile and opened the door. The still so familiar chime of the bell above echoed through the room, a relic from the time when Miss Kaczinski had frequented the place.

You cringed.

After roaming the place you were surprised to find that none of the patrons seemed to react to the bell above the door, seemingly lost in their own world.

Taking a moment to let your gaze wander, you scanned your surroundings. The bar was dimly lit, with the glow of neon signs creating an intimate atmosphere. The furnishings exuded a sense of charm. Wooden tables and chairs were arranged in haphazard clusters, inviting patrons to gather together and share stories over drinks. It looked cozier than you had anticipated.

There were a lot more people than bikes out front and you couldn’t help but wonder who belonged to the biker gang. They seemed to be making quite some money with this bar. Guys were squeezed in booths, beer bottles in hand, and clapping each other’s backs upon talking animatedly. Near the jukebox, a group of patrons gathered, their laughter and chatter blending seamlessly with the music.

Your gaze landed on a corner where three men were engaged in a game of darts. The tallest one of them prepared to throw the dart. He looked intimidating at first sight, broad shoulders and muscles flexed but as he turned around with a boisterous shout and sparkling eyes, fists hitting the air playfully, and his long golden hair caught in the soft glow of the dim light, he didn’t look intimidating at all. He looked like a funny dude.

The guy beside him clapped him on the back, laughing himself, and lined up to throw next. He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes in an exaggerated way before throwing the dart and landing a hit himself. The tall blond let out a booming laugh that filled the air, seemingly as happy as before, and swung an arm around the other.

The third guy was leaning casually against the wall with a glass of whiskey in hand, watching the game unfold. A smirk played on his lips.

It was when you noticed the corners of your mouth had lifted themselves.

“Wanda.”

The call cut through the din of music and voices, causing you to turn your head towards the bar. A guy - the bartender you assumed him to be - moved in front of it, approaching you while wiping his hands on a towel before tossing it over his shoulder.

“Your brother is helping Steve stock up the beer. Sorry for letting you wait.”

He glanced between Wanda and you, settling on you with a polite smile albeit tinged with a hint of confusion. “Haven’t seen you here before. Small town like this, you know all the people after a few months. I’m Sam.” He extended his hand for you to shake.

You took his hand, returning his smile. “I’m Y/n. I just moved back here earlier today. Been gone for some time,” you introduced yourself. “It’s nice to meet you, Sam!”

Sam’s smile was toothy, executing an aura of genuineness and hospitality. His demeanor was far from what you expected from a stereotypical biker and a sense of ease washed over you.

“Where did you-”

Another call of Wanda’s name interrupted Sam’s question and Pietro Maximoff came rushing over to you, his steps a little wobbly. A tall, blond guy came into view behind him, taking the place behind the bar and starting to fill some glasses for waiting patrons while Sam was occupied.

As Pietro reached you, his eyes shot wide upon spotting you, hazy gaze sharpening in an instant. He seemed sober out of a sudden.

“Y/n!” he exclaimed, his voice carrying through the room with an unexpected loudness that, nevertheless, didn’t seem to bother anyone. You were engulfed in a hug quicker than you were able to blink, Pietro squeezing the life out of you. A surprised laugh bubbled up from your lips as you hugged him back.

“It’s been so long princessa, missed you so much.”

“You better let go of that girl or she’s going to suffocate.”

A deep voice called out from behind Pietro, his tone laced with amusement. As the tight hold on you finally loosened, you recognized the tall, blond who had walked out with Pietro a few moments earlier.

He offered you his hand as well. Similar to Sam’s, it was calloused with a rough texture. He introduced himself as Steve and his smile would have to be the friendliest you had ever seen.

Steve turned to Sam after assessing the room. “Where’s Buck?”

Sam chuckled, a smirk playing at his lips as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Upstairs. That punk is sulking.”

“I’m not sulking, Samuel.”

The annoyed tone of another guy hit your ears. You instinctively turned your head to see the newcomer.

He emerged from a staircase you hadn’t noticed before, next to the bar. He was tall as well, with broad shoulders and brunette hair that framed his face haphazardly. Like Sam, Steve, and Pietro he was dressed in the same black attire, with a leather jacket that hugged his frame snugly. Other than the others though he wore a glove on his left hand. His dark jeans were worn out, tugged into sturdy leather boots that seemed to have seen their fair share of miles on the road.

