#and my questionable taste in men struck again!

[mariusslonelysoul]

Carlo ventresca is soooooo arsonist's lullabye by hozier coded

[dilemmaontwolegs]

The Best Kept Secret on the Grid || Part Two

GR, CL, MV, LH x fem!reader Warnings: angsty drivers, more filth (masturbation, smut) WC: 3k F1 Masterlist || Part One || Part Two || Part Three

��Oh my word, what is going on?” David Croft, the official F1 commentator, was aghast at what he was seeing on the track in front of him and his voice echoed across the paddock from the loudspeakers. “This is looking like a repeat of Australia and nobody wants to see that again.”

You slunk down in your seat and pulled your hat further down your head. Maybe sending those nudes hadn’t been the best idea. It had been four weeks since the last race and to say you were feeling needy was a massive understatement. You hadn’t been able to stop yourself from sending your men some enticing pictures before the race.

“And there goes Gasly, into the gravel. We’ll have to see the replay on that but I think it was his own teammate that made contact with him. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it was Alpine on Alpine going into the corner and now Gasly will have a lot of time to make up for it. Ocon will be lucky if he doesn’t get a penalty for that aggressive move.”

You looked at the place board and saw the seven drivers who had already retired from the turbulent race. Max was one of them, and he was pissed.

You shoved the phone back in your purse and cheered with the rest of the grandstand as Lewis passed by, holding first position with 12 laps to go. Right on his tail was Charles but the real battle was taking place behind him for the third step on the podium. 

It was a dog fight between Fernando, Esteban and Lando with less than a second separating each car. You screamed louder than anyone else as they shot past the lap line and a few heads turned your way but you ignored them. You weren’t even in bed and these guys were making you scream. 

Another lap passed without incident but then the fight for third took a dangerous turn when Lando pushed Fernando wide and Esteban tried to take advantage by slipping past on the inside. Fernando ended up grazing his car along the wall while Lando thought he was in the clear only to clip the front wing of Esteban’s car and the two of them careened off the track. 

Shock rippled through the crowd as another three cars were retired and their drivers were pulled apart by the marshalls that were trying to clear the track under a red flag. It was messy and you could almost taste the testosterone in the charged atmosphere.

“I don’t even have words to describe this race,” David commented. “That will be the third restart and what a change that makes to the standings. We have Hamilton in P1, Leclerc P2, Stroll P3, followed by Sainz, Russell, Gasly, then miraculously both Williams’ and AlphaTauri’s drivers are almost guaranteed those much needed but elusive points - if they can just stay on the track and cross the finish line in one piece.”

You couldn’t sit and listen to the spectators around you any longer. They all asked variations of the same question - what the hell had happened to the drivers? Blue balls was the answer. That’s what had happened after four weeks with no racing: all those explosive male hormones were building and building, and your nudes had struck the match.

You had been messaging most of the guys over the mid-season break, exchanging scandalous messages and promises of what they could do the next time they were on the podium, but you had stopped short of meeting up with any of them - no matter how much they begged. Your pussy hated you for denying it the pleasure but the waiting only increased the anticipation and made the climax all the better. 

Plus the teasing was fun.

You slipped out of the grandstand and made your way to the motorhomes behind another fence for security. Ever since that first wild night you had received a Paddock Pass for every race and become a familiar face to the teams, though they never knew the extent of your ‘friendships’ with the drivers. 

“Max isn’t here,” Tommy said just as you reached the door to the luxurious motorhome. 

You winked at the Red Bull assistant and pressed a finger to your lips. “I’m just leaving him a commiseration gift. It’s a surprise, so no blabbering.”

The busy man left with a shake of his head and you closed the door behind you, sliding the bolt into place so no unexpected visitors could interrupt you. 

Max’s bed was made with the precision you would expect from someone trained in the military, not a racer, and there wasn’t a single crease in the duvet cover. 

“You’re such a perfectionist,” you muttered before jumping onto the bed and messing it up. His scent still clung to the pillow and you grabbed it as you rolled onto your knees, shoving it between your legs before hiking your dress up to your waist. 

You grabbed your phone and set it up against the headboard as you hit record. “I’m going to miss you tonight, Maxy.” You sucked on your fingers before trailing them down your body and pushing your panties aside. “It could’ve been you I was riding.” 

You moaned as you ground yourself shamelessly over your fingers and his pillow. Your head fell back and you grabbed your throat, gently squeezing it as your eyes fluttered shut. 

“Oh, Max,” you cried out, rolling your hips faster until the wet sounds of your pussy filled the air and were definitely picked up by the microphone. “You’re going to dream of me tonight when you lay your head on this pillow. It’s going to make you so hard, you’re going to fuck your hand and imagine it’s my cunt squeezing you tight until you explode.”

Your words ignited the orgasm that had been building and you cried out as you came all over his pillow. Your body shuddered from the aftershocks and you tasted the release on your fingers, knowing it would drive him wild when he saw it. “Sweet dreams, Maxy.”

You made it back to the grandstand in time to see the final lap and you were on your feet screaming with the rest of the crowd as Lewis crossed the finish line first, soon followed by Charles and Carlos. You were giddy at the thought of sharing the three of them later and joined the mass of people as they began to make their way down to the track that was opening to the public.

You were well versed at having to push your way through the crowd and you knew you had time to get to the front since the winners were still on the big screen having their post-race interviews. You were only half listening to them as you inched your way closer to the stage. 

“There was a very competitive atmosphere out there today, why do you think that was?”

Carlos and Charles looked at each other before looking down to hide the knowing grin they shared but it was Lewis that answered the interviewer.

“I mean first and foremost it is a race, so it will always be competitive. But, I think, for me at least, it’s been a long four weeks off the track and we were all eager to get back behind the wheel and more importantly back on the podium.” 

“Speaking of podiums, it looks like our time is up.” He shook hands with Lewis, then Charles and Carlos. “Congratulations once again. Well deserved.”

You reached the front barricade as the guys climbed the stairs to the stage up above and their eyes scanned the crowd knowing you were somewhere among the throngs. Carlos spotted you first and slapped Charles’ chest before pointing your way. You blew them a kiss and gave them a wink, their smiles growing as they stepped closer to the glass balustrade. You crossed your arms and to anyone else it would have been an innocent gesture but from their vantage point it pushed your breasts to the very edge of your low cut dress. 

Your phone vibrated in your purse and since you weren’t all that interested in the national anthems playing you pulled it out. Your scoff was swallowed by the sound of the crowd and you searched the shadows around the cordoned off areas to find Max staring back. Even with the distance you could see the harsh cut of his jaw as he clenched his teeth and his arms were crossed defensively over his chest. 

You didn’t even bother to address the message he had sent, instead you replied with the video you had taken in his bed. You watched with a keen interest as he reached into his jeans and pulled out his phone. 

Blue eyes turned to black as his pupils dilated and he ran a hand through his hair, tugging the dirty blond strands while he fisted his phone on the other. His thumbs flew across the keyboard as he typed his response before turning his back and leaving the celebration while you started at the reply.

You're going to pay for that.

Mummy don't know daddy's getting hot At the body shop, doing something unholy

The heat on the dance floor was quickly soaring as hands roamed your body. Charles’ entire front was pressed against your back and controlled the sway of your hips to the music as his lips grazed your neck and he whispered filthy words for only you to hear. 

He wasn’t alone.

Lewis and Carlos’ bodies encircled you, obscuring your obscene display of affection from the dense crowd dancing to the music too. They were taking advantage of the disorienting strobe lights and the fact everyone else was in a drunken world of their own, it was daring even for them.

Charles pinned your hands behind your back, trapping them between your bodies, as Lewis stepped closer and used his thigh to push your legs apart. Cool air rushed in and kissed the heat of your pussy as your skirt rode up higher the more Lewis nudged your thighs apart.

“Hermosa,” Carlos groaned as he noticed the lack of lace panties beneath. “You forgot something when you were getting ready.”

You licked your lips and leaned back against Charles so your dress pulled up even higher and Lewis cursed lowly. 

“I didn’t forget anything.”

And when you want it, baby, I know I got you covered And when you need it, baby, just jump under the covers

Your cry was swallowed by the chorus as they descended on you. 

Carlos’ fingers were at your entrance, gathering the evidence of your need and using it to glide over your clit while Lewis and Charles left burn marks on your neck from the short beards they sported. Their hands cupped and squeezed and probed until you were lost to the overwhelming sensations and ready to float away like the clouds of dry ice around the room. 

“Unless you’re planning to fuck me on the dance floor, we need to go.”

“The idea has crossed my mind,” Charles admitted between sucking at the sensitive skin below your ear. 

“Time to go,” Lewis ordered before you could reach for his belt buckle, the only one out of the three men capable of using his head to think with and not his dick.

Carlos pouted as he pulled your dress back into place but he knew it would be coming off in a matter of minutes when he got you upstairs. 

The music drifted away as the elevator doors closed in the lobby and Charles pushed you back into Lewis’ arms. “Don’t let her move,” he warned as he dropped to his knees.

Carlos’ hand slapped over your mouth in time to smother the moan that was ready to fill the small elevator when Charles’ tongue teased over your clit. You squirmed as you tried to roll your hips, silently begging for more, but Lewis curled a strong arm around your waist and pinned you to his body. 

The floor levels ticked by and the higher they rose the closer you got to heaven. 

Everywhere you looked you were blessed with the sight of the men around you and their infinite reflections in the mirrored walls. Even when your head fell back in ecstasy you swayed under the image on the ceiling, spying Charles’ eyes that rolled up to look at you coming undone over his tongue.

Ding!

Charles rose swiftly to his feet, pulling your dress back into place before the doors opened and a body filled the doorway. He already knew what had happened from the dazed look in your eyes and the way Lewis had to support your unsteady legs by holding you against him.

“What the fuck, Max?” Carlos asked as he stepped in front of you, Charles too busy wiping his lips to speak.

You wouldn’t say you were shocked to see him somehow get your room number from the receptionist - he was a world champion - no one would say no to him, even if it was a breach of privacy. You actually found his tenacity extremely hot, that and the way he stood blocking the exit with fire in his eyes. 

“Mate, move out of the way,” Lewis said as he shifted you into Charles’ arms, though your legs were no longer trembling.

Max ignored them all and held your stare. “What’s my number, babygirl?”

You shook your head to try and clear the haze that your orgasm and the champagne had brought upon you but it didn’t work and you asked him confused, “What?”

“What. Is. My. Race. Number?” he asked, taking a step closer with each enunciation.

“One?”

“Good girl, that’s correct.” Max smirked as he came to a stop in front of Lewis and looked at you over his shoulder. “I think that means I won.”

“That’s bullshit, you DNF’d get over it,” Charles stated, knowing well enough the pain of missing out on a night with you because he crashed out earlier in the season. 

“Wait,” you said, stepping between the four of them. “What if he’s right? What if the reigning champ can have me whenever they choose, off-track too?” You circled around the group seeing them contemplating it. “After today's race standings you all have a shot at winning the championship.”

“Hang on,” Max interrupted but you held up a finger to your lips to silence him.

“My body, my rules. So, what d’ya say boys?”

Lewis, Carlos and Charles looked at each other for a moment before Lewis’ lips parted in a grin. “I’m up for the challenge.”

“Did you not see how fucking messy it was out there today?” Max asked, stunned by the turn of events.

“Fuck it, I’m in,” Carlos chuckled before looking at his team mate. 

“Max is right, it’s going to be an expensive season for repairs,” Charles said with a shake of his head before locking eyes with you and starting to smile, “but it’s not my money. I’m in.”

You walked out of the elevator, patting Max’s hard chest as you passed by. “This is what you wanted, big guy. Now, are you coming, or do you want to brood in the hallway all night?”

It was no surprise that he came, and came, and came again. 

All of the men were athletes and the stamina showed when they were ready to go round after round. You were an overstimulated mess when you collapsed on the sofa, a sheen of sweat coating your skin. You could barely think with your head on cloud nine and their cum leaking down your legs.

“Our little cum slut is cock drunk,” Max teased as he took a seat beside you and pulled your head onto his lap. “You have another round in you, don’t you, babygirl?”

The sofa shifted as Carlos sat down at the other end, his strong hands starting to massage your feet. “Let her rest for a minute.”

“Just because you have nothing left,” Max scoffed and turned your head to him. His thumb traced your swollen lips with a smirk before parting your mouth. “Some of us can go all night. Right, Hamilton?”

Lewis barely lifted his head up from where he lay sprawled across the carpet, his chest rising and falling fast as he caught his breath. He had absolutely ruined you with the fast pace he had set while he knelt behind you and fucked you until you couldn’t hold yourself up any longer. Charles had been there to keep you up on your hands and knees with a fist full of your hair, right before he filled your mouth with his cock to silence the screams of pleasure.

All Lewis could do was raise his thumb in response as Charles returned to the living room with an armful of water bottles from the minibar. He tossed one to each of the guys before kneeling beside your head and cracking the lid of another and raising it to your lips. The cool liquid quickly soothed your dry throat and chased away some of the exhaustion that had settled into your relaxed muscles. 

“Better, hermosa?” Carlos asked as his massage crept higher up your legs.

“Mhmm,” you sighed contentedly, letting your knees part for him. The temperature in the room rose rapidly and even Lewis found the strength to rise from the ground to drink in the sight. You might as well have just hung an open for business sign out and you chuckled at the hungry looks they shared. “Much better.”

Click here for part three.

Tagging: @slytherheign @alwaysclassyeagle

[lara4eclipze]

“i wish you were sober"

— ( 🎲 ) take me where the music ain't too loud

— ( 🎰 ) angst , fluff , drinking , drugs, no label relationship , sort of good ending! , dw they become gir-

— ( 🎥 ) @wonysugar hii bae! , here's some angst for you :)) , idrk how I ended up with this but 🤞😘

this party shit , wish we could dip — go anywhere but here

you never knew what you and lara were , it was like you both were pining each other just waiting until one of you breaks and succumbs to love

she would be mad at you when you showed affection towards others but when she shows affection to others it's alright , it felt like you were getting fried in your own oil

you couldn't leave her — you didn't want to leave her , as much as it hurt you — you were never gonna leave her she was a part of you , someone who made you complete , you couldn't think about your college life without her

"I'm fine lara we should leave you know?—it's getting crowded in here" you wince as you took a look around seeing a bunch of teens passed out or drinking

"y/nnie come on!" lara manages to slurr out of her mouth , she was obviously intoxicated — she looked hypnotizing , her hair perfectly framed her face — lipstick smudged from drinking out of red plastic cups

"gosh your so b-boring" she hiccups, her hands now on yours trying to lift you off the couch you were sitting on

her words struck you — you were boring? for not participating in some stupid shit no teen should do? , "I just don't want to do this" you reason pulling back your hands and shooting her a sympathetic smile

"fine leave then" she suddenly bit — her tone was icy cold leaving no room for argument , she turns away from you and goes to a group of teens who were wasted

"okay...— I'll just go" you awkwardly mumble to yourself , you stand up and make sure all your things are in your bag — as you're walking out of the house you spot lara in the corner of your eye — smiling and flirting with someone

don't kiss my lips and please don't drink more beer

you wanted to storm over there and just scream at lara as if that was gonna make her sober — it really did fucking took a toll out of you , having to put up with this BS from lara — having to see her flirt with everyone but you

you check your watch and see it was already too late, by this point weird men start popping up in the party so you've taken it upon yourself to get lara home safely

"laru—we have to go" you lower your voice and whisper to her , she looks at you confused her eyes were half lidded and she reeked the smell of alcohol

fuck you fell for it again.

"I don't wanna go yet" she whines , her body slumped against yours as you tried to balance her, "I'm not asking if you want to , you're coming with me either way" you sternly declare

you turn to walk away still holding to her , she grips your shoulders and makes you face her — lara's lips soon was on yours , it felt soft and warm , she tasted sweet and almost like chocolate

as you both pull away you saw how her eyes were glossed over , her lips still having your lipstick on it some smudged over

"why won't you love me? hcc , I've done everything yet you never even tried reciprocating my feelings!" lara accused as the previous alcohol she has consumed made her sensitive , tears start to leave her eyes as she continues to reason why she had always wanted you

"i will always choose you over any of these people!" she screams , her voice broke as she kept on tearing up

you held her body , hugging her , as her tears fell on your shoulders — hiccups and many more thoughts left her mouth unfiltered

"I love you — don't you love me back?" she questions, looking up at you — her eyes were filled with tears her nose was red from all the sniffling she had done and god her voice trembled as if she was afraid of losing you

"I love you too , now don't cry I'm not gonna replace you ever" you replied using your handkerchief to wipe away her tears, she clings onto you and sniffles murmuring some thank you and I love you's

[rosepinksky]

Pay For My Time (pt. 5)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female reader

In which Ghost's neighbour drags him in for dinner, and then ruins his life.

Warnings: alcohol & nicotine use

word count: 1.9k

ao3 link

part 1 (smutty!)

masterlist

-------------------

I was antsy that night at the club, constantly checking over my shoulder for a figure that never showed. I did my best to plaster a bright smile on my face as another girl clinked her glass against mine, waving off her questioning face with a half-hearted reassurance that no, I’m good, just tired.

