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[takshvidiamonds]

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[yanderestarangel]

HEADKANONS MK11 | BLACK DRAGONS DUO | ERRON BLACK AND KANO ☆ HARD SMUT VERSION ☆

A/N: This one goes out to my 3 followers who are horny fans of Kano and Erron Black <3!

TW: daddykink, semi public sex, degradation, smut, nsfw, blowjob, afab anatomy,ftm/male reader, praise, creampie, rough sex, eat out, painkink, anal sex, cunnilingus, v!sex, gun play, dom!kano, dom!erron black.

KANO

He is a vulgar man, and this applies in bed too, he spews disgusting and extremely arousing words, fucking you until you are a dumb mess because of his dick, pulling your hair hard and not worrying if you will feel pain or not - at that moment, all that mattered was fucking your holes with all the vigor he could muster.

"You're just a hole for me to use. This is your purpose - to please me and obey me. Remember that, whore, while daddy fucks your little slutty body mercilessly."

He's so brutal as he fucks your throat, forcing you to the base of his dick, you can touch the tip of your nose to the base of his pubic hair - but don't worry, Kano takes good care of his body, oddly enough, he smells well, a strong smell of expensive, sporty, woody men's perfume is quite pleasant - he will degrade you and praise you at the same time, seeing the tears come down from your eyes with each involuntary choke because of his dick hitting the back of your throat holding your head in place while he looked you in the eyes, his bionic eye glowed even brighter with each expression of pleasure you made when sucking him, phrases like:

"You love sucking my dick don't you?"

"F-Fuuck yeah~ that's it my good boy, choke on my cock."

"That's it! Take my dick, you dirty little slut oh- fuucck yes!"

He will also spend all the money he gets just to make you as beautiful as possible for him, and also on sex toys - vibrators, dildos, special lubricants, heart-shaped plugs that he will force you to use while dating him, so preference in public after fucking your pussy and ass, inserting the butt plug into your canal still filled with his thick, hot seed, placing a collar with his name in diamonds around your neck while pulling the chain to bring you even closer of him, you moaned softly at the feeling of having the hot liquid running down your thighs, mainly because he was going to make a point of complementing the pleasurable torture, he was going to put a vibrator on your clit, watching you whimper for him, while he smiled at the pathetic mess that you where.

"Are you shaking already? Just a cute and sensitive boy isn't that love? Want me to fuck you? Then beg louder."

Kano will wait for you to beg him to fuck you in the nearest alley, while he roughly pulled you down, pulling down your panties and exposing your two needy holes for him, the mercenary didn't really care if anyone saw or not - he was just going to fuck you - He turned around slightly, eyeing your exposed pussy hungrily, as he turned off the vibrator from your clit and removed the butt plug from your body.

"That's mine now isn't it?"

the Australian man will fill you up again, taking turns with his thick cock between your cunt and ass, giving painful slaps to your skin as he watches you go weak in the knees from the brutal thrusts - ending up on your ass, while ramming his thick shaft again in your overstimulated pussy, totally dirtying your thighs, taking out his dick again and hitting his member on your sensitive flesh, laughing hoarsely when he sees you hold on to him - he will reward you later don't worry, everything you want he will buy without question and pamper you like you were royalty -

"That's my warrior, You took it all like a big boy, I'm proud of you... I knew you're mine."

ERRON BLACK

Erron is a domineering and rude man, but not evil. He wants you to make the most of it every time you two make love, he takes the phrase: "save a horse, ride the cowboy" very seriously. He wants to fuck you in every possible position... But his preference will always be "cowgirl", seeing you jumping on his dick so eagerly while trying to control himself not to let out beautiful sighs - which only you do - fills his eyes of the gunman of passion.

"I want to feel your tight little pussy milk my cock dry, my baby boy doll."

"You're a filthy whore, taking my cock so willingly... Your tight, needy pussy is made for me to fuck."

He also likes to see you riding on his face, with his tongue fucking your pussy with all his hunger, the cowboy will make you roll in his mouth - grabbing your hips while placing you even closer to him, doing a provocative cunnilingus while watching you whining for more of him, pulling on his hat while - Erron's scruffy beard tickled your thighs, leaving a trail of juices, he also loves dirty talk, talking about how he missed you throughout the day, how he masturbated thinking about you, while bringing you even closer to him.