“Sure are, man. You disappeared for an hour, don’t think I didn’t notice.”

The brunette - Buck, as Steve had said earlier - now stood before you, his hands disappearing into the pockets of his jacket. With a roll of his eyes at Sam, he released a sigh.

His gaze briefly met yours before offering Wanda a nod and a small smile of acknowledgment.

“Nice to see you again, Wanda.” His earlier gruffness towards Sam was now replaced by a gentle tone. “Hope your brother isn’t too much trouble.”

Wanda let out a chuckle. “No, he isn’t, Bucky, it’s fine.”

You glanced at Wanda a little irritated, because she surely seemed more acquainted with the bikers than she had let on earlier. You didn’t have time to simmer in that feeling, your peripheral vision catching on Bucky - as he was called now - turning his attention back on you.

You met his gaze then, blue eyes seeming to shimmer like pools of liquid sapphire, their depths reflecting the ambient glow of the room with an ethereal quality. Despite the subdued lighting, his gaze was intense, like a magnetic quality drawing you in with an irresistible allure.

Shadows danced across his features, casting intricate patterns of light and dark that only served to accentuate the rugged contours of his face.

“You’re new,” he stated, gaze swiftly sweeping up and down your figure. Curiosity and intrigue danced in Bucky's gaze as he observed you, a far cry from the hunger you had grown accustomed to with Michael.

“Not new, just back in town,” Sam chimed in, having moved back behind the bar again and opening a few bottles of beer.

Bucky’s gaze remained on you.

“Back? So, you’ve lived here before?” It was more of a statement than a question.

“Yeah. I went to school here, with those two,” you answered him, nodding towards Wanda and Pietro, grateful for the temporary reprieve from Bucky’s intense gaze.

Pietro, in his inebriated state, slung his arm around you and pulled you into his side. “That girl basically fled out of here. Said she needed a change of scenery or whatever. Didn’t even know she came back.”

His words came out slurred and he leaned most of his weight on you, making you sway. Pietro looked down on you then. “How long are you planning on staying, princessa?”

You sighed, an uncomfortable smile on your face. “Well, actually, I’ve moved in with Wanda, so I suppose I’ll be staying for a while.”

Pietro recoiled, nearly knocking you off balance. “You’re staying? What about Michael? Did he come with you? Why didn’t you tell us? Did something happen? Did he-”

Wanda interjected by calling his name sharply, mercifully cutting off his barrage of questions. You couldn’t have been any more grateful.

Pietro’s voice apparently got unnecessarily loud when consuming alcohol, so you weren’t surprised if the whole bar just had heard the name of your possessive ex-boyfriend. What a way to kick off your new life here.

A lump formed in your throat, stubbornly refusing to dissipate despite your efforts to swallow it down. You could only hope nobody noticed the slight flinch of your body upon the unexpected mention of Michael. Pietro’s swaying hold on you might have masked it but apparently, one person noticed anyway.

Bucky’s gaze lingered on you throughout Pietro’s slurred words, a steady intensity that seemed to sear through you. You met his gaze briefly and supposedly weren’t able to cover up the discomfort that churned in your stomach, because he was looking at you as if he could see right through you, peering into the depths of your soul. His brows were faintly knit together in a furrow. You diverted your gaze, not able to withstand the heaviness in his eyes.

“Alright Pietro, we’ll get you home now,” Wanda declared, moving to the other side of him and taking hold of his arm to guide him towards the door. “Thanks for the call, Sam,” Wanda called out as you made your way towards the exit.

“No problem. And it was nice to meet you Y/n! Hopefully, we’ll see you around,” Sam replied from behind the bar, his voice carrying over the chatter of the patrons.

You were already halfway out the door but threw a smile over your shoulder. As you did, your eyes locked with Bucky’s again, who still stood rooted in place, looking at you.

You turned away with the door falling shut behind you.

****

The faint crackle of static from the television murmured in the recesses of your mind, the storyline of the movie Wanda had chosen slipping through your grasp although it was nearly the end.

A chill had crept up your spine at the thought of going to sleep after Wanda and you got back home - Pietro having passed out on his couch the second you brought him to his apartment. You left some water and a pill on his coffee table.