The hot pink lace felt too tight against my chest, the cheap fabric scratching against my glitter-dusted skin. I adjusted the straps over my collarbone, gulping down the cheap vodka in one breath as I turned my attention towards an older man in a charcoal suit at the bar. I sidled up to him, running a hand down his arm as I introduced myself with a practiced, sultry tone. He smirked as his gaze roamed greedily across my body, and I set my drink down next to his on the bartop.

I had never been one for feeling self-conscious. Since my first underwired bra at 14, since my first time fooling around with a boy in someone else’s bedroom at a house party at 16, since I’d spent my first year of university giggling sweetly at some trust fund Eton kid at a sports society mixer- I was a self-assured, confident, attractive young girl. Bright, too. Never one to say the wrong thing, to embarrass myself. Always pretty, always smart, always charming.

I remembered the day I sat down in my professor’s office to tell her I was dropping out. The confused frown tinged with concern as I babbled happily about my alternative plans, about him, about moving to London and summer weddings in Cornwall. A flashy diamond ring that didn’t quite suit my tastes but blinded me anyway glittering on my left hand.

God, it was strange how the thing I resented most was how damn good my dissertation would’ve been if I had stayed.

Leading the businessman- Michael, I think he said?- up to the private booths by then hand, I was struck by another wave of bitterness by the way Ghost had denied me that morning. Didn’t he know? Didn’t he know how good I was, how many men tonight were willing to empty their pockets just to have me in their lap?

Ungrateful prick, to deny me his cock when I offered myself up so freely for him. I made a silent vow as I bent at the waist to put on a slow song to cut him off, to ignore the needy little voice in my core that ached for him to fuck me like a goddamn ragdoll once more. I swore that vow again as I began to sway in front of this other man, dragging my nails up the sides of my thighs, feeling his eyes burning holes into the soft flesh of my ass.

I hated men, I decided in that moment. I hated how they made me feel, how they used me, how desperate I somehow still was for their fucking approval.

I left the man in that booth the second he tossed me a few notes, not bothering to send a parting smile his way. I shouldered my way back down the stairs, not stopping until I collapsed back into my chair in the dressing rooms.

“Fuck!” I whispered to myself as I gulped down a mouthful of water, closing my eyes as I exhaled sharply, cheeks burning with emotions that had no place coming to the surface right now.

I was grateful for the emptiness of the room in that moment, away from prying eyes and well-intentioned questions from the other dancers. I stared at my own reflection in the vanity mirror as I puffed away at my vape until my throat burned. I took in the slight imperfections of my face under the heavy makeup, the way the mascara clumped my bottom lashes together, the way my lipstick had smeared just at the corner of my lips. I frowned, swiping away the trace of red that escaped its confines, glancing up at the clock on the wall and resigning myself to the fact that I couldn’t really leave for a good few more hours.

There were a few things that struck Ghost as interesting about Lucy’s flat. On the surface, it was entirely what one would’ve expected from a girl like her. Doused in far too much pink, and enough candles to be considered a fire hazard to the entire building. But he’d spent too much of his life on high alert, eyes trained to take in and analyse every single detail presented to him, to be able to ignore those little ins she’d inadvertently given him.

Way too many open bottles on that bar cart, of course, though he wouldn’t have needed his SAS training to pick up on that particular vice of hers. He��d meant it in more ways than one when he’d told her he didn’t fuck drunk girls; his younger self tensing up on instinct when he saw the slight gloss in her eyes, reminiscent of his father’s blank gaze after yet another 12-pack of cheap corner store lager.

But he’d looked closer, in those fleeting hours spent in her home. Noticed the lack of pictures adorning the walls, the lingering feeling that this was a place only ever inhabited by one. No visitors. No family coming to stay for the weekend, no friends crashing after a late night dancing, no Friday afternoon coffees with that one cousin you always promised to keep in touch with but only ever saw thrice in a decade.

That struck him as odd, especially after she’d been so comfortable, so practiced as she invited him in and cooked for him. That meal was not the cooking of a lonely stripper in her early twenties, he knew that much. But still, he couldn’t picture Lucy coming from a childhood of a stay-at-home mother who patiently taught her to cook over some overpriced Aga, all warmth and softness. No, this was a woman who’d seen reality, had fought tooth and nail to perfect that seemingly effortless exterior- Lucy, Violet, whoever she may be.

He found himself inexplicably drawn to this woman. She was beautiful, no doubt about it. But there was more than that; her easy confidence drew him in, made him both want her and want to be her. He wondered, in the dim light of his lonely living room, what it would be like to exude that kind of quick social intellect. There had to be more, he mused, some reason why she got to possess that effortless, uncomplicated manner instead of him. Was it just a symptom of her beauty? Had she swanned through life unbridled with the worry of other’s judgement, simply gliding by on her looks?

The thought left a sour taste in his mouth, and he chased it away with a swig of his now lukewarm tea.

He was a fucking Lieutenant. A decorated, elite operative, a goddamn prized credit to his government. She was a stripper! No bachelors certificate framed on her walls, nothing to show for her career except some fancy coffeemaker on her countertop. She was nothing, as far as he should be concerned. And still-

And still, his throat got tighter every time he went to text her. He stumbled over his words when she ran her dainty, those stupidly dainty little hands over him.

He’d told her to call him that morning. Left her there in her bedroom feeling all smug, like he’d gotten the upper hand, and he had. Like he always did. Every girl he picked up, every pretty little barracks bunny that fell for the mystery of the mask, he always had the upper hand in the morning- if he waited that long to leave. Never cruel, never neglectful, but never sweet, either.

 And yet, despite his brain pushing forward the vivid memories of her on her knees in front of him, or of her wrapped around that pole looking like an entire fucking meal- the thing he couldn’t get out of his head was the vision of her nibbling on that corner of toast as they sat on the fire escape together in the late morning sun.

His fingers were pulling up her contact page before his brain could catch up and think better of it.

“…Hello?”

Noisy. The club, obviously.

“Hey.”

He could hear the way her breath was coming a little heavier than it should be, so in tune with her mannerisms after less than a fortnight of knowing her.

“Ghost! God, the one man I didn’t want to fucking hear from tonight.”

He pulled the phone away from his ear at that, frowning at the screen. A laugh crackled through from the other end.

“Sorry, I’m not supposed to say stuff like that. Hi, handsome, how are you?”

“I’m…fine. You’re working late for a Monday.”

A light sigh from her, and the flicker of a lighter.

“You’d be surprised. These 9-5 workers, they get fussy on a Monday. It’s one of our best days.”

He huffed out a dry laugh, using his free hand to open a window and grabbing his own cigarette.

“Why didn’t you want to hear from me?”

Silence. He stayed quiet, listening to the way her breath hitched, praying that her lowered inhibitions would give way to some sliver of the truth. He really had believed her when she’d told him she wasn’t a liar, after all.

“…Because I’m mad, at the way you left me this morning.”

He smirked. “That was the point of it. Still, I don’t think that’s the entire reason, princess.”

She scoffed, taking in a long drag of her cigarette before replying.

“God, what do you want me to say? That my ego was bruised?”

His smiled widened. Bingo.

“Now why would you say that, Lucy? Was your pretty little ego bruised, when I refused to fuck you, not once but twice?”

He could hear her grumbling under her breath, and it only served to build up his cracked self-esteem further. So she wasn’t infallible, after all.

“You know you only had to ask me, right, sweet girl? Properly. Without any of that cheap wine clouding your judgement.” He dropped his voice down to a rich, weighty tone, the cigarette dangling idly from his fingers.

“Whatever.” She snapped. “Luckily for you, sir, there’s plenty of men who’ve managed to drag the stick out of their ass for long enough to see what’s in front of them.”

His smile dropped into a frown, sitting up a little straighter. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

There was another pause, and he could practically hear her smug smile. “I’m sorry if the noise disturbs your sleep tonight, Ghosty. I really would try to keep it down, but you know what I’m like when I get properly fucked.”

He wanted nothing more than to wipe that little smirk off of her face, his fists clenching until the cherry of his cigarette burned his knuckles. “Don’t you dare, Lucy.”

She giggled. She fucking giggled.

“Sorry, sir. Should’ve tried to mess with an easier girl.”

The line clicked dead, and he was left staring at the black screen of his phone.

It was less than a minute before he was on his feet, pulling on his jacket and shoving his feet into his boots, grabbing his keys before slamming his front door shut.

[ntaras]

Father.

spoilers for the newest mk game

i’m very upset at the way they treated bi-han as a one note villain, and hate how they made out his father to be a good man. so, here’s a fic aka some anti sub-zero father propaganda.

the fic is centered around bi-han's relationship with his father

warnings for abuse, implied murder of an infant, and implied death during childbirth

if you see any typos don’t mention it to save me from embarrassment please

word count: 2.5k +

1. Sister

There’s a hand on Bi-Han’s throat. It’s not choking him, but it could if it wanted to. He could thrash and flail in the hand’s grip, but every time he whips his head in order to get away, the grip tightens. It’s mocking him, telling him how his last breath is in its palms. Eventually, Bi-Han learned it would never kill him. It would just make fun of him. It wasn’t any better for him.

But he’s lucky, isn’t he? The very hand that could kill him, also protecting him from death. Evidence of its power to take away life lies in the corpse of Bi-Han’s mother. He can’t see her, and he can’t feel her hands anymore. Even if the hand of his father left an awful pit deep in Bi-Han’s soul, his mother could show her son her hands, and that warmth exists even in the coldest parts.

The hand clasps his shoulder, cold skin- bitter.

“Oh, my son, what will we tell your brother?”

Bitter. Bi-Han hates bitterness. Not the taste, but what he is. It’s a taste too close to the hand around his neck. It’s a taste possessing him, a black tar attacking his soul.

“Bi-Han, did you hear me?”

Hear? What did Bi-Han hear? Just hours ago, when he walked towards the room where he heard his mother screaming and abruptly fell silent, he heard more crying. Though as loud as the screams his mother let out, they were still smaller. He was ushered out by two men standing guard by the door. He didn’t hear the crying again.

But he’s lucky, isn’t he?

“Your mother’s gone, and a sister- you would have had a little sister.”

The very hand that could kill him, also protecting him from death. Lucky, blessed boy, to not be a daughter.

“She’s not dead,” Bi-Han whispered.

“Bi-Han-”

He shoved his father’s hand off his shoulder. “She’s not dead!”

“She is dead- both of them. You mother and sister-”

“I heard her crying!”

Though many of the Lin Kuei men knew the Grandmaster for far longer than Bi-Han had been alive, they didn’t grow up with that man as a father. Bi-Han could see how his eyes held the contempt, scorn, disgust, and hate he had hidden away. They were eyes that watched Bi-Han like he was an animal, and his father the hunter. Though his father never took the shot to kill him, he would graze him enough for blood to spill.

His father’s eyes unveiled themself to Bi-Han.

“Who? No one was crying. Your sister was already dead before she could take her first breath.”

“She’s still alive! I heard her-”

The way his father struck him did sting, but it didn’t hurt. Even if blood began coating his tongue, it’s not as bad as the bitterness.

His father gripped both of his shoulders, dragging Bi-Han close to him and unable to escape his hold. Bi-Han kept his face turned away, looking down at the floor. He could feel the tears forming, and he couldn’t face his father with those tears on display.

“No one is crying except you, Bi-Han.”

Bi-Han’s lips wobbled, the question begging to be released from his mouth.

How’d he do it?

2. Tomas

There’s no love in Bi-Han’s father. He can laugh like any other man, his smiles are like any other man, but kindness doesn’t come from simulated laughs and smiles.

But he loves to feign kindness.

Even if killing Tomas’s family was an accident, sparing him from that same fate wasn’t an accident. Taking in a new son wasn’t an accident. Giving him the tools to be a useful son wasn’t an accident.

Tomas was allowed to keep his mother’s knife- he didn’t want anything else from the bodies of his dead family. The Grandmaster had removed the knife from the mother’s hand, grabbed the knife’s sheath, and handed the bloodstained weapon to Tomas.

Night came, and when Tomas fell asleep, Bi-Han snuck into his room and took the knife. For hours, he washed away the blood from the silver metal and cleaned the sheath. Bi-Han couldn’t wash away the blood that still stained Tomas’s fingers without waking him up.

As Tomas became his and Kuai Liang’s brother, Bi-Han couldn’t bring himself to call Tomas his brother. He was sure he didn’t care much for him, the cleaning of the knife was simply because his father didn’t clean it. It was a good deed that no one knew about- so it didn’t matter if Bi-Han did it.

Besides, Tomas was sure Bi-Han hated him. Bi-Han yelled at him once during a sparring session. Tomas clumsily slipped on the mat, and almost stabbed Bi-Han in the arm. Bi-Han screamed the word “idiot” so loudly, it echoed through the halls of the temple. The eleven year old ran away embarrassed, and Bi-Han was scolded by his father, that a future Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei has to keep his cool, even if others are being idiots.

Bi-Han’s way to his room was past Tomas’s room, but hearing his name leave Tomas’s lips, Bi-Han paused and listened to what was being said about him.

“Why doesn’t Bi-Han like me? I’ve been here for a year and all he does is call me stupid.”

“Bi-Han calls me stupid sometimes.”

Of course, Kuai Liang and Tomas quickly became close. Kuai Liang inherited all the kindness of his mother, the bitterness unable to possess him.

“But Bi-Han means it when he calls me that.”

“He also means it when he calls me that.”

“But you’re his brother! I’m not anything to him.”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“What?”

“I think if Bi-Han really hated you, he wouldn’t have let you have the last egg roll yesterday.”

The moment he heard the two giggling, he made his presence known. “Can the two of you shut up? I want to go to sleep.”

Kuai Liang and Tomas sheepishly glanced at their older brother, Kuai Liang trying to stifle his giggles behind his hand, and Tomas completely red in the face. Bi-Han was ready to continue his way to his room, but once again stopped himself when he noticed Tomas staring at him. He locked eyes with the boy, who quickly looked down to the ground. Despite just laughing with Kuai Liang about Bi-Han, once Tomas met Bi-Han’s eyes for the first time since almost harming him, the tears began to slowly work their way down his face.

Had it been Bi-Han’s choice, Tomas wouldn’t be his brother. Instead, Tomas would still be running around in the woods with his family. He’d still have his mother to teach him how to track animals, how to stitch his own clothes, and she’d be the one to give him her knife.

Would it have been a mercy to kill Tomas also, to die in the embrace of his mother, rather than grow up to be another weapon for the man who claims the name “father?”

Bi-Han swallows his bitterness, and forces himself to find his mother’s kindness. “It was only a scratch. It won’t even scar me.”

He leaves before he can see how Tomas reacts.

Bi-Han almost wants to turn around and march towards his father’s room. In that split second of vulnerability, he yearned for his father to convey that same feeling. It’d never happen, it’s a farfetched fantasy.

But the question once again begged to be released into the open.

How’d he do it?

3. Kuai Liang

Kuai Liang is ignorant to his father’s truth. The truth being that all the fondness he has for Kuai Liang isn’t because he loves him. In fact, Kuai Liang is the son that doesn’t matter. It’s Bi-Han that matters. As his father once told Bi-Han, it’s why he’s so harsh with his darling eldest son. Because his claim to the Lin Kuei matters. 

The bloody noses, the scars, and the occasional broken bones Kuai Liang received weren’t ever by his father. It was always by Bi-Han whenever they’d train together- almost pitted against each other by their father. As Kuai Liang would be ushered to the infirmary, eager to heal so he can continue training, his father would approach Bi-Han and chastise him for being “too harsh” with his little brother. 

He doesn’t care if Bi-Han’s being too harsh with Kuai Liang, just as long as he doesn't kill him. 

Bi-Han isn’t scared of hurting Kuai Liang, but he fears his father’s hand hovering around his younger brother’s neck. The gentlest push could snap Kuai Liang’s neck, and then maybe Bi-Han would also die alongside him. Maybe he’d become something worse. 

Of course his father is aware that the reason he has such a hold on Bi-Han is because of Kuai Liang, and eventually even because of Tomas. Bi-Han is the only one who lives knowing the capabilities of their father’s violence, the other two boys blessed with being the youngest. 

What is it like to be ignorant? As Kuai Liang inherited their mother’s goodness, Bi-Han inherited her knowledge of the truth. She lived a life aware of the terror that was her husband, and was unable to save her children from him. Would Bi-Han be able to save his brothers? What would his mother think of him if he failed? 

If she became angry with him, that would be fine. She could lock him out the gates of Heaven if it meant she could embrace Kuai Liang again. Bi-Han would enter hell, and become trapped with his father for eternity, but hopefully he would become the one to torture his father. 

He’s never felt the urge to torture his father as much as he did right now. 

It’s been ten years since his mother died, today is the “anniversary” of her death. His father always held a dinner in memory of his wife’s and daughter’s untimely demise. Everyone had retired to bed after eating, leaving only Bi-Han and his father facing each other on the opposite sides of the table. 

They watched each other in silence as the servants cleaned the table as fast as they could, wanting to escape the awful tension in the air. 

As quickly as they finished cleaning, they left the room. 

“I was disappointed with the food this year. In all honesty, my appetite was ruined when the rice arrived late. How does plain, white rice arrive late?”

Bi-Han doesn’t respond. His father continues. 

“Though it seems you also agree. You barely had anything, but then again, you never eat whenever this day arrives.” 

Bi-Han doesn’t respond. His father sighs. 

“I waited for everyone else to leave because you clearly have something to say, so what is it? Spit it out, son.” 