"I've fantasized about you, imagined fucking you until you're a moaning mess."

Erron also likes gun play - I think that's obvious - mainly, when you make him jealous on purpose, he will obviously unload the pistol, but he will use the cold, icy barrel to tease your skin, the gun inside your shorts, pressing it against your delicate flesh. It was a shocking and exhilarating sensation - one that made you feel excited, very... Excited.

"No one else can satisfy you like I can... You really like playing with fire, don't you pretty boy?" He continued to rub the gun against your pussy, you found yourself getting wetter and wetter, lightly slapping material on your clit - he will end up fucking you, making a creampie in your pussy while slapping you hard on the face, telling you that you were just his.

Aside from the occasional rough sex, Erron likes to be softer too. Fucking you sweetly on a rainy and tiring day, after a risky mission, holding hands with you looking straight into your eyes as he absorbed every reaction you made to him slowly fucking you - he loves being called "my cowboy" by you, you can see the small smile that forms on his lips, as the older man grabs you by the hips, massaging your breasts, sucking the creamy flesh while leaving small marks.

"I really love you baby...Fuck...Be a good boy and take all of this old cowboy's seed right here in this pretty pussy ok?"

©YANDERESTARANGEL 2023

[melancholicstation]

You heard my baby's back in town now! — controversially young!gf bobby kennedy one-shot

imagine... you are bobby kennedy's controversially young girlfriend who he met at a an oregon mall during his brother's campaign for president in 1959. fast forward a few months and you're finally taking the next step in your relationship: meeting the family.

taglist: @obsessedwithjohnjr @rocker-chick-7 @ultr4v1ol3nt @violetharmonsfavgf @strip-weather-forecast @darcyspirits @fortheloveofjos @h-l-v-kennedy-blog @h-l-vlovesvintage @bluelancergirl @snowsgames @salvatoresablondie @dulcegal @kennedyism @bloxholden35 @kimcrystal123 @astro-vibes-bro @absurdlyvintage @jackiesgirl @unmarlou @joansiesbeloved @jackiesgirl @acrowdedstreetin1944 @miumiumoods @yeuxdenina @its-esdras @jacobseresin @yspix7y @violetharmonsfavgf @vampyiricris @harajukub4rb1e @ironcowboycopnickel @valleyxdoll @angelitawings @monturi @starsprangledgirl

inspired by @unmarlou's age gap!bobby kennedy, go give this blog some ♥️ .

warnings: heavy mention of age-gap, multiple flashbacks, uses lyrics from Taco Truck x VB, use of terms of endearment, period typical sexism (not bobby)

words: 2,862

Most of the time you wouldn't say holding down a 9 to 5 at one of the biggest breakfast chains in middle America was an exciting career endeavour for a 22 year old woman but here you were. That was until you met him: your boyfriend of six months who'd shown himself to be a great lover and an even better giver, always draping you in the finest of mulberry silk and yellow diamond. You weren't shallow though, you would've loved him the same if all he had were the clothes on his back and that floppy hair of his.

However you wouldn't have to because he had the ultimate privilege or curse, many would go on to say, of being born into one of the richest families in America, and was the brother of the Democratic Party pick for president in 1960. Oh, and his name was Bobby Kennedy.

*Flashback to December 5th, 1959*

After working your job at Waffle house for about 2 weeks you knew it was hell, filled with grimy men hitting on you with their dirty pickup lines their dad probably taught them at age 15, that bitch of a co-worker, and a drab work attire that your boss, Susan, seemed to have affinity for catching any slight deviations of. Superficially it was mostly the outfit requirements that bothered you: I mean how were you ever supposed to leave this damned place if your own uniform made sure that no person, regardless of gender, would ever humanly find you attractive.

Despite this, you persevered and tried to work around it. If your boss told you to wear a plain blue top: you wore a lightly stripped blue button-up with featuring an embroidered, ruffled star motif on the chest. If your boss told you to wear heather grey bottoms: you wore an extremely short dark navy skort with built in shorts for the so called modesty striven for in the dress code. I mean for christ sakes this wasn't the White House now was it?