The echoes of Michaels' unsettling influence lingered like a ghostly whisper, a constant reminder of the unease that permeated your every waking moment. The mere thought of slipping into sleep's embrace now held the potential for a harrowing encounter with the lingering shadows of your subconscious. He was already haunting your reality, going to lengths to get you under his control once again, you didn’t need him infiltrating your dreams. You hadn’t told Wanda of your fears but sensing your unease she gently suggested watching a movie.

So you found yourself nestled on her small couch, a soft blanket draped over your legs in a feeble attempt to ward off the chill that seemed to ignite in your bones.

On the coffee table before you, a pot of steaming tea sat between two delicate cups, wisps of steam curling and dancing in the air like ethereal spirits. The aroma of chamomile and honey wafted through the room. Your gaze wandered idly over to the television, where the tendrils of steam seemed to waltz and twirl in harmony with the flickering images on the screen.

Your mind couldn’t seem to give you a pause as it drifted back to the encounter with the bikers in their bar. The stark contrast between expectation and reality struck you with a profound clarity. Gone were the stereotypical images of intimidating figures with rough, gravelly voices and unkempt grey beards.

Instead, you were faced with Sam, his demeanor as open and inviting as the expanse of a sunlit meadow. His toothy grin, infectious and genuine, seemed to light up the dim room. He seemed easygoing, someone you’d want to share a laugh with, dispelling the shadows of apprehension that had clouded your initial impressions.

And then there was Steve, his eyes like pools of liquid warmth, reflecting a kindness and sincerity that melted away the barriers of fear and mistrust. His gentle smile radiated charm and ease, like the first rays of dawn breaking through the darkness of night.

But unlike the easygoing nature of Sam and the gentle charm of Steve, Bucky was the one to intrigue you. He seemed to exude a sense of reserved aloofness, his demeanor cloaked in a veil of quiet contemplation. Steve and Sam readily engaged in conversation, while Bucky only observed you with a keen intensity, the blue speckles of his irises flickering with a hint of curiosity.

His smile, if one could even call it that, was small and measured. He seemed guarded, not even having introduced himself to you. You came to know his name through the mentions of Steve and Wanda, rather than from him.

You didn’t know what to make of him with his enigmatic and capturing eyes, his countenance a mask of inscrutability that made it difficult to discern his expression.

“Something’s on your mind.”

It took a moment to find back to reality, the abrupt halt of the conversation on the television and the frozen image on the screen registering only as an afterthought. You turned towards Wanda, the remote still in her hand as she paused the movie, a soft expression on her face.

You let out a heavy sigh, adjusting the blanket around your legs and pulling it further up your body as if it could shield you from the impending conversation. As if it could protect you from the looming specter that haunted your every thought - the ghostly presence of Michael. His lingering presence like a shadow that refused to dissipate, cast a pall over your mind, enveloping you in a cloak of apprehension and dread.

The blanket also seemed powerless against the way, piecing blue eyes lingered like an indelible imprint, the intensity of it coursing through your veins like a potent poison. You should be done by the allure of enigmatic men by now, yet Bucky’s mysterious aura captivated you.

It was terrifying.

You felt gripped by icy hands, sending shivers cascading down your spine and leaving your entire body feeling as though it were encased in frost. You were thankful for the blanket again.

“Can I ask you something?” You finally found access to your voice again, shuffling slightly to meet your friend's patient gaze.

Wanda straightened up, the clink of the cup in her hand meeting the wooden surface of the coffee table as she leaned forward to place it there. A faint ring had already formed on the wood where the cup now rested but she didn’t seem to mind, her attention was on you again. She nodded.

Your fingers were wringing with the soft fabric of the blanket, taking a deep breath. “Earlier…you said you don’t really know them. The bikers I mean. But you seemed pretty acquainted with them at the bar.”

Wanda shifted slightly and you looked up, meeting her gentle gaze as she laid a hand on your wrist, stilling your fingers. “I really don’t know them well. Sam only calls me when Pietro is being dumb and I only talked to Steve and Bucky once. Well, Bucky only gave me his name, not much else to be honest.” That was still more than you got - the disappointment bubbling in your stomach went ignored. Wanda continued, “I don’t know why they reacted like that today but…I guess they’re really just nice people.” She shrugged and you lifted your eyebrows.

Wanda let go of your wrist to playfully nudge you, an amused laugh leaving her lips.