Bi-Han still doesn’t respond. His father rolls his eyes. 

“Even Kuai Liang doesn’t throw a tantrum about this- and you’ve been throwing one for the last ten years. Once a year, you decide to throw this little scene with me. He was eight and practically still glued to that woman’s hip, and yet you’re the one still acting like a child.”

“Don’t.”

His father raised an eyebrow at the one-word response Bi-Han gave him. “What? I could at least understand Kuai Liang if he acted the way you’re acting right now, but you don’t have an excuse. Besides, what if Kuai Liang or Tomas were to die? If you behaved like this, that would simply be embarrassing.” 

Bi-Han digs his nails into his palm, his shoulders tensing up. This only urges his father to continue antagonizing his son. 

“You are aware that either of them could possibly die? I thought you would have come to peace with that considering our profession. Do you remember your uncle, my own younger brother? Did you see me weep when his body was delivered to me? No, you didn’t. Even if Kuai Liang’s body was delivered to me, I wouldn’t-” 

“I’ll kill you someday.” 

His father almost misses what he said, the words almost hiding themselves from him. But he heard them, and intrigued, his eyes began to gleam with a wicked glint. 

“Will you now?” 

Bi-Han still can’t look at that man in the eyes, but his body urges the words out of him anyways.

“The day will come when you’re begging me to save you- when you’re finally at my mercy. And I won’t give you any.”

His father laughs- the most genuine laugh Bi-Han has heard come out of him. If he was Kuai Liang, he would be grinning at the old man’s bellowing laugh.

“I’ll look forward to that day, Bi-Han.” 

His father leaves Bi-Han alone at the dinner table. Bi-Han’s throat is dry, sweat pooling at his forehead. That wasn’t torture, that was amusement for his father. It was a circus show his father watched for free. And despite it all, Bi-Han still couldn’t ask the question he’s kept in him for the last ten years. 

How’d he do it?

4. Bi-Han

His father is dying. 

Bi-Han doesn’t care how his father is dying, he only cares about the fact that he is dying. 

The snow has never looked as white as it did with his father’s blood dyeing it. The woods have never been as quiet as it did with his father’s labored breathing. The cold has never touched Bi-Han as much as it did now, with the bitterness leaving his father and the desperation sinking in. 

A hand reached out towards Bi-Han, struggling to keep itself supported it collapsed back onto the snow. 

“He-help me, son.” 

Bi-Han remembers this spot in the woods as the same place Kuai Liang and Tomas began throwing snowballs at him, and in response, Bi-Han kicked the unfinished snowman they built. The woods, at the very least, can offer Bi-Han the memories of fonder parts of his childhood. 

“Bi-Han, please.”

The woods can offer melancholic memories also. If he went further into the woods, he would stumble upon the trees Kuai Liang and Tomas planted- gravestones for the family Tomas lost. Though it’s not as sorrowful as it sounds, as it was the same spot Tomas hugged him for the first time. 

 “I need you to help me, Bi-Han, please.” 

If Bi-Han went even further into the woods, he would stumble upon a cave where a bear and her family took shelter in. The first time he saw the mother bear and her cubs, he rushed back home to show Kuai Liang. For hours, they watched the mother catching fish in the river next to the cave, and the cubs annoying each other. They didn’t return back to the temple until the sun began to set. Those bears probably don’t live there anymore, but a new family has probably moved in. 

“Son!”

How’d he do it?

There’s a hand on their throat. 

How’d he do it?

It doesn’t take much to snap their neck.

How’d he do it? 

There’s no blood to spill, so he won’t have to look at himself in the red mirror. 

How’d he do it?

No guilt. No relief. 

No guilt. No relief.

No guilt. No relief.

All love. 

Bi-Han’s a liar. He doesn’t get a chance to kill his father. He watches his father, instead. He watches his father choke on his own begging and pleading for his eldest son’s love. 

It’s all love. 

It’s how Bi-Han did it- all love. 

The woods have never been more alive, as Bi-Han finally looked his father in his dead, unblinking eyes, and cried.

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

☠️ Clipped Wings: Chapter Six

Clipped Wings: After living a life in seclusion due to an over protective father, you sneak away to experience life as it really is. Slowly building up the woman you always wanted to be, your quiet life is interrupted when you meet a rather elastic boy and his crew. This is just the beginning of trouble and your carefully crafted life starts to crumble around you. The past never really stays in the past, and now it has come knocking. In more ways than one.  

Warnings: Explicit Language, Explicit Material (Unprotected Sex is a No No).

To Note: Dracule Mihawk x Reader, NAMED!FemReader, Some physical features have been given (hair & eye color).

Word Count: ~2.4k

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Your cheeks were still very much flushed as you stood in front of Mihawk in just your bra, underwear and stockings. Naturally, you felt shy about your body. No one but your nannies had seen you like this, but Mihawk… Mihawk was staring at you with appreciation. He stared at you like he was pleased by what he saw. Yes, you were far too skinny for his taste and bone protruded in places, but you were still a very gorgeous woman. You shifted from one foot to the other, your black eyelashes fluttering while you rubbed your arm.

“Must you stare?” You softly questioned, averting your eyes from his hawkish and predatory ones. Mihawk raised a dark eyebrow and his lips twitched at the corner.

“Indeed I must, little bird,” He drew out, eyes raking over your body and tracing all the lines he wished to explore with his mouth. Finding all the places he planned on marking. He was a possessive lover, you’d find that out soon enough, but as his eyes lingered upon your love flushed face, they tightened at something he saw. He held out his hands to you. “Come,”

You blinked once more, eyebrows scrunching in confusion at what he wanted you to do, but stepped forwards and placed your hand in his. When your delicate fingers slipped into his, Mihawk enclosed his larger ones around yours and pulled you to him. You stumbled forwards, shins catching the chair he sat in. With a definite lack of grace you found your knees straddling Mihawk’s thighs while you practically sat on his bulging and throbbing cock. If your face wasn’t blistered, it was now! Breathing heavily from the sudden movement shocking you, you stared wide-eyed into his. He didn’t speak as he raised his other hand to brush the hair from your forehead. There at point of your hairline was an ugly scar, thick and slightly raised.

“Who hurt you?” There was a tightness in his voice that you failed to notice and you just looked at him confusion before raising your own hand to brush your fingers over his. You felt your old scar. Well to most it would probably look like you had been struck in the head by an object.

“A boat,” You answered, brows scrunching again. “At least that is what I think happened, it knocked me out and things get a little fuzzy when I try and remember exactly what happened.” Your soft voice soothed the building agitation within Mihawk, for at this point he knew that you wouldn’t even think to lie to him about such a thing. You hadn’t been struck in the forehead. No one needed to die. “I was lost in a bad storm, but a fishing vessel saved me.” You further explained before lowering your hand to his shoulder and tracing the collar of his jacket. “I would not have let someone hit me if that’s what you are concerned about.”

“Forgive me for thinking otherwise, little bird, as you are but a pretty song bird among poachers.” That made you chuckle. You were quite petite compared to most men around you, your near death at sea all those months ago was still lingering. But you weren’t defenseless. Not anymore.

“Then they should be vary of my talons,” You informed him, your finger tracing intricate stitching. “And I am learning how to bite.” An amusing thought, as you really were just a waif compared to those that wandered the Blues… He slid his fingers from your hairline into raven strands and pulled your lips to his, kissing your lips with consuming hunger. He caught you in the middle of a breath and sucked it from your lungs, breathing an aphrodisiac fire into you until you were just as hungrily kissing back. You liked the taste of wine on his tongue and reveled in the euphoria his lips burned onto yours.

He deepened the kiss, swiping his tongue along the seam of your lips to nudge them apart. You parted them and were consumed by the feeling of Mihawk kissing you so deeply that your thoughts spun. His fingers landed on your hips and skillfully traced up your sides before roaming to your back. Strong hands roamed the ridges of your spine and dips where gently padding should have rounded out your figure to gorgeousness. Mihawk’s touch upon your body seared with lightning kisses that rivaled the ones currently ravaging your own.

Without missing a beat in ravishing your delectable lips, Mihawk’s fingers skillfully unhooked your bra and proceeded to push the garment from your shoulders. When the straps tugged on your arms, your lips separated and you let him pull your bra from your body all the while staring into his intense yellow gaze. You wanted to clutch your arms to your chest in modesty, but he didn’t let you. No, Mihawk wanted to see all of your body so he grabbed one wrist and held your waist firmly, admiring you perched so prettily on his lap. Your face was painfully hot beneath his gaze and a frightful burn simmered just below your skin.

“Stunning,” Mihawk declared, running his thumb along your flesh. You were a work of art, truly! Bruises, bumps, and scars alike, you were a muse that ought to be painted and sculpted by the greatest of artisans. Or at the very least, painted by Mihawk’s mouth. You flushed beneath his gaze, barely able to stand the indentured scrutiny (appreciation) of the man. Surely you weren’t that pleasing to look at. Mihawk clearly thought so, and took his time, following all your curves and divots with reverence. Pleasure tricked from every nerve ending he touched with his bedeviled hands and you nearly gasped when Mihawk pressed his lips to the side of your neck.

Back arching, your breasts pressed against his chest while you grappled at Mihawk’s shoulder and hand. How could just a simple touch of lips against your neck feel so nice? You didn’t know, nor cared. You let out a beautiful sigh and curled your fingers into dark curls, half tempted to pull off Mihawk’s feathered hat so you could fully bury your fingers into his hair. You voiced your complaint.

“Your hat is in my way,” You softly grumbled, feeling Mihawk’s mouth travel across your flesh with soft kisses and little bites. The moment he heard your words his teeth nipped a little harder and you jerked in his arms. That was one bite that’d leave marks behind.

“And your underwear is in mine,” Mihawk spoke against your flesh, pleased that it was already showing the evidence of his adoration. “Touch my hat and your underwear goes, darling.” He warned. Mihawk was not opposed to going slow to avoid hurting you, but there were some things he wouldn’t let you get away with. Touching his hat was one of them. Your eyelashes fluttered as you thought over his words, and then your gaze flickered up to said hat. It was black, wide brimmed, and had a stark white feather billowing out from the side. You were acting before thinking, plucking the hat from Mihawk’s dark curls to place it on your own head.

It was too big for you, of course, and dwarfed your lovely face. Mihawk, fully intending in following through with his promise, couldn’t help but take a moment to appreciate how pleasing it was to see you wearing his hat. You truly looked divine. But your underwear now had to go so he made quick of that job. In an awkward lurch, you held onto the hat with one hand while shifting against the underwear being dragged down your legs. You ended up falling against Mihawk’s chest as your underwear was yanked from your ankles and tossed to the side.

“A promise is a promise, little bird,” Mihawk purred in your ear, already basking in the heat of your bare cunt. “Heed them.” What was meant to only be a simple warning that Mihawk was a man of his word, had somewhat of an opposite effect. You began giggling.

“Oh that is the first impression I had of you,” You replied, removing your face from his shoulder and settling your fingers along his jaw. You drew your pointer fingers along edge of his beard, appreciating how neat it was, before finding dark curls you could wind around your fingers. “But your hat really was in my way,”

“Your naiveté is going to put you in a situation you cannot get out of one day,” He told you, hands quickly finding your thighs. His touch roamed your soft flesh and without even so much of a warning, Mihawk slid his fingers through the folds of your cunt. You jolted in place, startled by his touch and surprised by how good it felt. Making a noise in the back of your throat, your fingers twitched within his black hair. Heat burned in your cheeks from Mihawk’s intimate touch and it only grew worse when that touch turned to stroking. One hand abandoning luscious black locks, you gripped his shoulder and sputtered on a moan. Mihawk didn’t like that you had tried to keep your moan quiet. He was quite insulted by that actually. “And neither should you smother your sounds.”

This time when his fingers found a particularly sensitive area of your flesh you stopped biting down on your lip and let out a ragged moan. A pleasure unlike anything you’d ever felt was radiating from your cunt and spreading warmth and need throughout your body. Just the sounds you made had Mihawk’s cock aching, swelling painfully and twitching at the noises you made. Smirking and truly enjoying watching and feeling your reactions from just a simple touch, Mihawk continued to stroke your body, allowing his fingers to circle your clit and coax more inflaming sensations. You were nearly clenching his wrist with your thighs, and your face. Such a pretty little thing you were, perched on his lap with your face washed with pleasure.

You breathed heavier, your hips jerking every few seconds as pleasure made shockwaves ripple down your legs. But seeing you like this wasn’t enough. Mihawk moved on from just a simple touch, sliding a finger into your hot, narrow channel and basking in your immediate reaction. You sweetly gasped, fingers digging further into his scalp. It was another odd sensation, feeling fingers within your body, but it felt absolutely divine at the same time. You wanted more. So much more. So you rocked your hips into his fingers, moaning further as they went deeper into your cunt and curled to find just the right places to spark further pleasure. When your head dropped back, exposing the expanse of your mostly unmarked neck, Mihawk’s yellow eyes flashed and he dove back down. He scraped his teeth against your flesh, biting only briefly before sucking hard. You cried out this time, tugging on his hair and squirming in place.

Oh the things your body was feeling.

Warm all over, you felt like your cheeks were sweltering as liquidfire consumed your lower extremities. Something within your body was struggling for release, clawing at a cage that held it at bay… but you weren’t sure what. Caught in between a whimper and a grunt, you bucked your hips against Mihawk’s devilish touch once more and raked your fingers across his scalp.

“Mihawk,” The calling of his name practically dripped from your lips like the finest of wines, and Mihawk’s hunger for you only grew. It wasn’t enough to kiss you, to touch you, he wanted to be inside. In what you considered a stingy move, Mihawk withdrew his touch from your hot and clenching channel. You gaped at your loss and felt like screaming. Dropping your head back down, you stared in bewilderment at the man for ceasing that pleasure when you felt on the cusp of something incredible. You nearly went off on him for doing so! But then your eyes connected with his. His yellow eyes were burning with internal flames, hungry ones has ravaged and consumed all they touched.

“Nothing good comes from rushing, little bird,” Mihawk purred, nipping at your jaw and then ear. Over all he was being quite smug from seeing the markings on your neck. It painted quite a possessive claim upon your untouched body. You made a face.

“What was I rushing!?” You huffed out, entirely innocent to the meaning of Mihawk’s words. “That was feeling so nice and you had to go and stop!?” This time Mihawk couldn’t help but laugh at you. Your innocence was truly endearing.

“And deprive myself the pleasure of being within you upon your first experience of orgasm little bird?” Your eyes went wide as you had not taken that into account. In fact, you’d entirely forgotten about orgasms. The books you’d read were all clinical and it wasn’t like the sex workers had been forthcoming with information. “I think not.”

“That’s still mean,” You bravely stated. Mihawk chuckled again and his smirk widened.

“Oh darling, you don’t want me to be intentionally mean.” He spoke, reaching up to take your chin in hand. There was something within his eyes that made a shiver run up your spine. Predator. Oh yes, something slumbered within this man, something dangerous. You weren’t blind to that… you ought to be wary of that feeling, but in this moment you truly felt that he meant you no harm. “Now,” Mihawk continued, his eyes scanning your partially covered face. “As lovely as it is to see you wearing my hat, it obscures your stunning eyes and that in itself is a tragedy.”

While you stared into Mihawk’s eyes, he moved his grasp from your chin to the hat perched atop your head. In one swift move, he plucked it and tossed it to the side, revealing your gorgeous face and sparkling amethyst eyes. His hand returned to your chin and he took a moment to brush his thumb across the crest of your cheekbone. You truly did have a natural beauty to you, in mind and appearance. The hand Mihawk had placed upon your hip, pulled your hot and soft cunt against his throbbing erection. You gasped, eyes going wide at the feeling of his cock pressed against your own throbbing flesh combined from the dampness of both your bodily fluids. It made the ache within your body worse. The muscles in your thighs clenched and you swallowed hard.

“Are you going to make me stare into your eyes the entire night?” You questioned faintly, feeling like you might just crumble beneath his gaze after all. Mihawk brushed your lip with his thumb, amusing dancing within his eyes.

“A tempting thought, little bird.” He told you, his mind contemplating all the ways he was planing on having you. “But I think I shall like to have you like this first.”

Date Published: 10/28/23

Last Edit: 10/28/23

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[youremyheaven]

Hey, I always end up here for some reason. I actually do have a lot of people I want to ask about but it would take an eternity, but I would like to ask about relationships. I never dated but I did attract the boys I liked, some moments just happened for 1 or more years but I couldn't date them or anything, I don't regret nothing but I do remember them messing bad and it always ends up with me and my dignity, and I choose latter. They do remember and "seem" to like me even after months, as I heard from my friends after I stopped talking to them which I don't what's happening like where was your courtesy before? With such failed attempts in barely seeing them made me question my own taste. If I remember I know they reciprocate the feelings from here and there but they never told me directly, it's like I've to put efforts which I mostly don't and I don't want to assume anything so I just have to move on. I take my time and they end up doing bizzare things so I create some distance. There was a guy who did confess after whole ton of my hardwork but it was such a trashy experience, I didn't settle of course but my goodness never in my life again. I just gave up on this matter overall, let's see what happens next. I want to be a little delusional for a while. Can you talk about V a little bit, I was curious because I relate to him a lot and I thought of it as romantic before but I don't think it's the same now, I don't know what I'm trying to say but you haven't talked about him much either and I wished to hear this from your side? So if you just want to add something? Maybe I'll know myself a little too? Can you also talk about my attraction to such partners and them being weird?

i dont know if i entirely understood what you were trying to say

but basically you attract boys you like but even if they seem to like you, you don't get them to confess or be straight up with you??