You often pared the dreary outfit with a pair of suede ballerina's in navy: a bit of an oxymoron where your mother was concerned due to the nearly perpetual state of wetness synonymous with Oregon lately. Adorning your neck with the one staple in your jewellery escapes: an antique scapular on black silk cord.

Slinging your bag over your shoulder defiantly: a bag so filled to the brim that it didn't look so much like a bag anymore and more like a rather large and rather worn sack. However you did attempt to beautify its exterior by applying randomised trinkets to it's complexion such as: a statement cross pendant held together with leather twine, a religious pocket book passed down from your grandmother on your Spanish side, and a stone rosary.

Departing from the trinkets adoring the handles of your bag, the once smooth leather of the bag was now covered in tiny hole marks from the pins of the buttons you so religiously adorned your bag with. Many—who were you kidding, all were of John F. Kennedy and his running mate Lyndon B. Johnson. Now you weren't so much of a fan of Johnson as you were of Kennedy but you were seldom able to find ones of Jack by himself. That's why the ones of jack stayed front and centre, with the ones of Johnson meandering in the background, wrapping around the sides of the leather.

It had been a couple hours of your shift before you granted yourself the masochistic reflex of checking the time: counting down the length of time until you were free.

Checking the clock you realise it had not in fact been hours, in reality it had only been an hour and three minutes. Boy time really just flies by when you're serving up cheesesteak melt has brown bowls at five-thirty in the morning: I mean seriously what kind of sicko does that?, and getting hit on by men who look like they could've been your father.

That was until you hear that disntict clink of the door chin: alerting you to a new customer. Exasperated with, well—life, you look up already annoyed. Annoyed until you meet the hilarious sight of a strange man crouched under a comically small umbrella, surrounding by some very self-important all dressed in suit and tie: a stark contrast to the typical male style expected of in Oregon.

Before you can catch a glimpse of the man he's herded into a booth far out of your range of sight. Despite being interested your attention is called for when a woman orders a hot coffee to-go. Y'know, it did always suck when you had to do your actual job and not just people watch for a living.

Out of nowhere two voices come within your earshot,

"No, Tim—I can do it myself. God damn it! You people treat me like a child, I can order my own food." a voice expressed that somehow towed that line between being intrinsically feminine and masculine at the same time.

The other voice begrudgingly backs off but continues,

"I know you're not a child Bob, but I'm trying to help you. Y'know that's kind of my job as advisor, to advise you on shit."

"Fine. You go do it, i'll wait over here like a dog." ,the voice says expressing a particular strain of annoyance you had yet to hear vocalised until that moment.

This man has an advisor? What the he—

"Hey-Uh, could I get a pecan waffle and a dark roast coffee."

Surprised for a moment, you compose yourself and reply "Sure, coming right up."

Shuffling into the back with the intention to tell the cook the order, and then maybe take a cheeky smoke from your bag in the meantime. Maybe.

After telling the cook, you find yourself b-lining for your bag. Getting to your bag, you start fiddling for a lighter that was until you hear a peculiar set of shuffling feet suspiciously close to you.

That's when you realise that you completely missed, on your mission for your bag, a real human man leaning his back against the bag rack.

"Oh-Mary and Joseph—you nearly gave me a heart attack."

The figure, and the face comes into your range of sight and your semi totally mortified. The president-to-be's brother had just seen you try to go for a smoke.

"Oh I'm sorry I just don't like the noises. Forks scraping on plates gives me the chills." the man chuckles.

In politeness you chuckle back, in order to get the elephant out of the room you say,

"Now you're Robert Kennedy aren't you?"

"In the flesh" he says with a quite sassy display of his hands, patting himself on the chest in an act to display his human quality.

"Well I have to say I'm enamoured by your brother's campaign, he's doing so wonderfully."

"Thank you, well I happen to think so too. But I'm a bit biased—y'know it's kind of in my job description. I pegged you for a jack supporter."

"How so?"

"Oh I don't know, maybe the pins on that bag of yours gave me a bit of a clue."

Mortified you look away that was, until, he redirects your head movements with his hand turning your chin back to his with the divine authority of a man much older than you. Though you're not repulsed by that fact, in all reality it's quite the opposite.