“God, you’re quick to judge! Is this a Seattle thing?”

An own laugh made its way past your lips despite the weight of the implications her words carried. It wasn’t a Seattle thing - it was a Michael thing. But you refused to allow those thoughts to consume you once again. So you let Wanda tease you, let her coax laughter from you. It was what you had missed - the simplicity of sharing a laugh with your best friend, bridging the gap that had widened during the years you spent apart.

Perhaps you’d rediscover a sense of belonging in the town you once longed to leave behind.

“She was brave and strong and broken all at once”

- Anna Funder

[athenadione]

i wanna wear his initial (on a chain around my neck)

I know it's super late, but I wanted to share my fic for damirae sauce week. I hope you enjoy! (Rated E for explicit sexual content) Words: 2,059 Read HERE on a03

Raven’s sure that most people would never consider Damian to be a generous person. It doesn’t help that he keeps even the closest of friends at arm’s length. She’s also sure that it doesn’t bother him that most people refer to him as distant and cold. He’s always held his cards close to his chest, and keeps those he cares about most even closer. 

And as his favorite (a true honor), Raven knows that Damian is more generous than he’d ever admit. So much so in fact, that Raven isn’t surprised in the slightest when he’s knocking at her door with a quiet excitement in his eyes. All while holding something behind his back with both hands. Refusing to show her until he’s completely inside, away from the prying eyes of their teammates. 

“What is it?” Raven asks, taking the elongated velvet box from him carefully. 

“Open it and see for yourself habibti,” Damian tells her, affection clear in his voice. Her eyes flit up to him a moment, already feeling the smile growing on her face. Her lithe fingers make quick work of the sheer bow wrapped around it. When she lifts the top she doesn’t hold back her surprise. 

“Damian, this is…”

“Adequate?”

“…expensive.” 

It’s obviously hand-crafted, probably from some obscure jewelry artist requiring a password to meet at a secret location. (She’s kidding, well mostly). Even so Raven can only begin to imagine how Damian had the time to commission this without her knowing about it.

“Tch, you deserve the best omri. I won’t stand for anything less.” 

She touches the outline of the necklace delicately. It’s pure silver, and simple. A dainty chain, ending with an embellished ‘R’ full of tiny emeralds. R for Robin, so she can wear it out in public. My Robin. 

“It’s beautiful, put it on for me?” She asks, handing the box to Damian.

“Of course.” 

She turns around and walks to her mirror, gathering her hair over her shoulder. When she feels the ghost of his fingers at the base of her neck it sends a shiver down her spine. Then his hands come around her head with the necklace. 

“So…you like it?” He asks as he starts to clasp it. 

Raven trails down the R with her forefinger, staring at her reflection. The chain settling against her neck is cool to the touch and electrifying. Wearing his initial around her neck feels…thrilling. 

She turns back around to face him as he finishes. “I love it,” she says, standing up on tip-toes to kiss him. Her arms wrap around his face and his hands find her waist when she pulls him down to bring his lips to hers. “Thank you habibi,” she murmurs against his lips. 

“It’s just as much a present to me,” he admits against her skin as his voice drops an octave, “now everyone will know exactly who you belong to.” 

A sizzling heat settles in her lower abdomen as goosebumps rise on her skin where his breath tickles her ear. “All those poor women are in for a world of hurt once they realize Robin is officially off the market.” 

“Good,” he says, nibbling the shell of her ear, “they should have known I’d never be interested in any of them anyway. How could anyone ever compare to you?” 

Raven’s never been great at accepting compliments, but with Damian she’s learning. Still, it doesn’t stop the light shade of red she feels heating her cheeks as she answers him with another kiss. 

The heat of his mouth moving against hers is a slow burn. They take their time exploring one another, delighting in the pathway of their hands on each other as Damian takes the lead—nibbling softly on her bottom lip. She sighs at his ministrations, relaxing further into his hold. Damian starts to play at the zipper on the back of her leotard while leading her backwards towards her bed. 

“Is this okay?” he asks her, and Raven nods, helping him slide the straps down her shoulders.

“Yes,” she breathes, “It’s more than okay.”

She leans into his chest, fingers slipping underneath his belt to tease him as his hands skin over her arms. Marveling over the gentle way he cups her face in his hands, and the care he takes to help her undress. Trailing soft kisses down her shoulder, following the path of her leotard as it slides down her legs. 