IF this is what you meant,

boys who dont tell you they like you are weaklings. a lack of clear communication means they dont like you enough to risk their pride getting bruised. if a guy genuinely likes you, he'll risk it all and be straightforward with you

guys hold back when they have multiple thoughts running through their head and ideally their only thought should be bagging u

what goes on in their heads is none of our business and it doesnt matter. a guy who does not actually be clear with his intentions and does not pursue you is NOT worth your time. leave them in the dust.

idk how young you are but since you say you dont have any experience dating , i feel like saying this, its okay to want to be desired and wanted by others. there is nothing wrong with it. its biological and natural.

so ask yourself if you just wanted a bunch of admirers or if you actually wanted to date these guys

i know it can be really confusing and stressing as well tbh when someone gives you mixed signals but honestly just leave it at that. theyre being shady because THEY have shady intentions. no man with actually good intentions would hesitate to approach you directly my queen<333

idk how useful this is but im someone with a very "a win is a win" mentality lmao in the sense that if i liked someone and they liked me back, thats a win 😌😜

you did hear from your friends that those guys liked you, so likeeee 👀💅🏻

the number of people who like you, who you have mutual liking with etc will always exceed the number of people you actually date bc thats just math

if 10 guys like u and u like them back, u cant date all 10 in one go (or maybe u can but u'd have to figure that one out urself 🤡)

alsooo men being weird is just ://// how a lot of men are. many guys are straight up bizarre ://// dont take that stuff personally

about V (taehyung), he's actually my least favourite BTS member tbh,, idk if its because he's a Revati Moon (atmakaraka) with Mars in Uttara Ashadha amatyakaraka or what but he's always struck me as a guy who was kinda tough to be around. i dont think he's horrible or anything but his Shravana Venus, UA Mercury and Mars, Moon conjunct Ketu,,, its a weird combo,, he himself is a bit offbeat and eccentric but he would expect his partner to be kinda traditional and modest. i just dont like malefic influenced men i guess :///

something about his sweet boy act feels insincere to me. and as someone who has been around manyyyyy Revatis ,, i dont like that ADHD type behaviour they exhibit (im not making fun of anyone who actually suffers from ADHD and nor am i equating a mental condition with a nakshatra, i just dont know how else to describe the way manyyy Mercurials act??? yk all those funny reels and tiktoks about how gen z has a short attention span and communicate in a weird way bc they're chronically online, yeah, thats how a lot of Mercurials act)

a bit of a self-drag but i went to a girls school until i was 15 and had never interacted with a guy my age, after switching to a co-ed school at 16, i had to learn how to deal with guys from scratch. its a whole different world ill tell u. i think atp due to your lack of experiences with dating, you just dont know what to expect and how to deal with it. and thats okayyy,, this is just a part of life and youll figure it out for yourself as you go. dont stress out too much and dont worry about it tbh,, there are 8 billion people on this planet, there has to be a decent guy who will be honest, as well <333

[ambiguouspuzuma]

The Horologist

The HRS Azimuth was doomed on the eighteenth of August. It had lost its bearings early in the morning, at exactly a quarter past three, and thus began its sombre journey across the Styx - for all souls aboard were lost when it was finally found again. A ghost ship, run into a sheer cliff face as if on purpose; scuttled, like the crabs which now roamed freely across its decks.

Maritime calamities are rarely recorded with such precision. This is inevitable, despite the best efforts of their attendant historians, due to the way that wood decays, or salt preserves; meaning that whilst corpses may be examined, in order to determine a general time of death, there is no knowing how slow and drawn out the wait for it had been.

There are too many variables: one crew might have saved more rations, or doled them out more carefully, and hence postponed starvation for at least a few more tortured days. The end was set, but they could take their time in getting there. In this case, however, Arturo knew the moment of the struck ship's doom for certain. After all, he had planned it all out in advance.

Of course, it could be argued that the ship had been doomed all along - dead in the water from the moment that she left her berth, the crew's fate having been sealed long before that fateful night. If he had been pressed on that point, Arturo might have pointed to an evening some months hence, the minutes following a dinner which had been too rich for his tastes; digesting his own first taste of crab, but struggling to stomach his dining companions most of all.

"And have you ever worn a beard yourself?" asked Lord Gastan, seated to his right. He stroked his own forked number as he spoke, consciously or not, in a way that shed stray hairs across the tablecloth. Arturo moved his glass a few inches to the left.

"I am afraid not, my lord," he replied, without a question of his own. He saw that topic opening up like a chasm before them, a long-winded conversation about nothing of interest, and did his best to close it down. "I must confess that I have never seen the appeal."

"Ah, but perhaps you are right." Those taciturn tactics seemed not to have worked; Lord Gastan only nodded sagely, as if prompted into deeper thought. "They are such work to care for! The lotions, the oils, the constant tending - oh, like a Persian cat, or a pedigree Afghan hound!"

He bore the air of a man who had neglected to shave one morning and, rather than apologise for such slovenliness, decided to make it his entire personality. Such men always spoke of wearing their facial hair, an accessory to be consciously donned or discarded at will, rather than a disordered growth which freely sprouted from untended skin.

Arturo kept his bat straight. "I have never kept pets either, my lord."

"My God, man! Whatever do you do?"

That roused his attention. I work, Arturo wanted to say: both to sap more energy from the conversation, and to emphasise the difference between them. But he had to make the effort of civility. These Guild dinners were a chore, but they were all part of that work, an important investment in his career.

The city's Makers were often self-made men, but there was a limit to how far that path could take them. Even the greatest artificers could only make so many sales directly from their crooked shops, largely surrounded by competitors and peers. To truly reach their potential, they required a degree of patronage - investment in the latest apparatus, commissions, introductions, renown - and that meant being patronised from time to time.

The Guild arranged these dinners so that those two worlds could meet, to mutual gain; playing matchmaker between aristocrats and artificers, between money-men and, well, matchmakers. The likes of Lord Gastan could invest in Arturo's work - purchasing a stake in the future, anxious not to be left in the past. They would make a tidy profit, increasing their wealth and forestalling that irrelevance, whilst helping him up to the first rung of a ladder they had never had to climb themselves.

"I am a horologist," he replied instead. "A crafter of pillars and plates, balances and barrels, caps and cases. A maker of fusees and escapements. A cutter of wheels, a painter of dials, an engraver, a piercer, a finisher. That is what I do, and that is what I am."

"Ah... very good." After bearing with his babbling for three courses, Arturo was pleased to leave Lord Gastan lost for words. "And these, ah, escapements..."

"I make watches and clocks."

"Right. Yes. Such valuable work! Why, I myself was saying just the other day - to none other than the Admiral, you understand - that we have such a wealth of talent in the city, we really must be able to solve the issues his chaps have been having in the fleet."

"Issues?" For the first time, in over eighty minutes - according to Arturo's watch, which was never wrong - their conversation threatened to become interesting.

"Oh, yes! The search for new chronometers, of course - just as vital as the hunt for new uncharted lands, to hear the Admiral tell it, and of course crucial to their success. The current batch of instruments are just not up to snuff, and his office has decreed a new Trials to muster up some alternatives."

"They need... clocks?" The colonial machine had always seemed, well, imperious. Arturo couldn't think of it running on clockwork, let alone struggling to do so.

"Something to do with co-ordinates, as I understand it," Lord Gastan said. "Mariners have no way of telling longitude at sea, and there have been some terrible disasters as a result. I always thought they used the stars, but apparently they're not up to anything but latitude."

He stroked those luxurious moustaches when thinking, as if hoping to turn the conversation back to his subject of choice. Arturo resented them, knowing just what a luxury they were: he had answered honestly about his lack of facial foliage, but it was not a matter of never having seen the appeal, rather needing to retain his appeal to others.

As a newcomer in this city, he'd had to appear clean and clean-shaven at all times in order to be invited to Guild dinners in the first place. Arturo was a watchmaker by birth, but an Armestadter by trade. Upon arrival, he'd made it his vocation to steep himself in the city's stereotypes and culture: first to earn his residence, and then to earn a living. Flowing locks might be accepted on imported cats and hounds, but the city's great and good would only brush shoulders with a certain kind of immigrant.

He wore his curls cropped-close, his brown cheeks bare, and a simple, pressed white shirt - always tailoring his personality to match, keeping within the box they'd made for men like him. People wanted to do business with young Arturo, the neat and tidy islander whose impeccable service always came with a bow and a smile. He'd had to dispense with his traditional dress, his long, braided hair, and his pride most of all. They would not take him as he'd come, independent and free, so he'd suffered in subservience - and found pride in his work instead.

"Disasters?" That had his attention, even more than the talk of keeping time.

"Without a bearing, ships can be lost. Have been, in fact - and more than a few. Small wonder that the Admiral is making this a priority."

"Of course." The gears in his own mind were still turning. "Do you mind explaining how it works? I have a professional interest, you see."

"Well, from what I was able to grasp - and I am far from an expert, you understand - if a clock is set at its home port, and well-maintained, the navigator can simply check the time wherever he is and compare the two. The difference is his longitude: the number of degrees east or west."

"How would he know the local time?"

"Why, by observing the heavens!" Lord Gastan spoke as if it was obvious, the numbers plastered across the sky. "Again, I am hardly a mariner myself, but I gather that this is what sextants and such are for."

He talked as a man who often gathered, but rarely sowed. Lord Gastan was not the type to work the field himself. Arturo doubted he'd ever held a sextant, or any other tool more complex than the oyster fork he waved to make his point. It was his liberty to talk about such things as matters-of-fact, another man's life's work distilled into an anecdote, enjoying the fruits of a knowledge he had never had to earn.

Arturo eyed his shabby, ill-fitting clothes with contempt. Not for the style - having grown up on hand-me-downs himself, he had no right nor inclination to prejudge a book by its jacket - but that he was able to carry it off, due to the vest of privilege worn underneath. A chainmail forged from silver spoons. How much had he saved for his Guild dinner clothes, fretting each time over starching them enough? All when Lord Gastan could roll into this grand hall as if it was his drawing room. The nouveau riche could afford to dress well, but only old money could afford not to.

"That does sound useful." Arturo was an expert in the detail of his craft, but he hadn't considered such far-reaching applications. "But we have perfectly well-functioning clocks. I work on them every day. Forgive me, but I fail to see the problem."

"Well, this is your profession, not mine." Lord Gastan didn't try to hide his exhaustion with this line of questioning, but Arturo let the sigh go without comment. He was glad to be the bore for a moment. "But it is all to do with the pendulum. A reliable timekeeper on land, yes, but it simply cannot abide life at sea. The temperature, motion, corrosion, friction, lubrication..."

"I see." Arturo smiled. The pendulum. He would simply have to make a clock without its central part. "Well, I could certainly take a stab at that."

"If you wish to add your name, any and all attempt are welcome," Lord Gastan said, both magnanimous and patronising. "The two-hundred arum reward has attracted many young hopefuls. Of course, only the Masters have succeeded at a Trials before."

"Of course," Arturo echoed. He was not a capital letters Master, nor had much prospect of becoming one, though it was not for want of skill. In its lower case, he had achieved mastery within months of arrival; after years to hone consistency, he now produced a masterpiece every other week. But ability was not enough. Even Armestadt, that great beacon of talent, was far from a meritocracy.

The rank could only be bestowed by invitation from the Guild, and the Guild was comprised of Masters. They had grown old and rich on the backs of imported genius, young minds to be apprenticed and bound to their brands, shackled to their workshops with a distant promise of inheritance. They saw no reason to end that careful balance; the gate they kept barely ajar, so that they alone could mete out the proceeds of their work. They had no reason to promote him from inferior to equal; from underdog to competitor.

Arturo had forged his own path, but it had been a narrow, winding one, and it could only take him so far. He was a man who preferred his own company, to be left to - and with - his own devices, but he needed these dinners, the charity of patrons, in place of a Master to serve and suckle from. Then there was the prospect of these Trials: two-hundred arums would fund his work for months, or reduce his reliance on sponsors like Lord Gastan. For an independent Maker, it was a tempting reward all its own. But Arturo had another prize set in his sights, and it was worth far more to him than gold.

After dinner he retired to his workshop, the place where he'd strived to retire so many of his competitors. Arturo had never lacked for motivation, but now he was charged with a new focus: Lord Gaston had sold him the vision of a clock that could go anywhere in the world, and still dance to his beat with perfect rhythm. At least, Arturo thought, he had a project worthy of his talent. After years toiling in the shadows of the greats, this would be his masterpiece.

Armestadt was the city of the future. There were others with more prestige, certainly, more intellectual pedigree - and the Guild might have chosen the university towns of Tornfut and Roelm to seed its roots, if it had wanted thirsty minds and bright ideas, or the market capital of Hasanbout, if it was in need of golden arums most of all, raw materials and hefty coffers to buy them.

But it had settled here. Not for knowledge of the past, or the riches of the present, but the promise of the future. Armestadt was a city of Makers, most of all. Its bustling streets were crowded with all manner of artisans who had dedicated lives to their particular professions: polymaths who expounded genius with their hands rather than words, alchemists who created things from iron worth far more than their weight in gold.

It was Makers who crafted the specific, delicate pieces required for the advancement of Science - lenses for refracting light, intricate pulley mechanisms - and thus kept the wheels of progress moving on. Since his arrival in this foreign land, it was all Arturo had ever wanted to be. He had been powerless, impoverished, and knew that he could never gain the wealth or power lords like Gastan had been born with. But he could have knowledge, and talent, and graft. As a Maker, he could make himself their equal.

His workshop was nestled in the crook between Candlewick Lane and Creechurch Street, a thin building whose bulging bow windows gave the impression of being squeezed by its neighbours. It was an expensive part of town, with space at a premium, but convenient for his clients and potential benefactors. A twenty-minute walk from the Guildhall, if he made good time - and Arturo always did.

It was also his temple. He did most of his work in a narrow room, cluttered with all sorts of contraptions, half-finished, half-begun. It was a house of clockwork faces ticking in step, as Arturo did himself: he heard the music of the passing time, and knew how to play it on almost any instrument. His lungs breathed with the second hand, his heart beat with the pendulum.

Or not. He would have to find another way.

It wouldn't be the first attempt. There had been experiments with springs, for pocket-watches and carriage-clocks, but so far they'd lacked the precision of his more traditional work. Portable clocks were a novelty - some found them for short-term use, but they lacked the perfect accuracy Arturo had always craved. Still, if the Admiralty demanded it, he would have to see what he could do. He had long laboured at perfection; now he set his sights higher still.

It could be said that the HRS Azimuth was doomed that night: the moment the crew's fate was sealed behind glass, wound up and set to run. But their end might have been foretold even earlier, on another ship, bringing Arturo to their shores - or perhaps on the ships of the past, heading to conquer the land where he'd been born. He was the fruit of those seeds; the reaper their ancestors had sowed. The enemy who'd grown here in their midst. The cuckoo who now emerged from amongst his clocks.

Armistadt was the city of the future, as all of its local nobles loved to boast. Unfortunately for them, Arturo hailed from one of the nations of the past. His homeland was a once-mighty kingdom, brought low by the greed of its own rulers, and dragged lower by the greed of their new ones: imperialists who'd arrived to trade their sovereignty for a handful of magic beans, trinkets such as those he now made for their approval. When one man can be bribed to sell his kingdom, even the likes of Lord Gastan were rich enough to buy a crown.

Conquest had been a matter of business. They'd taken over the local mines, replaced their textiles, all industries now run from Hasanbout, native owners paid off for a fraction of their worth. With no opportunity at home, Arturo's peers had fled the sinking ship: their best minds flocked to Tornfut and Roelm, to learn how to supplant their mother tongue, to memorise the approved version of history. So it was that the ship continued to sink, with no-one left who knew how to right it again.

Arturo had arrived in Armestadt no better, but with little other choice: there were no Makers at home, no patrons, no Guild. If he wanted to master his craft, as he so sorely did, he would have to do it here. Armestadt was the city of the future, and it drew it in from miles around, leaving other places with little future left. This city was oft described as a melting pot, but Arturo had worked with furnaces, and knew that raw materials rarely arrived willingly. They were wheeled in as tributes to the flames; a sacrifice to something greater than themselves.

All four cities were a distortion that sat low across the landscape, a drain that drank in a hemisphere. Armestadt drew in talent as Hasanbout did cobalt, gold and iron ore, as Tornfut and Roelm did raw intelligence, and they all thrived like ticks upon their host. But such asset stripping was not without its costs. Trading routes were slung like grappling hooks across a vast and hostile continent, harpoons buried in the belly of a great whale, forgetting that roads run in two direction - and, once hitched, could be boarded from the other side. They exported resentment, and imported revenge.

Arturo made for an unassuming architect of destruction, stooped over his workbench: bow spectacles perched upon his nose, bow window allowing in the first glimpse of dawn to filter through. He worked delicately, as if wiring the clock to explode - his nimble touch dictating hands more graceful still, its calamity calibrated to the minute and minutest detail. He'd always taken care over his work, but this device might be his only chance to call an empire's time of death. Moreso than ever, he had to make it count.