"Hey-Hey hey don't be embarrassed. I think it's awfully cute of you, though I wish you didn't have so many of that Johnson and maybe one of me." ,he says in a tone that carries the passion of a thousand un-spoken grievances, peeking your curiosity.

Lifting his hand off your chin, he lightly pets your hair: much like you assume he would do to perhaps a Boston terrier or a bengal kitten. With that same tenderness.

"I better let you get back to work. I'm sure you don't want some old man like me keeping you from your job"

Bashfully you smile, subtly shaking your head in retort. However he does raise a good point, such a good point in fact that it has you turning your heels back in the direction of the front counter. But not before turning your head slightly back—subtly saying goodbye with a smile and a slight wave of the fingertips, to which he mirrors with a sheepish, smug grin.

By the time your shift ends your exhausted and love sick over that man, whom you had only had in your presence for a bijou length of time but had been pondering about for hours.

Reaching for your bag before officially clocking out, you notice a new edition to your bag. A bright white and navy blue pin labelled 'Robert F. Kennedy for Vice President' surprised enough already, you're positively baffled to find a small engraving of a number etched into the backside of the pin.

What was on it, you may ask? Well, Robert F. Kennedy's phone number no less,

And that's how it started.

*End of flashback*

There were moments when you were faced with the awkward societal magnifying glass put on your relationship, and increased ten fold because of your scandalous age gap. I mean come on, it was only twelve years. It wasn't that bad. Though there were times you were reminded every now and then of the twelve year generational divide between you two, like in the instance of when he found that pesky little shoe-box underneath your bed.

*Start of flashback*

"Look at me"

"No I simply cannot bear it, Bobby!" you muffle out, the sound muddled due to your mousy blonde curls interference.

"C'mon, sweetie. It's nothing to be ashamed about, you're a grown young woman. I expected this from you, I'd be weirded out if you didn't partake in this sort of stuff. It's endearing, I promise." ,bobby teases, making a big show of his "promise" by dramatically holding out his arms in a prayer motion.

An action you find less than funny: ending with Bobby getting a pillow through straight towards his head, to which he dodges with ease.

What had caused this whole mess was that you'd tasked Bobby with the mission of finding that cotton camisole he'd so recklessly strewn across your bedroom in the throws of your shared passion. It was your belief that if he did it he should fix it.

However that adventure had led to bobby finding a particularly embarrassing set of erotic books hidden in a shoebox. Each with a more embarrassingly brazen title than it's former.

You had never seen him laugh so much than that day.

"Honey, I'm not laughing at you. It's just-y'know back in my day we never had this. We had to use our imagination, oh how times are changing. It's exciting really" he says adopting a semi sarcastic tone that borders on mocking.

His comments cause you to sulk even more, retreating into yourself perched at the foot of the bed, "Bobby don't be mad, I don't even read that stuff now! not with you. I was so in-experienced back then , I had no idea about anything."

"Oh baby, c'mere" he motions you to him, eventually gathering you up into a bundle and takes you into his lap.

Combing through your hair he explains "Baby of course I'm not made at you. How could I be? with such a pretty face like this. Y'know I'm glad you had those books, though I do like keeping you all to my self. And I certainly don't want to share you with any fictional man." he says in an order to lighten up the room, while dabbing slightly at your cheeks

"Don't cry pretty girl, I hate to see you cry, it hurts me, hurts me real bad. I know you don't wanna hurt me now do ya? Huh?"

Nodding, you compose yourself slightly and lay your head timidly on his chest: slightly hairy and stunk of an addictive sort of musk.

Your slightly moved when he moves his body trying to get something out of his pocket

"Princess, look what I found!"

And there it was your favourite cotton camisole, back in your possession. Sometimes you didn't know how he did it, he just did.

*End of flashback*

And that's how your relationship went for six months. Though it was hard to maintain a relationship being that he was in such a different life stage than you, and coupled with the fact that he was on a gruelling campaign trail with his brother. To be honest most days he would come and see you, you'd just lay in bed soaking up each other's presence. On the days you would venture outside as a couple you got more than a couple looks, and you had your fair share of unfavourable coverage in the media being that you were the controversially young girlfriend by the side of the man who's brother was on track to become president of the United States. But you both brush it off, you knew your truths.