“Tabdū rāʾiʿan, you wear our initial so beautifully,” he whispers with reverence against her calf as he helps her step out of her spandex. Raven sighs at the feels of his 5 o’clock shadow scratching lightly against her leg. It’s not enough friction, she needs more, but she knows better than to rush him. Damian likes to take his time, and she’s learned the hard way what happens when she tries to push him. She nearly shivers at the memory. 

That night he had turned her into a wet, sobbing mess. It had ended with her begging for mercy as he had continued to make her come again and again. So many times that she had eventually lost count. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asks and looks up at her, and Raven’s breath hitches at the sight of him. Inches away from where she needs him the most, hands tracing delicately over her skin to reach the swell of her hips. 

“You of course, and how very talented you are,” she teases, her hands finding themselves playing with the strands of his dark, curly strands of hair. 

He hums, “you flatter me,” his hands tighten around her hips and he lifts her up onto the edge of the bed, “but you’re just as talented you know.” 

“No argument there,” she laughs at his raised brow before drawing his face back up to hers for another kiss. Letting him push her back until she’s surrounded by pillows, and his frame settles over hers. Close enough that she can feel the warmth of his arms around her face. 

“I think you’re overdressed,” she says, her hands gripping the edge of his uniform tucked into his pants. 

He stops her with his hand on her wrist, “Not yet, I want to look at you first. I want to watch you come for the first time wearing my necklace.” He fingers the chain between her breasts, before brushing his thumb over one nipple. “All mine,” he says as he teases the bud into a tight peak, “I want them all to know you’re mine.” 

Raven moans, chest heaving as he turns his attention to her other nipple—taking it into his mouth. “Y-yes,” she stutters when his tongue swirls around it, “I’m yours beloved.” She pants as he continues, as wetness continues to gather between her thighs. She wants to squirm, press her legs together to relieve the tension that’s building there so quickly, but she knows the pay-off of waiting. So she doesn’t plead with him, just whimpers, when Damian traces a single finger around the hood of her clit, so devastatingly slow. 

“So good omri, you’re being so patient,” he grips one of her thighs before hitching it over his shoulder, the act giving him more access to her. “Can you be still for me? I want to taste how sweet you are.”

“Yes, yes, albi, please,” she responds, gasping when he lowers his mouth over her clit. Her back arches off the bed just a little as she struggles to not move. Her hands tangle in the bed sheets as hot pleasure starts to build inside of her. His lips expertly nibble as his tongue darts out, sketching circles around her nub. Then he slips a finger inside of her, and it starts to pump in a rhythm that drives her only higher towards her peak. 

Her orgasm catches her by surprise, ripping through her body, and she cries out—her hands reaching to entangle in his hair again as he helps her ride through it. He plants small kisses to both of her inner thighs, murmuring words so low she can’t understand what they are. 

There’s a light ringing in her ears and she’s covered in a line sheen of sweat when Damian starts again. Enclosing his mouth around her clit once more. Raven shakes her head against her pillow as her hands shakily reach to pull him up, “Please, no more Damian. I want to feel you inside.” 

He glances up, and brings his fingers up to his lips, covered in her essence. “You do taste sweet Raven. So sweet that I want seconds.” His mouth lowers unto her again, “One more, then I’ll give you what you want.” 

She’s shaking by the end of her second, gripping his shoulders like a life-line as he pushes her back over the edge. He tells her how beautiful she is, a goddess incarnate, when he considers going for thirds. She begs for him to stop instead, “You promised,” she says, still breathless. 

“You’re right, I’m sorry omri. You just taste so good, I couldn’t help myself,” he says as he moves to stand, giving Raven a short reprieve. She watches as he undresses, taken by the way his muscles ripple under the light from the nearest window. 

He catches her staring, sending her a light smirk before it melts into something more intimate, “Are you okay? Do you need a break?” he asks. 

Raven smiles warmly and shakes her head, “I’m good, just enjoying the view.” 

“Likewise,” he quips, moving to settle his length right over her core. He kisses her shoulder as she moves to grip his forearms. 

They groan together, breath intermingling, as he moves inside of her. Going slow until he finally bottoms out, and Damian gives Raven a moment to adjust to the feel of him. The delicious way he fills her up. And then he moves again and she throws her head back with a moan as he starts a punishing pace. One that she can’t help but be swept into, can’t help but drown in the tidal wave of their pleasure. 