Time was of the essence, with the Trials so soon. He worked around the clock, and then again, tinkering with every aspect to perfection, and then adding his imperfection back in. The trap would need to be intricate, to avoid detection by the judges, or those who oversaw the final installation. But nobody saw him now. The political philosophers loved to ask who watched the watchman, whilst the watchmaker entirely slipped their lofty gaze.

Arturo toiled for sleepless nights and restless days, counting down the seconds, one lined face above another. Time danced for him, allowing him to fit a month's work in a week, and he aged a year in exchange. But all that sacrifice was worth it. When the day of the Trials arrived, the device was finally ready: a carriage clock to fit a ship, more and less accurate than any that had come before. Arturo had cut his teeth on grandfather clocks, and now he'd created a clock worthy of his unborn grandchildren. Time had danced for him, and he'd plucked this dial straight out of the next century.

As promised, the Trials were flush with Masters. Arturo knew most of them by reputation, or past encounters, all of them disappointing. Lord Gastan had also shown up for the big event, along with some other high-rolling patrons of the Guild, as had the top brass of the admiralty. It was as if his whole world had been condescend into the docks for the day - or at least the ceiling that had always kept it contained. These were the limits of his present, and the pathway to his future.

As a late entry, and the lowest in seniority, Arturo's was the last scheduled attempt. He liked it that way. He was able to sit back and watch the so-called Masters expose each others' flaws, failing and falling one-by-one, before he took to the floor and exposed them all again. He needn't have worried so much before; or perhaps his fears had been well-placed, and driven him to resolve each and every one. Either way, there were no worries on the day. It all went like clockwork.

Going last, and coming first, meant that his coronation was easily lined up. Arturo stood clear as the most successful applicant, and there could be no doubt that his work had improved on all those who had come before. The device had worked just as intended; meaning that it worked well, for now, and didn't reveal the secret at its heart. Many of the Masters hadn't stayed past their own failed attempts, and Arturo thought it was the shame the whole Guild couldn't see his coronation - but it was sweet enough to be crowned by none other than the Admiral himself.

"I must congratulate you," he said, clasping his arm with a presumptuous hand. "Master...?"

"Arturo," he said, not bothering to make the correction. There was no stolen valour there. The rank was a formality he'd more than earnt in practice. "I am new to the Guild, but rising fast."

"As I see." The Admiral had seen what little he had permitted, but was the sort of man who liked to feel in charge. "Yours was an unexpected entry, as I understand, but the admiralty is fortunate that you decided to compete. You have your people's gratitude."

Arturo did not doubt it; though he suspected the Admiral was mistaken as to whom his people were. He was grateful now for the onerous Guild dinners, all of the practice with the likes of Lord Gastan, which had been rehearsal for this main event. He smiled and nodded, nodded and smiled. He was a metalworker, amongst everything else, and he knew how to manipulate the highest brass.

"It is my honour to serve," he said; a poor facsimile of patriotism, his mouth dry in the salt air. He was a far better liar with his hands. It was fortunate that these men heard only what they wanted to hear. "The fortune is all mine. But I have to thank Lord Gastan for his patronage. It was he who inspired me to stand before you here today."

He waved to his beloved patron, who seized this invitation to come and stand there with them. Lord Gastan had derived such pride from his previous conversation with the Admiral - none other, you understand - and Arturo knew he wouldn't resist a chance to bask in this reflected glory.

"Well, I can't quite take all of the credit," he said, as one who still felt tempted to give it a try. "But yes, it was my suggestion, I confess. I have always believed in the promise of Arturo here, and thought that this might be just the project for his keen and brilliant young mind."

Lord Gastan was hubris as always, but Arturo did not begrudge him the idea. It was true that, had they never spoken, he might well not be here today. He had planted the seeds of this ambition: the device, the Trials, the Admiralty's hour of need. There had been much about dogs and moustaches besides, but Arturo supposed that not everything the man said could be waffle. What was it they said about broken clocks?

"In fact," he said, "His Lordship deserves to enjoy the fruits of his inspiration. I have other commissions which keep me here, alas, rather than accompany my device on its grand voyage, but please, let him set sail in my place. If there is bounty, let him claim a share of it, in compensation for his generous patronage. If there is glory, doubly so."

"On uncharted seas? At my time of life?" Lord Gastan was as full of bluster as the dockside wind. "Oh, come now. In my youth, perhaps; but my seafaring days are long since past. I leave such adventures to the courage of younger men."

The Admiral coughed, perhaps to indicate that the pair were of an age; Arturo took the opening. "Oh but my lord, surely you do not doubt that the Admiral can keep you safe and secure? On his own flagship, no less? I am but a humble Makers, but surely our fleet are the power upon any waters they so choose to sail. Can you really question that?"

"I cannot," he conceded, although his eyes said otherwise.

"It won't be as frightful as it seems," the Admiral moved to assure him. "Ours is only an expeditionary voyage: to see and then return, with no drawn out engagements. We are simply to observe the unobserved; wonders never seen before by civilised man. I can offer you every comfort. Of course, it goes without saying that you can share my personal quarters."

Lord Gastan brightened at that prospect; a captive audience for his tedium. "You honour me, Lord Admiral."

"The honour will be mine, I am sure, to have such an esteemed guest upon our maiden voyage."

Arturo let them carry on the dance. He had learnt some of the steps, some of the words, across his early Guild dinners, but only aristocrats truly had the gift of it: like the food served, the language of diplomacy was too rich for an artificer's palate, and sickening in any but the merest quantities. Only those born to wealth, having been raised on its receiving end, actually had the stomach to enjoy it.

If Lord Gastan suspected a trap, he no longer shied away. He might recognise Arturo's insincerity, but think his motive plain: favour, patronage, influence with the Guild. He would be accustomed to such flattery, after all: the efforts of ambitious Makers to curry favour with whatever they had to offer as a bribe, compliments and complimentary mechanisms. All bare-faced manipulation, but all in good taste. He had courted such courtship himself, in attending Guild events. It he did not enjoy it, he would not have been there.

Arturo smothered the inner protests of his own anaemic pride. Against all odds, he had acquired two champions of the highest rank; with their support, should he continue, he would surely now make Master within the year. With a foot in that door, his path would be cleared for the next decade: to greater recognition, arums more than he could need, commissions to the greatest in the land. But he was himself a champion to others, from before he had arrived at these docks, and his first duty was to them.

At 3:15 on 18 August, the crew of the HRS Azimuth could feel that something was wrong.

They knew no fear upon these waters. Theirs was the flagship of the expeditionary fleet, the apex of the admiralty's ambition, the quill which would better divide the globe from Hasanbout. With sister ships to starboard and port, fore and aft, they'd set a course over the edges of the map, afraid of no peril or piracy that might assail them. They were the cutting edge that pierced the veil of ignorance: the Masters had crafted a sharper deadrise for speed, more powerful cannon for strength. Every plank of their ship was state-of-the-art.

Of course, that was where they were undone. Arturo's art had served a different state, a different muse. Following the successful Trials, he had been commission to outfit the whole fleet with his perfected chronometers, each set to the same exact time. He decked them out and cabined them in, a device wherever one might fit, and the Admiral was pleased to stand upon the future's gleaming prow: a line of shining clockwork galleons, a dozen cogs filled with a thousand gears and pinions.

It was a fortnight out to sea before the fear made itself known to them. For some, having grown used to the rhythm over the past weeks, it was simply a silence they couldn't place: a hole in the air, a lacuna in the melody of lashing surf and ocean gales. Amongst the music of the far side of the world, they'd been soothed by the ticking of a shell held to their ears, a clockwork conch that held the sound of home.

Some officers, with devices in their quarters, their every hour, minute and second tolled away, had found themselves attuned to that metronome: their breathing subconsciously aligned, their heartbeat keeping pace. It had become a crutch, taken for granted, until it fell out from underneath them; at 3.15 they found themselves stumbling, awoken gasping from their sleep without knowing why, before their assorted organs remembered how they'd functioned before.

For the navigators, it was an even graver problem. The night shift were already a skeleton crew, and they didn't notice when their bearings disappeared: the clocks simply stopped, frozen at a quarter past, and it was several minutes before they realised it had been a few. They tried to keep track, but there was no hope of counting on their own. From that point on, their hours were already numbered.

The next bearing was wrong. Days of ocean in every direction, not a glimpse of land in sight. As ever, Arturo had timed it to perfection. Stripped of its ability to navigate, the ship had been forsaken on the open sea: at the mercy of the winds and the tides and the twinkling mockery of the stars above, tracing a map that none on board had ever learnt to read. Such was the price of progress. Each advance in understanding covered over its own foundations.

Arturo knew all about that. Armestadt was the city of the future, and it built atop whatever past it came across, diverse cultures buried underneath its steel grey perfection. The progress of this expedition had a price that he had deemed too great to pay - and so he buried them instead. There were no bells to toll their death, nor the salvation of the lands which would go unrobbed, unmolested by the hunger of their endless tomorrow. The sand in the hourglass simply ran out, as the HRS Azimuth was quietly lost to time.

[screechthemighty]

Okay, so remember how I said that when I wrote my Atreus of Sparta headcanons down in one fic, it’d be over for y’all? Guess what, it’s over for y’all. Here’s part one of six, AO3 link will be in a reblog!

the ghost of you part one: this was always going to happen (prologue)

Hold the line.

It was the last thing Kratos said before running.

The enemy had a chimera. He didn’t know where they’d gotten one or how they’d managed to tame it, but that didn’t matter. It could not remain on the field. His men had enough to worry about as it was; their enemy was putting up an admirable fight, all things considered. If he could just get rid of the damn chimera, they could finally make some progress.

It wasn’t difficult to find. Someone had already attempted to blind the lion’s head, nearly succeeded, but it still had one functioning eye and two other heads besides.

No matter. He’d handle it.

He went for the snake head first, severing it with his short sword. The lion’s head quickly retaliated. Kratos dodged the first stream of fire easily, but barely dodged the second stream from the goat’s head. His spear throw missed the head, but did lodge itself in the beast’s body. The creature stumbled away; Kratos would have finished it off had he not been suddenly intercepted by an enemy soldier. He dispatched the swordsman quickly, but couldn’t locate the creature again when he was done.

Where…?

His question was answered when the chimera tackled him to the ground.

Kratos seized the lion head, barely keeping it from sinking its teeth into his neck. Instinct took over as he mustered every ounce of strength he had, ready to snap the creature’s jaw off if he had to…

A spear struck the goat’s head, going straight through one eye and deep into the skull. The creature recoiled in pain, giving Kratos enough space to throw it off him. He grabbed his sword and rushed the creature, cutting off the last head with two strong blows.

The body crumpled to the ground. He could taste blood in the air. For a long second, it felt quiet, too quiet for the battlefield. Then, someone spoke.

“Δοξάστε την Άρτεμη, that was a big one!”

Kratos grunted and pulled the spear free from the goat head. “I told you to hold the line,” he said as he tossed it back to its owner.

“It’s being held.” Atreus caught the spear easily. “I think you needed me more.”

He wasn’t wrong, but Kratos could only grunt again as he grabbed his own spear. His mind was still clouded from battle. He needed to focus. Return to the moment. Atreus wasn’t offended. They knew each other’s moods by now. He only followed close behind.

They made their way back to the others and rejoined the formation. It was only then when he was in his place, shield and spear drawn as they pushed forward, that he came out of his head enough to speak.

“Thank you.”

Atreus glanced his way and grinned, bright and a little bit crazed. “Always,” he said. “Let’s win this, eh?”

Kratos grinned back and fixed his eyes on the enemy. “Yes. Let’s.”

[incorrectgundamwingquotes]

GW Characters - First Impressions

It’s this blog’s 4th birthday! 🎉

What does that mean? …Well, nothing really lol

Anyway let’s do this~ My possible first impressions of some GW characters!

Format:

What I Had Expected: what I thought the character would be

What I Got: what they actually are

Character Rating: completely subjective scale on how much I like the character

Heero

What I Had Expected: Protagonist with an inexplicable wardrobe who probably had Feelings™ once before Tragedy Struck

What I Got: what the fuck is his body even made of and why do his death threats start to sound cute after awhile? Also, I didn’t sign up for dead puppies but then again neither did Heero so I guess we’re both wrecked

Character Rating: 4/5, docked a point because he wasted a perfectly good pineapple

Relena

What I Had Expected: Naive Good Girl teaches the Protagonist the meaning of love and life

What I Got: Barbie Princess who will rule the world with pacifism and has questionable taste in men so we always know she’s only human

Character Rating: 10/5, best character development in the series and also Gotta Love Pink

Duo

What I Had Expected: fun, lovable character that will teach Heero the Power of Friendship and will die horribly mid-series

What I Got: fun, lovable character that teaches Heero the Power of Friendship who Survives™ at the heavy cost of being bashed (physically or verbally) by pretty much every other major character

Character Rating: 100/5, I hope he gets the appreciation he deserves and a very long, very nice vacation

Trowa

What I Had Expected: the Quiet One whose every utterance has deep meaning

What I Got: Clown animal whisperer who has a lot of skills that are in no way related to his background of mercenary work. Also, he’s the iconic disaster gay because he’s Extra and yet has perpetual RBF

Character Rating: I don’t remember and neither does Trowa

Quatre

What I Had Expected: the sweet character that goes through some Dark Stuff, mentally breaks down and then commits war crimes

What I Got: well well well, what do you know...

Character Rating: 5/5 for effort, but 4/5 for the Zero System effort

Wufei

What I Had Expected: chill but still practically a stereotype that drops valuable life advice when the Protagonist needs it

What I Got: zero chill hyena-terrorizer with a dash of misogyny so that I can never relax when he’s on-screen whose sole profession seems to either be trying (and failing) to kill Treize or passive-aggressively calling his allies stupid

Character Rating: 3/5, would have been better if he’d gotten his ass kicked by at least one of the women. if he were real we would be frenemies

Treize

What I Had Expected: narcissistic asshole master strategist whose goal is either Power or Chaos

What I Got: almost all of that except his goal was Peace and I spit up blood just thinking about how far his head was shoved up his ass

Character Rating: 1/5, was just happy he died tbh

Zechs

What I Had Expected: conflicted anti-hero who started as a villain in the beginning but eventually joins the protagonist’s side

What I Got: the exact opposite of that holy shit

Character Rating: 2/5, I wanted less of him and more of his girlfriend. Noin bb I can treat you better

[ladyartemesia]

The Kiss

◐ PART VIII of THE ALPHA ◐

◐ Series Masterlist ◐

◐ Part I ◐ Part II ◐ Part III ◐ Part IV ◐ Part V ◐ Part VI ◐ Part VII ◐

Pairing: Alpha Werewolf Jimin x Omega Reader

Rating: Hard Mature 18+ (for this installment)

Warnings: this one is a little darker, descriptions of violence, ABO sexual dynamics including discussion of scenting, marking, mating, and claiming, strong sexual innuendo, discussion of violence relating to ritual combat, possessive behavior, injuries and discussion of injuries, lots of people have, use and are threatened by knives, kidnapping and drugging, its not as bad as it sounds, but it is definitely a bit darker…

Word Count: 4250

Author’s Note: I said it before but it bears repeating...You have no idea what your support has meant to me. Truly your asks and your messages and comments…they made me so happy. You made me believe that people wouldn’t forget about this story. I am so grateful you were able to wait. As many of you know I faced a medical emergency recently and you were all so lovely. The best followers on this site and I MEAN that. As always, my angels @ppersonna @xjoonchildx and  @untaemedqueen​  were (and continue to be) the best betas and the best friends anyone could ask for. My thanks to ALL of you for helping me bring this story to life! I don’t know what I would do without your daily encouragement and your daily support. You guys are the heartbeat of this story. It wouldn’t be here without you.

——◐——

Two Years Ago 

——◐——

Centuries ago the moon goddess stumbled across her human soulmate while he was sleeping. Struck by his beauty, but reluctant to reveal her identity, the goddess began to visit him in his dreams where she could hide her true form and appear before him as a mortal woman. 

In the world of dreams their love flourished and from that blessed union the packs were born…

The wolf nations celebrated this sacred romance every ten years during the Festival of the Lover’s Moon…

The day of the festival was spent eating and drinking and dancing at large parties, but when the sun went down… well—

That’s when things got really interesting. 

On the night of Lover’s Moon the young unmated wolves of the pack were permitted to commemorate this legendary love story in a decidedly scandalous manner. 

The unmated men assumed the role of the goddess’s sleeping lover—they were blindfolded (to represent slumber) and led into a large sectioned off area of the dark forest to ‘wait and dream.’

Unmated she-wolves over the age of maturity (eighteen) took herbal scent suppressors and ventured out into that very same forest in order to anonymously ‘visit’ the young men ‘in their dreams’...

The rules for what exactly that meant were pretty fast and loose which was why Min Yoongi was thanking the goddess and every other deity he could think of that Yunli was still seventeen. 

“But I will be eighteen in two days! Please can’t I just—“

“No. Absolutely not under any circumstances ever.”

“But Yoonji is going!”

“Ji-ah is nearly nineteen and has never been interested in any of the snotty little man-pups of our pack.” He snorted. “She’s probably going out just so she can shove a bunch of them in the lake.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Yunli mumbled irritably. 