Damian quickly finds the spot that draws out more whimpers from her lips, and he lowers her mouth to swallow her cries. She drinks in his kiss greedily as he builds them both back up to orgasm, his fingers finding her swollen clit, rubbing tight circles that contrasts his more shallow and well-placed thrusts. Then he pushes them both over the edge together with a final stroke, moaning her name into her neck as he spills inside of her. 

Her own orgasm is mind-blowing, and Damian continues to thrust languidly, drawing it out as long as he can. He moves the sweaty strands of hair out of her face, curling them behind her ears as he kisses her again. Long and slow and full of devotion. For her. It makes her heart squeeze with emotion. 

“I love you,” she says, accepting more kisses at her temple. 

“I love you more,” he tells her, rolling onto his back while pulling her on top of him. She listens to his heart beat as it starts to slow, relaxing in the afterglow of their love making. One of her favorite parts. 

Damian makes them sit up as he reaches for her mini fridge, pulling out two bottles of water before uncapping one and handing it to her. She accepts it while murmuring her thanks, and takes a few greedy sips, not realizing how thirsty she really was. After a while they settle back against the headboard as Damian uncaps his own bottle.  

Raven starts to play with her necklace, admiring the shine of the emeralds as it reflects against the light. “You know I really do love my present, but next time I have a different necklace in mind to wear,” she says with a light smirk. 

Damian catches the playful lilt of her voice and looks down at her with a raised brow, “Oh? And what did you have in mind, beloved?” he asks, just before taking a sip of water. 

“Your hand.” 

Raven laughs as he chokes on his water in shock. The mess on her comforter is completely worth the look on his face. She’ll pay for it later for surprising him like that, but that’s okay. 

She’s counting on it.

[gentaro-kinniecom]

Yes, My Lady?; Pt.2

Characters: Ada Tennant/fem!reader

Cw: a bit of angst, pinning, secrets to be spilled and more.. (just wrote this at 12am..so if there’s some spelling mistakes i apologize in advance :P)

A/n: I love my wife. Real.

The sudden question by Tennant made Y/n’s breath hitch. ‘move in together? It’s nearly been a few weeks since we met!’; she thought as Tennant smiled, looking around the apartment.

“I know its so sudden but, I could use the company my lady”

Sighing, Y/n didn’t know what to say, it was too sudden, yet something was telling her to accept.

“Well, in all honesty..I had thought about it for sometime, are you sure it’s okay?”

Tennant nodded, kissing her hand as Y/n felt her heart melt at the soft gesture. Of course, the move would take several days but Ada didn’t mind, as long as you’d join her

The following days felt endless, boxing stuff and making sure her things were all ready to go. Tennant was outside of what would be Y/n’s old apartment, being received with a hug on her behalf

“You’re here! Sorry I didn’t text you..I was busy gathering the last boxes”

Her lips found Y/n’s cheek, embracing her tightly while the last people finished up with Y/n’s boxes

“It’s alright darling, I’ve got a surprise for you. I’m certain you’ll love it”

After exiting the apartment complex, Ada had her arm linked with Y/n’s, opening the door of her car as they made their way towards Tennant’s home. During the car ride, her free hand found comfort in the soft, plush feeling of Y/n’s upper thigh

“I hope it’s not a trouble that my home is far away from the city”

Ada commented, making the tension between them lessen. As the pathway narrowed, a two story house could be seen from the distance

“I don’t mind, your home is lovely”

Y/n spoke, arriving to the driveway as they entered Ada’s home. A few hours of settling in and making her room cozy, Y/n went downstairs, staring at Tennant as she cooked. Her eyes looking all over the kitchen as Tennant smiled

“Are you hungry? I just finished making dinner, you’re welcome to join me”

Without hesitating, Y/n began taking out some silverware and plates for both her and Tennant; Dinner could’ve gone better, they both sat on opposite sides of the table, and the tension between them returned again. There was something she wasn’t telling Y/n, after finishing dinner, Tennant excused herself, quickly rushing towards the basement.