Kim Taehyung yawned idly and snuggled into the cozy little pallet he prepared at the base of his favorite tree. The blindfold he and all the other unmated ‘lovers’  wore was made from witchcloth and could not be removed while the sun was down—so he had snuck into the forest earlier to set everything up. 

Now all he had to do was wait until—

“H-Hi Taehyung.”

Oh sh—

“Uh. Hello...Miss.”

Taehyung didn’t recognize the owner of that voice, but he knew for sure who it wasn’t. 

“I was hoping to find you tonight.”

This is not good. 

“Well I’m—I’m flattered… naturally but—”

She touched his hand and he squeaked. 

“I was thinking you and I might get to know each other a little bet—eep!”

The sharp point of a custom blade pressed directly into the unfortunate young beta girl’s pulse point. 

“Are you lost, puppy?”

A heavy cloak obscured the newcomer’s features, but there was no mistaking her meaning. 

Taehyung bit his lip to keep from snorting as the poor she-wolf scrambled away. 

“Ji-ah,” he tsked with feigned disapproval, “that wasn’t very nice.”

Min Yoonji grinned as she sheathed her wicked looking dagger and slid languidly into his arms. 

“You don’t like nice girls, Kim Taehyung.”

“I like you,” he whispered breathlessly against her lips. “Nice or not—it doesn't matter to me…” His hands slid greedily over her soft curves—pulling her closer till he felt the beat of her heart against his own. “I’ll like anything as long as it’s you.” 

This was the stupidest idea in the history of stupid ideas. 

Jimin huffed as he struggled to find a comfortable position against the giant boulder he’d chosen as his perch.

Why did I let Taehyung talk me into this?

He could be at home—in bed—comfortably sleeping off the all-day feast he’d indulged in. 

Instead he was out in the middle of the forest sitting blindfolded on a rock in the off chance that one of the she-wolves was out looking for him. 

Not bloody likely. 

Not when prime targets like Namjoon, Hoseok, Jungkook—and countless others—were scattered throughout the woods. 

“Park Jimin?”

Every hair on Jimin’s body stood on end. 

It was a soft whisper—the speaker clearly didn’t want her voice to be recognized, yet something about the sound sent a curious frisson of interest down his spine. 

He gulped. 

“Yes… that’s me. But if you’re looking for Hoseok he’s just a little deeper in. You probably caught his scent downwind so—”

“I’m not looking for Hoseok.”

Jimin licked his lips and the sight of it sparked a odd curl of heat in the pit of your belly. 

“I don’t know where anyone else is…”

“That’s quite alright.” A muted shuffle of movement reached his ears as you settled down beside him. “I was looking for you.” 

“Oh…” He rubbed the back of his neck idly. “Are you sure?”

Laughter like fairy bells whispered through the air and Jimin felt his heart clench.

Don’t get your hopes up. 

“Who are you?”

You were silent for a long time and then—

“I am someone who owes you a debt. One I have never been able to repay.”

Jimin’s head tilted curiously as he considered your words. 

“I’m sorry, miss… you must be mistaken. There isn’t—“

“You don’t remember.” 

It was a statement—not a question. Your voice was nearer now. He could feel the warmth of your body close to his—though not quite touching. “It was your wolf that saved me. But you had not gone through the Change yet.”

Familiar shame spiked sharply in his chest.

“I’m seven years past the Change...Why have you never mentioned this before?”

“Circumstances prevented me from doing so.” 

There was a cold finality to your pronouncement—which of course did nothing but further inflame his curiosity. 

“Then why come to me now?”

“I’ve come to repay you.”

Jimin’s mouth dropped open. 

Were you trying to—?!

“Oh—no please that-that’s not necessary—I could never take advantage of—”

You giggled again.  

“I am not offering my body, Park Jimin.”

Jimin breathed a heavy sigh of relief then shook his head with a wry chuckle. 

“Well considering the circumstances I can hardly be blamed for assuming you might be. And honestly most men would jump at the chance to—”

“You...are not most men.” 

Jimin’s eyes narrowed beneath his blindfold. 

“Little she-wolf—I may not be wrestling bears for fun or bare knuckle boxing in the town square, but I am still an alpha.”

The weight of his command poured over your body as he spoke the last word. There was no order or intent—he had simply given you a taste of his power. 

Aside from your direct blood relatives, no alpha had ever dared unleash their compel in your presence—therefore you were utterly unprepared for the effect it had on you—

Utterly unprepared for the strange surge of want so potent and profound that it stole the breath from your body. 

It was primal—invigorating—

Sensual.

You and your wolf may not have been entirely connected yet, but she was suddenly quite vocal about her desire to fully bask in Park Jimin’s attention.

A wicked grin played over his lips as he leaned in closer and you could almost feel the soft brush of his lips against your cheek. 

“Did you think I would not desire the touch of a beautiful woman in the moonlight?” he whispered. 

Please touch me, Alpha. 

Your eyes widened. 

Dear goddess. Your inner wolf was turning out to be a shameless hussy. 

“You might desire it, but you are far too  honorable to accept it as payment for a debt.”

Jimin drew back warily. 

You were correct of course. After all he had refused you when he believed that was your intent but—

“How could you know that?”

Evade. Evade now. 

“Well... how could you know I was beautiful? You’re blindfolded.”

He shrugged and your wolf took careful note of the way it made all the pretty muscles in his back and shoulders ripple. 

He will give us such strong—

Oh boy. 

He will do no such thing. Please calm down. 

“Not everything must be seen with your eyes.”

Is that how you found me? All those years ago...

Questions churned chaotically beneath your consciousness but you dared not give voice to them. 

Focus.

“I must repay this debt. Ask for what you want and—if it is in my power—I swear it will be yours.”

Jimin smiled again, but this time it was somehow softer. For a moment he looked almost…

Sad. 

“I’m afraid that the only thing I have ever wanted is not within your power to give...and I dare not ask you or anyone else for it.”

For her. 

He sighed and drew even farther away from you—in fact it seemed like he was preparing to leave. 

No. 

Your hand reached out almost of it's its own accord and wrapped tightly around his wrist. The contact sent a shock of searing heat through his veins and he froze. 

“Please alpha. It is not acceptable for someone like me—” a leader, a Luna, “—to owe another my life and offer nothing in return. You must let me pay my debt.”

Omega, his wolf growled, sweet perfect omega. 

Suppressors may have hidden your scent, but the siren song of an omega pleading prettily in his ear was unmistakable—irresistible…

“What if all I want is your name?”

You sighed deeply. 

“I cannot give you that. My name is… not mine to offer.”

Jimin laughed. 

“A woman I cannot remember with a name I cannot know and whose face I cannot see.” He shook his head. “Perhaps you are just a figment of my imagination.”

It was hard to explain what happened next...For whatever reason his words cut you deeply and you were overcome with the desire—no need—to refute them somehow. 

“I’m real enough,” you whispered, bringing his hand to your cheek. 

Jimin was genuinely beginning to wonder if you were a witch as well as a she-wolf. Being close to you was intoxicating and the urge to draw you in was steadily overpowering every other thought.

“Could I ask you for a kiss, then?”

“You—...You saved my life and all you want... is a kiss?”

The air grew heavier as the strange magnetic pull between you swelled to a silent inescapable crescendo. 

“In Seoul I often searched for someone who could ease my loneliness, yet each time I walked away emptier than before.” His thumb brushed gently over your lips and your eyes fluttered shut. “I have never had a kiss that meant anything to me.”

But yours might. 

It was unclear who moved first, whether he pulled you to him or you surged forward but when your bodies aligned and your lips met his for the first time it was as if you had never been separate from one another. 

As if you had always been deeply—intimately —together. 

The indescribable feel of him lit over your senses like a struck match. It was an ignition in the purest sense of the word— a fiery visceral awakening fueled by a consuming flood of desire. 

Yes, Alpha. 

He might never see your face or hear your name, but Jimin knew he would remember the taste of you for the rest of his life. It was hot and bright like liquid sunshine— a pure relentless light flowing through him where there was once only darkness. 

A soft needy moan rose up from your chest and he growled in primal satisfaction as you melted against him. 

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt of their own accord, desperately trying to bring him closer until he wrapped his arms around you in a heated embrace. 

“Please,” he begged breathlessly against your mouth. “Please tell me who you are.”

The words crashed over you like a bucket of ice —dousing the hazy pleasure of his kiss with a cold bite of reality. Suddenly you were wrenching yourself away from him and your wolf whimpered in misery at the loss of his touch. 

“I can’t,” you whispered. 

And then you were gone. 

“Did someone hurt you?”

You looked up to find Jin taking in your tears with cold fury. 

Twin knives were already gleaming dangerously in his hands and he appeared ready to filet whichever bastard was foolish enough to make you cry. 

“No,” you sniffed—well aware of how pitiful you were at the moment—crying in the corner of your cousin’s kitchen. “I got myself into this mess without any help—as usual.”

Jin sighed and slid down next to you. 

“Tell me.”

“Something happened that I…I didn’t intend.”

“Oh I knew that already. The Luna isn’t supposed to be running around on the night of Lover’s Moon in a forest full of blind horny wolves—“

You snorted and shook your head. 

“You’re absolutely right. I should have stayed away.”

Jin’s eyes narrowed and he wondered if perhaps you had caught Kim Namjoon with another omega. Nothing would be official until after the Change of course, but your bond with him was basically a foregone conclusion at this point. 

“You went looking for someone...didn’t you.”

You nodded miserably—all but confirming his fears. He made a mental note to push Namjoon in the swamp at the next available opportunity. 

“You know... the stories say that a Luna is powerfully drawn to her mate under the Lover’s Moon—that her wolf can sense him even before the Change.”  He reached over and gently began to brush the tears from your eyes. “So it’s not surprising that you sought him out, but it’s not really fair to hold whatever it is you saw against him. There is no relationship between you yet and…” he chuckled, “kisses beneath festival moonlight don’t really mean anything anyways.”

It was clear that Jin had somehow gotten the entirely wrong impression, but perhaps that was for the best. 

No one knew of your connection to Jimin and no one had seen what passed between you. 

Still…

Something about his assessment stung you. 

“You really believe that? ...That a kiss exchanged tonight means nothing?”

“I do.” Jin spoke with conviction. “There’s ancient magic at play in those woods. You can’t always trust what you see—or what you feel.”

“Oh I...I didn’t know…”

After a moment you laid your head against his shoulder and let the last of your tears run silently down your cheek. 

“Jin-ah have you ever wanted something you knew you couldn’t have?”

“Yes.” He sighed heavily and pulled you in to snuggle a bit closer. “When I was younger I dreamed of having a mate just like everyone else…”

The words were so softly spoken—almost wistful. Your heart splintered just hearing them. 

“But… she could be out there—your mate.”

Jin shook his head. 

“When is the last time you heard of a female alpha?”

Fresh tears welled up in your eyes. 

“Jin…”

“Hey,” he whispered, “don’t waste your crying on me. I’ve long since come to terms with who and what I am.”

“You’re not sad anymore?”

“Well… maybe sometimes I am… but I had to accept that people like us are not like everyone else. Our destinies were written long before we were born.”

“And you believe you’re destined to be alone?”

“Wolves in a pack are never really alone.”

“Yes...but they can be lonely,” you whispered thinking back to Jimin’s words. 

For a moment Jin’s eyes were the saddest you had ever seen them. 

“Well...I suppose they can.”  Then he chuckled and gave your nose an affectionate little tap. “But you don’t need to worry about that. When the time comes Namjoon will take his place at your side and the two of you will build a wonderful life together... Isn’t that what you want?”

Isn’t it?

Your treacherous thoughts drifted back to the boy in the moonlight—to the way your body sang when he touched you and the strange insatiable desire to know him and be known by him in return.

“Please...Tell me who you are.”

A heavy ache settled in your heart. 

You were the Luna of the mountain nations. A true born moon princess. 

You could never be the woman who kissed Park Jimin underneath the stars. 

You were not like everybody else. 

“...Yes. That is what I want.”

——◐——

Now 

——◐——

Jimin’s heart pounded as he tore through the dark paths of the wood with Taehyung, Yoongi, and Jungkook close behind. 

He had never led an attack—had never been trained to command wolves in battle. 

It was his first true test of leadership and he hadn’t even been a leader for twenty-four hours. 

Yet the fears and anxieties that might have normally clouded his mind were notably absent. 

There was only you.

Ironically Jimin owed Namjoon yet another debt—this time for explaining what exactly someone like him was capable of. 

The alpha Jin captured had given up their plan and position after being exposed to Jimin’s unique gifting, so he had a concrete target in his mind… He suspected however, that your captors had taken precautions after leaving some of their men behind. They had shifted their camp. 

But it wouldn’t be enough to save them. 

Jimin didn’t need your location to find you. 

He spent years refusing to look at you, and even then he always knew exactly where you were. He could sense you in any crowd—hear your voice in a thousand.

Once it had tormented him cruelly to be so aware of you. 

Now it was the only thing keeping him sane. 

He followed the connection between his heart and yours like a lifeline and it guided him as surely as the stars. 

The alphas followed him without question. 

If any of them harbored lingering doubts before, they were firmly laid to rest after what they saw at the cottage. No ordinary wolf could do what he had done. 

The Alpha would bring back their Luna and retribution would be swift indeed. 

The drugs in your system kept swinging you in and out of lucidity like a nightmarish pendulum. You tried to shift after the initial nausea faded, but whatever they gave you kept your wolf caged beneath your skin. 

Jimin

The longing you felt for your mate was the only thing tethering you to reality. You could almost hear him echoing in the far corners of your mind—  

I’m coming Omega—hold on. 

I’ll find you. 

Part of you recognized that his voice was likely nothing more than the wistful creation of your drug-addled mind, still you clung to it like the last shred of hope while the minutes (or hours) flew past.

Chaos clouded your thoughts even in clearer moments as many unavoidable concerns forced their way through the haze. 

Jin was at the house with you when they broke in. You had no way of knowing if he survived. 

The men who took you were crass and irreverent. Their eyes followed your form with too much interest and too little respect. 

It was starting to get cold and (due to you nearly dismembering a high council member and needing to be compelled unconscious) you were still wearing a thin white ceremonial dress which offered very little protection from the elements. 

You wondered idly if your idiot captors would let you freeze to death before they accomplished whatever it was they took you for. They clearly needed you for something or you would have been long dead by now. 

None of them struck you as particularly brilliant planners so the mastermind must be somewhere else... 

Frankly the entire situation was as puzzling as it was troubling. Iron Claw had always gotten along well with your pack. 

Technically they were (almost) what the human governments called a vassal state. The presence of a Luna determined the dominant pack in a region and the Luna of the mountain nations had been born into Silver Fang—your pack—for the last thousand years or so. 

Why would they challenge us now? 

The birth of a Luna indicated that the goddess had chosen that pack to lead. Their willingness—not only to kidnap you—but to go against the dominant pack by doing so was alarming to say the least. 

A sudden explosion of movement and sound interrupted your contemplation. Motion erupted all around you—boots pounding on the ground, men falling into their wolf forms, knives being drawn… 

You lifted your head—straining forward to see the source of the commotion—and nearly collapsed in relief when you finally did. 

Alpha

Your mate stood at the edge of the camp flanked by two enormous black wolves. 

A deadly looking jingum sword gleamed dangerously in his right hand. You recognized it immediately as your great-grandfather’s combat blade—the thousand year-old weapon of the Silver Fang Alphas. 

Relief flooded your chest all over again at the sight of it. Only Jin could have given him that sword—which meant he was still alive. 

The black wolves—Yoongi and Jungkook—snarled viciously but made no move to attack. 

Your captors were still scrambling into some sort of combat formation when Jimin finally spoke. 

“You have violated our sacred laws, trespassed in sovereign pack lands, kidnapped a Luna under the protection of our goddess, abducted the mate of the Silver Fang Alpha, and risked open war between our peoples.” He took a single step forward. “Surrender now and I will be merciful.”

The biggest of your captors—a man you recognized as the de facto leader—spat viciously on the ground. 

“You are not my Alpha,” he growled.

A cold—almost cruel—smile twisted over Jimin’s lips.

“Very well.”

Then he dropped to one knee and a massive grey wolf—Taehyung—leapt over his head and tore out the defiant leader’s throat before he even hit the ground. 

Your mouth dropped open. 

Bangtan formation.

Yoongi and Jungkook lunged forward in opposite directions, tackling their targets to the forest floor in a bloody clash of teeth and claws. 

One of the larger Iron Claw alphas half-shifted and charged Jimin but his arm shot out lightning fast, catching his attacker by the throat to send him flying through the air into a tree. 

The next several minutes could only be described as terrifyingly beautiful.

It was immediately clear that Jimin had been holding back when he fought Namjoon. 

He dispatched his opponents with such elegant savagery it was almost art.

You were so mesmerized watching Jimin sensually sword dance his way through a dozen alphas nearly twice his size that you almost missed Taehyung’s wolf rushing over with a dagger clenched between his teeth. 

Luna are you okay? 

You grinned and held up your rope-bound wrists. 

“I’ll be better once you pass me that knife.”

Taehyung nodded once and dropped the blade at your feet before tackling another wolf that was tearing towards the two of you. 

You sawed through the ties around your ankle first then twisted your arms to try and slice through the restraints on your wrist. 

The Iron Claw wolves were clearly no match for Jimin and his alphas. 