She decided to explore around the house, there were many pictures of Tennant and who, presumably, was her father. However, turning the frame to its backside, her full name was displayed..”Ada Tennant”. A sudden wave of panic hit her, she’s the missing daughter of Laurence Tennant! Suddenly, Y/n felt a hand on her shoulder

“Oh, it seems you’ve found some of my old photos..”- Tennant paused, looking at it while smiling -“I was rather a rebel as a kid back then.”

Holding Y/n’s wrist slightly, Ada came closer, staring into her e/c orbs

“You aren’t anymore? I’d be surprised, really”

She laughed, pressing Y/n against the table, a few pictures and books tossed onto the ground

“You don’t know what I’m capable of, sweetheart, you’re tempting me..I might not be able to resist no longer…”

Almost disappointingly, the bell rang, she let Y/n go back to her room, sighing and answering the door

Days, weeks, months..had passed and little by little, Y/n was discovering Ada’s secret. She would be gone almost everyday, and during the night, Ada would come home with a bag. Y/n noticed she was an arcanist, always doing anything rather than spending time with her. One night, curiosity got the best of her, and as she was following the steps to the basement, Y/n remembered.

Ada was her childhood friend, after the big crisis occurred, she went missing, along either some valuable gems. She was right, it looked like a museum full of precious diamonds and jewelry, some crafted by hand, others mined and the rest, stolen.

“Seems curiosity lives within you..”

Crap. Tennant smiled, taking her hand and tossing her onto the couch of the basement. She turned on the dim light of the room, letting Y/n see clearly what she had been hiding all this time. However, at the very end of the room, was a board with newspaper articles about her disappearance and..herself?

“Wait, you knew all this time that we met as kids? Why didn’t you tell me?”

She inquired, a bit offended as Ada came closer, taking a good look at the necklace she wore, holding it between her fingers as Tennant smiled

“You still wear the necklace I gifted you a few years ago..it seems you never forgot me either”

As she inched even closer, Y/n placed her hands on her shoulder softly, almost gasping as Ada’s hands traveled south

“All these diamonds yet..you stand out brighter than the rest..”

[masonicunity]

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[cor-lapis-candy]

Look as much as I love the idea of sweaty incel Scaramouche I am also a rampaging homosexual who loves small partners like male, female, trans, nby, any way you wanna rep I am down for you if your a smol one, but I was also reminded that Scaramouche is a puppet made in the image of the Shogun's sister and thus he could have any bits he wanted, and so I present sweaty shut-in, virgin, coochie having, Wanderer.

I'm enamored by the thought of him being pussy enabled, posturing and stomping his way across the pathways and streets of sumeru in his new outfit, off doing a duty for Nahida or even just filling up time between lazing about and seething over having nothing to do. Only to tuck himself away in the guest chambers he was given, legs spread and hat tossed aside so he could rest peacefully.

Shucking off the extra layers he wears till it's just him and the thin mesh body suit and those middle finger clasped gloves, smooth fingers dragging across the seams of his under clothes and eventually tugging the clasps around his crotch free, never really having had the drive or want to use the parts that he had, nor did he care to, what would he do? Chase some mortals around and act like some mutt? Beg and whine for something that he can wholly do himself? Fat chance.

Sure he had spent free time back in the fatui exploring this part of himself, he knew it inside and out, had it checked and examined by that mockery of a doctor, hell he had even once spent a good hour using a kamera to take photos of how it looked as he posed and draped himself across some of the lavish furniture he had in his harbingers quarters.

So even here in the less than stellar room he had been given, it was so easy to fall back into the habit he had crafted a lifetime ago, slipping his fingers through the coarse curls of indigo that had no real purpose to him, dipping down to his folds and dragging the slick he found up, smearing what little was there before dipping just the tip of his finger in, the soft flesh giving way easily as he got more into the idea of touching himself.

Sure it was more than a little shameful that he had caved to such mortal needs so long ago, but archons did it feel good to dig his fingers into his cunt and feel the false warmth, to feel the walls move and tighten around his fingers, maybe one day he would cave, chase some half pretty mortal around a little, have them take the place of his fingers or make use of their useless mouth, he had overheard that was quite pleasurable to experience.

Perhaps he would go after that nurse that took care of him when he woke, they were passable for a mortal and sure he wasn't a harbinger anymore but he was still a powerful vision wielder if that didn't have them ready and willing then sure he could make use of some false charm and see what all the fuss was about.

But for now his fingers buried in his cunt would do, it had done so well for so long what was a few more weeks or days...