Jungkook and Yoongi chased after the few who were trying to run while Taehyung half-shifted to subdue the handful of wolves left alive as prisoners. Only Jimin continued to fight as the last three of your captors still standing took turns being slammed into the dirt by his strikes. 

He was clearly capable of dispatching them, but you were fairly convinced that you would die if you had to stay away from him for another second. The ropes, however, were surprisingly thick and the angle you were cutting them at wasn’t the best. If only—

You were almost free when you saw it. 

One of your captors had pulled a hunting javelin from their supply wagon. He must have hid himself at the onset of the fight, but now he was comfortably concealed by the shadows—and taking aim at Jimin. 

Your heart dropped into your stomach. 

The attacker appeared to handle the weapon with familiarity. He was too far back—too well hidden—Jimin would never see him in time—

The last cord around your wrist snapped and you were on your feet, pushing through the combined haze of fury and sedatives to charge the wolf who dared attack your mate. 

By the time he saw you it was far too late. 

Under the effects of the drug your aim was a little skewed but you weren’t Kim Seokjin’s cousin for nothing. 

One clean flick of your wrist and the dagger shot through the air, burying itself between the brute’s shoulder blades—all the way to the hilt. 

His body fell to the ground just as Jimin sent the last of your captors careening into a pile of previously defeated foes. 

For a moment all was quiet. 

Then your eyes locked across the distance and everything around you sharpened to a single whispered word. 

“Jimin.”

He had run non-stop for miles and torn apart a dozen wolves to get to your side—no amount of space between you now was tolerable. 

The sword clattered to the forest floor as he moved toward you—desperate to feel you—to wrap himself around you and know that you were safe. 

What happened next was as natural as breathing.

You opened to him and he lifted you into his arms, taking your lips in a hot unrepentant kiss. 

Fire exploded across your senses, burning away everything but the touch and taste of him. Every part of you was at once fiercely and gloriously alive. Desperate moans passed between you as he licked into your mouth—a dark primal promise of the pleasure he would take between your thighs. 

“Alpha,” you whimpered, too delirious with want to manage anything else. 

Suddenly Jimin’s eyes shot open. His hands flew to cup your face, searching it with a mixture of realization and disbelief.

“You… It was you.”

If you are already on the taglist, then I will automatically tag you for the next part! If you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know.

Please tell me what you thought of this update! I am really excited to hear your thoughts! Feedback really does fuel my writing and hearing from you means a lot to me! On days that its hard to write, I go back and I read your lovely words and it makes me want to keep going! I cannot overstate its value in my heart! Seriously this story keeps going because you guys have been so supportive and wonderful. You have no idea how much just a few word can brighten my world and fire up my muse. 

[bejcwcled]

"i don't care when the relationship happened. ravonna might. but myself? well i'm in no position to judge. i've had relationships overlap. now your taste in men on the other hand, that's a bit questionable." it seems he had struck a nerve without even trying that hard. huh, guess this relationship was a sore spot for both halves of it. "touch me and you'll find yourself on the sharp end of a dagger. no one goes inside my mind. never again. he made me mad and a bit of uncontrolled magic happened. knowing my luck something will happen and he'll be back to normal." he shrugged. he knew eventually something would trigger kang's memories and he'd be back to the menace. "bring him back? are you out of your mind? him thinking he's just an inventor is the best thing that's ever happened to this place." @fcdcdmcmories

"SHE DIED, OKAY? she died and we spent thirty years locked away in the same place together and it was bound to happen. i'm sick and tired of people judging something that they cannot understand." and that was the case. how could they understand when they had never been there? how could they understand when they didn't know him like she did? "i can read minds. if i touched you right now.. i could see inside your head. of all the shit that i'm sure is going on in there. and that was you? you're the reason that he's been acting weird?" janet sighed. what to do? he was her friend and he didn't understand what was going on and she hated seeing him like that. something told her that it was wrong, in so many different ways. right? "no matter. i'll fix it and i'll bring him back. i think that i can make that happen." she wanted to believe that she would be able to help him. so she did. "right. she's your daughter. good for you. now, can you step aside so i can go help my friend?" (@bejcwcled)

[poppywrites41]

Promises Pt. 3 Villain KiriBaku x Fem Reader

Hello, my lovely Poppies! Wow! Would ya look at this! A post at a normal time of day!😂 Here is chapter three of Promises! I hope you all enjoy it. This chapter is still pretty tame, but don’t worry, the drama and spiciness will ramp up soon!

Fanart credit goes to Sakimichan on DeviantArt. Go check them out, their art is amazing!!

Disclaimer: I do not own any MHA characters 

Warnings: Language, mentioned rape, mentioned violence, mentioned death

Masterlist

Pt. 2

“How many pancakes do you want, sweetheart?” The blonde asked when she walked into the kitchen.

“Just one,” the girl said quietly. Bakugou chuckled and placed two on her plate.

“You got to eat more princess,” he said as he handed her the plate and gestured her to the table, “you need to stay healthy. We don’t wanna see you get sick. do you understand?”

Y/N nodded with a silent thank you and sat down at the kitchen table.

“We got water, milk, juice, and alcohol,” the man called from the fridge, “Which one do you want?”

“Water please,” Y/N said, picking at her food. fuck ago return to the table with a beer in one hand and a glass of water in the other, placing it in front of her. The girl nodded thanks to the man and brought the cup to her lips. She didn’t realize how thirsty she was and chugged the entire glass. The blonde chuckled at her, “do you want another?”

“Yes please,” Y/N said quietly. Bakugou nodded and took her glass back to the kitchen to refill it, “Eat princess. Kiri Will want to know how his cooking tastes.”

Without responding, Y/N grabbed a fork, searching for a knife to cut her pancake with. There was none. They don’t trust her with a knife. She slowly cut a pancake with her fork, taking a tiny piece, and bringing it to her mouth with shaky hands. It was sweet. Too sweet for her. She felt like she was going to throw up. If she hadn’t seen what she did in his room, she probably would have enjoyed this more.

“How is it? “The man said as he sat back down, placing the glass in front of her.

“It’s good,” Y/N said with a small, forced smile.

Bakugou returned the smile and proceeded to eat his own food, “Kiri’s a good cook. Not as good as me, though.”

“Y-You cook?” Y/N stuttered.

The man sighed in annoyance, “Of course I do! Why is everybody so surprised that I can cook?”

“I-I mean, n-no one really expects it. Y-You’re- Y-You’re…”

“Too cool?”

“I-I guess. Y-You don’t seem l-like the type…”

“Yeah, I guess,” the man huffed, leaning back in his seat, “I even shocked my classmates with my cooking skills when we were at camp. They didn’t think my cooking would be good. Boy did they love it though.”

Y/N nodded and proceeded to slowly eat her food, no matter how much her body and mind were protesting it. Not long after, she claimed she couldn’t eat anymore.

“You haven’t eaten in two days and you only eat half of a pancake?” Bakugou questioned, eyeing her plate.

“I ate the eggs,” Y/N said, “I-I’m just pacing myself. I don’t want to get sick.”

Another lie. She was starving but couldn’t bear to eat out of the hands of the two murderers.

The blonde hummed, taking her plate in his to the kitchen. “I’m gonna put yours in the fridge. We can’t let this food go to waste so let me know when you’re hungry again and I’ll take it out.”

Y/N nodded and got up from her seat to take the silverware and drinks to the sink.

“Just leave them there princess,” Bakugou said, “I’ll wash them. Go sit down on the couch in the living room.”

Y/N went into the living room and plopped herself on the couch while Bakugou was cleaning up in the kitchen. She took that moment to mourn her cousin, letting the tears cascade down her cheeks, gently wiping them with her sleeve as to not cause redness on her skin. She couldn’t afford to let either man know that she knew anything. She couldn’t believe that they killed Kaylee. They promised that they wouldn’t. Then it struck her. They probably had already killed her. The men were planning on hanging her costume fabric on the wall in their room, the room she knew she would be visiting a lot more lately. Did they think that she wouldn’t recognize the fabric?

When she heard the sink turn off, she wiped her face of any tears, focused on steadying her breathing. Bakugou came into the room and sat next to her on the couch. Y/N stiffened when she felt his hands grab her waist.

“Relax,” the man said.

Y/N went limp as he pulled her into his lap, his hand pushing her head into his neck while his other adjusted her legs over his.

“W-What are you doing?”

“Holding you.”

“W-Why?”

“You’re scared,” he said, “I’m sorry you saw that in our room. I’ll ask Kiri to take them down and move them somewhere else.”

“Are you going to add more?” Y/N whispered, already expecting his lie, knowing her cousin will join the other fallen heroes.

“No,” he said, running his hand through her hair, “Hopefully not anytime soon. Kaylee is off-limits. We know that.”

Liar. That’s what she wanted to say.

“W-What about your classmates?” Y/N stuttered, “Will you… k-kill them too?”

The blonde sighed, refusing to answer.

“Y-You could have killed Ingenium… but you didn’t.”

“That was to send a message…” Bakugou said, “He’s lucky to even be alive.”

“But he can’t run… He doesn’t have his quirk anymore.”

“That’s what happens when they try to stop us.”

“T-They were trying t-to help you,” Y/N said sitting up, looking into the man’s eyes, “They wanted to save you from doing something worse.”

“Y/N…” Bakugou warned.

“It hurts them to see you two like this. They want to help you get better. I-I want to help you get better.”

“I don’t need to get better!” Bakugou shouted. He flinched when he heard Y/N yelp in pain. He looked down to see that his hand holding her thigh was letting off steam. He was burning her. When he lifted his hand, he saw a pink outline of his hand on her skin.

“Shit,” he grumbled as he moved her to his side, “Stay there. I need to get some supplies.”

Y/N sat there, staring at the burn, barely even registering a door opening and closing.

“Bakugou! Princess! I’m home!” Kirishima sang as he walked into the kitchen to put down his bags.

“How was your morning Princess?” he asked, walking towards the living room, “Did you like the breakfast I ma- Holy shit! Bakugou! What did you do to her?!”

“She said something annoying,” Bakugou huffed as he walked in with some medical supplies, “Honestly didn’t mean to burn her, but she had it coming. Yapped about how we need help to get better.”

Y/N flinched when the blonde took her leg and wiped the burn with a disinfectant wipe.

“We’re not insane, Princess,” Kirishima said as he sat down next to her, taking her hand in his, “We know what we’re doing. It hurts that you think that about us.”

“S-Sorry…” Y/N whispered as Bakugou rubbed some ointment on her thigh and covered it with a bandage.

“What do you say to Bakugou, Princess?” the redhead said.

“T-Thank you. I-I’m sorry f-for what I s-said…”

“Good girl~” Kirishima cooed, nuzzling her hair with his nose out of affection, “Why don’t you sit here and relax while we go take care of the groceries, yeah?”

Y/N nodded, “C-Can I go to my room?”

“Sorry Princess,” Kirishima sighed, “You gotta stay down here with us. Can’t take any chances if you get hurt again with that injury.”

Translation: Can’t have you trying to escape.

Y/N nodded again.

Kirishima smiled and kissed her cheek before he got up from the couch, “Just wanna make sure your safe, Princess. Come on Bakugou. I got the stuff for dinner that you needed.”

The men make their way into the kitchen and begin to unload the groceries. Y/N looked back behind her to observe them. They seemed totally normal. Bakugou would chastise the redhead whenever he put the vegetables in the wrong drawer or put something in the freezer that needed to be in the fridge. Again, if they weren’t villains, Y/N would have smiled and laughed at their bantering. Suddenly feeling the urge to pee, she got up, careful not to anger the burn on her leg, and walked into the kitchen, catching both men’s attention.

“I need to use the restroom…” she said.

“I’ll take her,” Bakugou said, putting down the bell peppers in his hands and turning to the redhead, “Meat goes in the second drawer and fruit goes on the top shelf. I swear if you mess even that up, I will beat you.”

Kirishima laughed, “You’re so picky!”

“I’m not picky! I’m organized. There’s a difference.”

“Alright, alright. I got this. Just go take her.”

Bakugou sighed and grabbed Y/N’s hand, “Come on.”

He led her down the hall to the bathroom, “Do your thing and come straight back to the kitchen, understand?”

Y/N nodded.

“Words, Sweetheart.”

“I understand.”

Bakugou nodded and walked back to the kitchen.

While in the bathroom, Y/N was coming up with her plan to escape. They won’t let her go upstairs by herself right now. They want her wherever they are. She will need to make them trust her enough to let her go about the house without them watching her. They’re not dumb. She knows that. They’ll notice something is up if she immediately starts seeking their attention. Plus, they won’t immediately allow her to roam the house by herself. This will take the most time of her plan. Probably a couple of weeks. But once they do loosen the reins, and she manages to sneak out, what then? Where will she go? How far were they from Musutafu? How will she get anywhere? They will definitely catch her on foot. She knew how to hotwire a car, Kaylee taught her how to do it back home in America before she applied to be a hero. If she could find one, she’ll be home free. She could go back to the city, tell the heroes what happened, and send Dynamite and Red Riot away for good. She just needed to be patient and deal with the shit that will be thrown her way by the two former heroes. Y/N washed her hands and left the bathroom, confident in her plan. As she made her way back to the kitchen, she heard the men talking in hushed voices. She slowed as she got closer, listening in on their conversation.

“We need to move them out of our room,” Bakugou said.

“Did she see them?” Kirishima asked.

Bakugou didn’t say anything, but Kirishima’s sigh let Y/N know that the blonde answered his question.

“Did she see hers?”

“No. It was in my bag.”

Kaylee…

“Good. Water bitch was all over the news while I was out. Guess her family received their package,” Kirishima chuckled.

“That must’ve caused a scene in America.” Bakugou hummed.

“Uh yeah!” Kirishima laughed, “I mean I would flip shit too if my daughter was sent to me in a coffin covered in blood and jizz leaking out of her.”

“She had it coming,” Bakugou huffed, “She was getting too close. Almost found us.”

“At least she’s out of the way,” the redhead said, “Hey, how was she?”

Y/N wanted to throw up. She could see the smirk in his voice.

“She was a tough one, I’ll give her that,” the blonde sighed, “Fought nasty. Took a while for her to tire out, but once she could barely even procure a drop of water, I was already all over her. Seeing her all bloodied and her costume torn up…ugh that was a sight to see.”

“I bet at the sight of your dick, she got right back up.”

“Nah she was down for the count,” Bakugou said, “I swear her eyes glistened. She always had a crush on us. No complaining or anything. All she did was cry for Y/N. Begged us to not hurt her. Even while she was bouncing on my dick, she was crying for her. It was annoying, so right when she came, I snapped her neck and finished myself off in her.”

“Gross, man!” Kirishima said, “You couldn’t have waited to off her after you finished? You literally fucked a dead woman.”

“And her cousin.” Bakugou chuckled, earning one from the redhead, “Now help me finish unpacking these.”

Y/N’s knees gave out and she sank to the floor. She couldn’t believe what she just heard. Not only had Kaylee been killed by Bakugou, but she had also been raped by him as well. And what sickened her more, was that she had let Bakugou have her and believed his lies not even a day later. She didn’t want to see the men. She didn’t want to be anywhere near them. But she knew she needed to get back to the kitchen, or else she will get in more trouble…

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Chapter three done! I know this chapter didn’t have much and was a little short, but hey, at least Y/N has somewhat of a plan to escape! We will just have to wait and see how her plan plays out. 

Anyways, let me know if you like this chapter! Feedback is alway appreciated!

Have a lovely day!!

[crankynewt]

Life Could Be a Dream - Chapter 2

Live in Living Colour Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Summary: (Y/N) slowly begins to remember their life with “Pietro” before WestView as they move through the decades, but sometimes knowledge is a curse rather than a blessing.

Pairing: Pietro (Peter) Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warning: WandaVision Episode 6 spoilers! Read at your own risk!

Author’s Note: Here’s the highly requested second part to Be Okay! You don’t have to read it to understand this story, but it does fill in the gap during the 80s episode and give a little more context into the reader’s mind. Also, the reader’s powers and Halloween costume are highly based off of Starlight from the boys even though I did my best to make it gender neutral, but that’s what I kinda envisioned!

(Not My Gif!)

Your hips swayed as you danced around the kitchen, the sound of The Chords’ “Life Could Be a Dream” filled the room from the record player in the corner your beloved vinyl was spinning on. Chopping pineapple for the jell-o in the bundt mold beside you, you hummed along to the familiar tune as your feet shuffled back and forth on the checkered floor.

A whooshing sound and light breeze behind you tore your attention away from the task at hand. Turning around quickly, you were met with the smiling face of your loving boyfriend, relaxing in a chair with his feet propped up against the kitchen table. His dark jeans were complimented by a letterman jacket adorning his shoulders, his shades of grey complimenting your own and those surrounding the both of you.

“My partner and their impeccable taste in music.” He smirked, arms crossed behind his head.

“My boyfriend and his faster-than-a-bullet superspeed.” You retorted, shuffling over to your man and giving him a playful smack on the leg. “Feet off the table! We’ve gotta eat here in a few hours!”

Pietro whooshed once again, this time with one hand in your waist while the other held yours, finally slowing down enough to gently rock you to the music. Life really could be a dream, and you were experiencing it first-hand.

“What is happening? Where did this come from?!” Agent Woo asked, watching the dancing couple sway as a hexagon framed the image and the words ‘Pietro(Y/N)’ shone across the screen.

“I don’t know! When Wanda recast Pietro an extra broadcast started from inside the hex and this is what the channel’s playing.” Darcy explained, taking a sip of her long awaited coffee as the end credits began to roll. “She must have somehow created another storyline for them.”

“But, wait… Didn’t somebody say that (Y/L/N) went missing before the blip?” Monica commented, pointing at your smiling face on the screen.

“Last I heard was that they got beamed up on that spaceship in New York with Spider-Man and Doctor Strange, but nobody’s seen them since.” Jimmy added, crossing his arms with a furrowed brow.

“Well wherever they were, they’re back in action.”

You woke up with a gasp, shooting straight up as a cold sweat adorned your body. Your nightmare had been something that you couldn’t believe your mind had imagined, it was so real, so dark… 

You had been on a strange planet surrounded by shades or orange and red, weirdly dressed people fighting all around you. At the centre of it all was this purple giant, a metallic glove adorning his hand as he fought the group of you away. 

Before you knew what you were doing you were rushing towards him, hand raised as a tingling feeling ran down your arm while golden light formed around your hand. But your attack was to no avail as with a clench of his fist the giant had opened a red hole in front of you and you began free falling.

“What? What is it?” Pietro grumbled, slowly waking up at your sudden outburst. He sat up as well, rubbing his hand on your lower back soothingly. 

“It was just a dream, babe.” You brushed it off, turning to face Pietro and leaning closer towards him. His eyes still held worry and a bit of disbelief as you played it off, but rather than argue, he just held you close as the two of you laid back down until sleep took it’s hold once more. 

“How much longer ‘till he calls?” Darcy whined, spinning in her chair as the boredom of watching reruns overtook her. You and Peter had just finished your ‘80s episode, meaning that the two of you had just reunited with Wanda and Vision.

“Don’t worry, he’ll call.” Monica replied, and as if on cue the name ‘Jimmy Woo’ was flashing upon her phone screen. She was quick to answer and eagerly pressed the device to her ear. “Woo? What’d your guy say?”

“Scott said that (Y/N) hasn’t been seen since they were on a planet called Titan fighting Thanos. Stark apparently told him that they got tossed in some hole he opened and they couldn’t get them back.” Jimmy explained, the sound of a car moving filling the background as he was already on his way back from talking to Lang.

“You don’t think that he sent her to wherever this new Pietro came from, do you?” Monica responded, Darcy shrugging her shoulders in response.

“I mean, it’s well within the realm of possibilities?” 

“What are you boys doing?” You called from the bottom of the stairs to where Pietro and the twins were playing some video game on the tv, laughing and shouting as they shot at each other. “Piet, why aren’t you in your costume?”

Your boyfriend finally turned to face you and your Halloween costume had his jaw quite literally dropping. You adorned a white costume with a golden star and accents on the front, meanwhile your cape was white with countless smaller stars decorating it’s entirety.

“Wow! Babe, you look… Wow!” He ogled, speeding over to you as his eyes took in your costumed appearance. He ignored your question, Wanda having to bug her brother once more for him to drag Tommy with him to make their matching Quicksilver costumes, their hair slicked up on the sides in an odd way.

Before you knew it the five of you were making your way down the street bustling with costumed kids. Pietro and Wanda were a couple steps ahead of you with the twins, you making the decision to take a minute to appreciate your domestic life while the siblings caught up.

“Unleash hell, demon spawn!” Pietro yelled as the twins went running off to fill their buckets with candy. You weren’t trying to eavesdrop, however you weren’t very far behind them and neither twin was making any effort to speak quietly.

“Do you remember when we were at the orphanage when mom and dad died?” She asked, the duo stopping to talk to each other in the middle of the busy road. While you didn’t intend to stop yourself, the sudden confusion that struck your mind left you no other choice.

Orphanage? Why would Peter have ever been in an orphanage when both his parents were still alive?  Wait, Peter? Where was all this coming from?

Suddenly your life was quite literally flashing before your eyes. Getting your powers, joining the Avengers, falling through the portal to another reality, meeting the X-Men… Oh, and Peter. Your relationship with Peter came back in moments, from your first meeting to the day he kissed you after you almost died on a mission. And how could you ever have forgotten your wedding day?! 

“Peter?” You asked out loud. Whether you were calling out to the man who you now remember to be your husband or questioning the memories that you had just regained you weren’t sure.

Your sudden comment caused Peter/Pietro to scoff in disbelief and furrow his brows, meanwhile Wanda’s expression darkened as her eyes glared daggers into your head. 

“Did you just call me Peter?” He asked incredulously, but his face quickly softened as he saw the fear in your eyes. You were utterly dumbfounded, How did you get back here? Last thing you remembered was being at the school, then all of a sudden you were living in some sit-com town.

“Why doesn’t he remember me? Wanda, what have you done?” Your voice wavered, your gaze shifting from Peter to Wanda, who would have already murdered you if looks could kill.

“I have no idea what you're talking about.” Her eyes flashed red, meanwhile Peter was standing there as if everything around him was completely normal.

“I think you do. Don’t make me do this, Wanda.” Your eyes began glowing as well. There was no way this would be ending well.

[spunkpunx]

I Don’t Share - Kai Anderson

Plot: Reader is the only person who Kai Anderson ever really listened to.

Word count: 1899

Warnings: SMUT, Manipulative reader, Smoking, Blood, Aggressive Sex, Mocking, It’s AHS Cult so it’s gonna be dark, Misogyny

I walked down the steps, into the basement. The place he dwelled. The dark web was a strange place, full of internet trolls, but something about Kai Anderson was different. Something in his words garnered attention, and now, it was time to find out.

“Hello?” I called out confidently. At this point in my life, nothing scared me, not even death, but my survival was important. After all, what could I achieve from beyond the grave? To be without fear is to be dangerous.

“Who are you?” a voice called out from the sofa. The man sat there was not the man I expected to see, and I was pleasantly surprised.

“Kai Anderson?” I queried, and he nodded. I had expected someone much less attractive, but Kai’s dark eyes, handsome face and fit body were all things that played into my hands. His eyes bore into me as I walked into the room and sat opposite him. he wore sweatpants, and his shoulder length hair was dyed blue.

“Answer my question, bitch,” he snapped at me, but I just looked at him disapprovingly, taking a cigarette from my pocket and lighting it. He glared at my lack of response, but I made sure to take my time before I replied.

“When a dog bites it’s master, they take it into the yard and put a bullet in its head,” I calmly spoke, resisting a smile at the taken aback expression on his face. The surprise soon turned into rage, and he stood up and grabbed me by the collar of my t-shirt, making me jump.

“I don’t even know you! No bitch will be the master of me!” Kai yelled, and I met his eyes with a level gaze. I gave him a look, a look of indifference, and he released me from his grasp. He stood above me.

“Sit down Kai, I’m not speaking to you until you sit.”

“Fuck off.”

I met his eye with a steely glare, and reluctantly, he took a seat the other side of the coffee table.

“Now, I’m (y/n) (l/n), and I came to see you because I need you,” I began to explain. Kai raised an eyebrow. “There’s something about you Kai, that shocks people, that commands attention, but you’re wasting it away sat sweating in this shitty basement.”

He leant foreword in his seat, starting to listen more attentively. It was almost too easy.

“Now I have a proposal, because I need you to realise your potential,” I continued, and he was captivated.

•

The cult had been running for just over a month. Of course, no one had identified it as what it was yet, but it was coming together as intended. When I first met Kai, I wanted to rile him up and let him lose to wreak havoc on the world, to scare people into action, but after speaking to him, I realised an intelligence more than I had initially thought. It was a waste not to push him forward into something on a national level. Of course, he had been harder to break than I first thought, but eventually I had had him wrapped around my finger using the only weapon women had against men, the weapon that sat between my legs.

Within the ring I took the position of Kai’s right hand and lover, his assistant, and it was widely assumed that I was abused and too love struck by our “Divine Ruler” to realise. As much as they admired him, they feared him. In reality, I was in control. Everything Kai had become was because of me.

I knew I had control at the first “pinky ritual”. As soon as our fingers made contact he dived into the first questions, but by that point I’d already won. He was angry, emotional, irrational. I’d got under his skin. It didn’t take long for me to turn the questioning round onto him, and soon he was spilling his guts to me. Everything about his parents, his brother and sister, every fear, hate, love and regret in his life he gave to me. We had sex and with that he’d given me all of his power.

Despite the impression that the rest of the cult held, Kai was ready to lick the shit off of my shoe if I asked. Of course, that didn’t mean I had absolute control. His ideas were his own, I just gave him a push in the right direction. After the killing of Bob Thompson and his gimp, I had pulled Kai’s mask off and kissed him, hard, to show my appreciation. He pulled our bodies closer together and when he brushed his finger across my lip I could taste the blood on it. From that point on, there was no better sight for me than a bloodied Kai Anderson.

•

“I don’t share Kai,” I stated, coldly, as he walked down into the basement. I had been sat on the sofa, waiting for him to return.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t lie to me,” I spat. “You’ve been upstairs fucking Mrs. Lavender,” I pointed out, referring to Meadow.

“There’s a reason,” he defended himself simply. “She needed to think I loved her so she’ll be willing to die for me. It’s exactly what you asked.”

“I don’t think you understand,” I replied slowly, opening my legs to reveal no underwear on beneath my skirt, and I noticed Kai’s next words catch in his throat. “You belong to me. To this.” I gestured my womanhood. He knelt in front of me on the floor, tracing his hands along my thighs, temptation in his eyes.

“No, I don’t,” Kai spat. I snapped my thighs shut and he pulled his hands away sharply. “I am the Divine Ruler,” he announced, standing to lean over me, taking my throat in his hand and squeezing slightly. I looked him back in his dark eyes coolly, daring him to do what he was threatening to do. Kai didn’t have the strength in him to kill me.

“I made you what you are.” I felt his grip tighten. “You’re nothing without me,” I croaked, my voice hoarse as he cut off my breath. His grip tightened more, and for a moment I almost considered he might go through with it. I saw a tear run down his face and then he let go. He dropped his head, tears running down his face, and I opened my arms to him. He dropped down to the sofa, next to me, falling into my embrace. He buried his head into my shoulder and sobbed, while I stroked his hair, shushing him.

“I’m sorry,” he almost whimpered. I pushed him down of the sofa, back on his knees in front of me, opening my legs. He sighed in appreciation, his eyes darkening with lust. As he reached his hand towards my leg I smacked it away.

“No, you have to beg,” I instructed. He looked up to meet my eye. There’s nothing more dangerous than a humiliated man, he had once said, but here he was, willing to get down on his knees in front of me and beg for my attention.

“Please, forgive me, (y/n). Let me touch you,” he pleaded pathetically. I leant forward and took his jaw in my hand, guiding his lips up to meet my own. He desperately leaned into the kiss, sitting up on his knees to pull us closer. His hand ran along my thigh and brushed across my heat, and when I didn’t pull away he rubbed the rough pad of his thumb against my clit before pushing a finger inside of me. I let myself moan against his kiss. He added another finger and curled them inside of me, swallowing my noises up with his lips. I pulled away from the kiss, panting.

“I want you to show me how much you hate me Kai,” I told him, and he removed his fingers from me, confused. I continued, pulling my shirt over my head leaving me in my bra. “Oh, I know you do. The way I make you feel confused, the way I treat you. I let you know how much of a piece of shit you are and you let me tell you that. What kind of man are you? You hate the way I make your prick harder than anyone else could,” I tease, reaching to grab his erect cock through his trousers. I pull my knees back, showing my full pussy out in front of him and that’s all he takes to snap. He stands up and pushes me down on the couch, kneeling himself between my knees before pulling his shirt over his head. It’s hard not to admire his muscular body. It’s no wonder he could get people to believe he was their god, he looked exactly like one. He unzipped his jeans and pulled them down, freeing his cock from his boxers and stroking it while looking at me.

“You’re right,” he told me harshly, grabbing my jaw and resting his thumb in my mouth so I kept it open. “I do fucking hate you.” With that he leant forward towards me and spat directly into my mouth. His harsh words were making me drip with lust. Without any warning he plunged his cock into my warmth, grunting and dropping his hands to my grip onto my waist and the flesh of my stomach. He pounded into me relentlessly, letting out small moans of pleasure. I panted, and when he hit a spot inside of me I let out a breathy moan. I felt a sting across my face, realising that he’d slapped me. He moved a hand to my thigh, pressing it back toward my chest. He growled as he hit my cervix, his hands heavy and his grip tight. Kai grabbed my throat and leant over my body to give the most bruising kiss, and as he pushed my legs back, his cock hit even deeper in me. I even whimpered as he mercilessly pounded into me, harder and harder. His kiss travelled, down my neck, and I felt him take the skin between his teeth, leaving bite marks. I took his head in my hands, fingers tangled in his hair, and I connected our mouths once more, tongues and teeth colliding. He let out another desperate moan. Even when he hated me I still controlled him. The room was filled with the sound of wet kisses and skin slapping. I felt the pleasure build and reached down to rub myself, reaching a shuddering climax and clenching around Kai. He let out a groan and swore, pounding into me faster, his thrusts sloppy. He pulled my bra down and grabbed onto my tits, desperately panting and he brought himself closer to finish. I could do nothing but moan and tremble as his thrusting overstimulated me. His breathy moans brought me to finish a second time, a wave of pleasure hitting me and making me shake again. Kai groaned, pushing himself balls deep inside me and spilling hot cum. He collapsed down on top of me and I let him rest his head on my chest, wrapping my legs around his waist and kissing the top of his head.

“I do think I could love you, Kai,” I murmured against his hair, and I had no reason to say it, but I truly meant it.

[phantombs]

moonsunq​:

A LUCKY MAN. bright laughter burst out of tiffany’s mouth; it holds an impossible joy with no trace of her usual sarcasm. her heart is engorged in her chest — expanded to twice its size and heaving with love. it is an unfamiliar feeling. peculiar, and beautiful, and terrifying in equal measures. she thinks she’ll keep it, anyway. there is no rough, wild, or otherwise inhospitable terrain she will not brave for cường, even if they lay in the mangled contours of her own heart.

“the risks i take are always calculated.” she allows him to guide her hand to his mouth, and she swipes the balm there with her gentle, lethal fingers. perhaps, cường is right: she should be careful. but what will caution get her that she doesn’t already have? what she craves now is something else entirely. and yes, yes — the possibility of him coming closer, coming too close than she’s ever allowed anybody else to tread — she has considered that, too. and what is more, she wants it. she wants him.

it is not in the callous way that tiffany is used to wanting people. there is always a well-maintained distance, a carefully curated image of her they are allowed to see. with cường, it is different. he has seen her naked in ways other people will never do. he has seen through her sparkly ensembles right to the meat of her: blood, bone, and viscera. and he has never faltered. not once did he look away. “you ever think that maybe i am anticipating your curiosity because i want to indulge it?”

tiffany watches him pull himself up. her eyes are dark and her breath hitches in her throat like a trapped bird. his question makes her blink, and her gaze is drawn to his split, bleeding mouth. “right now,” she answers, and without further preamble she leans in to kiss him. cường tastes like blood, like salt and ash and mint. tiffany cups his cheeks in her sin-stained palms and she kisses him, kisses him, kisses him.

Funnily enough, lucky has ever ill-fitted him. It wears on Cường like a too tight suit, one that cinches and gnaws into waist. It's like skin too fitted for his mad jungle gym of bones, and for his heart three sizes beyond the breadth of any other, it makes its yearning spring naked and stark and true. Lucky, he isn't. And lucky, he can't be. Yet, despite seeing ghosts and breaking under moonlight, she looks at him like treasure and touches him so soft.

Tiffany– Goodness, how she could end him. The knowledge is obvious, of course, clear like April skies when the dawn breaks young, and he starts tumbling through his memories of those men that she’d battered, and every cut and lesion of hers he’d nursed. Her hands are frightening, prone to breaking and snapping, but looking past his lashes, he doesn’t feel any danger. They trail his cupid’s bow, and his split lip thrums. "Interesting," he murmurs. He speaks under her touch, the delicate swell of his mouth something, something close to tempestuous — unnerving. "But no one takes risks unless they want something, right? Makes me wonder what you’re wanting to take risks for now."

Ah. What a wonder, indeed. The air – shadow thick, words-unsaid-heavy – beats about them. It’s like time’s stilled, screeched to a laborious stop, and the stars out the window watch in awe. He does, too. He always does, he admits. He’s seen to the meat of her, the heart and viscera, and she’s seen him, too, stripped bare and feverish. Feverish with aching. And feverish with want. “You're cruel. You shouldn't indulge a man like that. You'll make his thoughts wander. Make him start to think things.”

Make my heart race, he silently asks her. She indulges him again. She kisses him sweet.

Finally. He almost doesn’t react. Silence settles in between them, thick where their chests scantly touch, and reality’s slow to settle. She tastes a bit like wine, maybe a drink before she’d bashed those hoodlums, and where he burns so smoldering like some furnace on high, she's balmier and kinder. He's June and she's fall. Cường — Cường swallows back a noise. A low groan, maybe. He moves at last, letting her taste his blood and green teas, and with the sound of their mouths under the voyeuring shadows, he slips his fingers in tumbling hair. Delicate. Much more than a killer. But-- “If you mean to kill me, I actually think you might.” Breathless. How cute.