You hadn't seen bobby in two whole weeks and you were beginning to get desperate. Though it wasn't like he was depriving you, he stuck to a strict schedule of calling you every day at seven in the evening: no matter rain or shine. Some times he would catch you eating a late dinner, for which he would scold you about adopting the tone he used in those senate meetings. And others where he would catch you in bed early, and one thing would lead to another. Thank god that you both had been smart enough to check for wiretapping, or else it would've made you two more of social piranhas than you already were...

And sure enough at seven pm, your phone rang off the hook,

"Hey baby, how are ya? Tell me all about what a sweet girl like you was doing all day? I wanna hear it all, leave no detail out." he says in a tone that reveals his true earnest nature that you've come to so cherish in your relationship.

So, you indulge him, "Honey, I got up so early, and then, I got into the shower"

He hums attentively down the line, encouraging you to tell him what you did next: to which you inform him that you took a nap mid-day, "I was just able to go back to sleep for a hour and a half. So that rocked, um, anyway."

"Did ya dream of anything special?" he says while shifting in his leather chaise seat: you assumed he was halted up in his hotel in some nameless city along the trail.

"I had this dream where, um, I don't know-" you trail off sharing some half-baked dream that you weren't sure you comprehend yourself. Apologising you ask about his day,

"Oh sweetie, don't apologise I asked, I wanted to know. I did want to talk about something with you though. Y'know how Jack is coming back to Oregon before the primary. Well, I thought what better a time to introduce you to my family. They'll just adore you baby, I promise just like I do."

Blushing and taken by surprise you bashfully reply, of course agreeing.

"That's great, you'll do amazing. Though, I do have to warn you about their line of questioning. They have a penchant for sort of quizzing girls that I take home about world events, it's like a sport to them-my parents I mean, my siblings will be just fine to handle. I just want you to be prepared."

"Okay, well what kind of events. Like events in your times?" you say sarcastically.

"Okay, Miss Attitude. I'm not from the 1890s, y'know we're only a decade apart. But I'll quiz you when I visit you in a couple days. I'll make it real easy for you, put in some recent events that you know: though you're a smart cookie you'll get it in no time baby."

"Bob, you're making me very nervous. They're not going to go too hard on me right?"

"Oh my sweet, you'll get used to them. They make a big fuss but they're relatively harmless, they'll see how happy you make me and that'll be the end of it. Promise."

After his assurances, you were left unbridled with happiness after you hung up the phone. I mean how hard could it be to charm a family like the Kennedys, they seemed nice enough? You charmed one of their sons so how troublesome could it really be? Jackie looked warm and open in the newspaper, Joan looked a delight and Jack well I'm sure you could bate your eye at him and he would be sufficiently pleased at your presence. Though that left out the parents, which were often the hardest of the bunch when fulfilling the daunting duty of meeting the family, you were sure it would be Bobby assured you so.

And why would he ever need to lie to you?

signing off: bang, bang xx

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet + ch 46

a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... all chapters

WARNINGS FOR THIS FIC: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, VIOLENCE, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

46. rude awakening

When finally you wake, you sense you are in a confined space in total darkness. Your whole body hurts, and your mouth is dry as a cotton ball. You feel as though you are swaying, and it takes you a while to figure out that it’s not just in your head. You are in something that is on the move. 

It’s hard to tell what, and so you concentrate on righting yourself. The surface you lay on is surprisingly soft. A bed? You try to push up, and a searing pain jets from your left hand up your arm. Is it broken? 

Fuck. 

Gingerly, you feel your appendage, probing the skin and bones. All seems well, until you get to your fingers. There is a big pad of bandaging on your hand, and it’s hard to make sense of what you’re feeling. Whimpering in panic, you frantically count your fingers. 

One. 

Two. 

Three. 

Your ring finger is gone–and your diamond with it. 

Somehow in the darkness, the room spins, and you let out a scream. 

No one comes, and with nothing better to do, you cry alone in the dark.

John. 

You pray that he’s alright. You know that so long as there’s breath left in his body, he will hunt for you. It’s only a matter of time…if you can survive long enough for him to find you.

That’s when you remember the necklace you’d been wearing under your shirt when you went out for your ride. The gold lavalier he’d gifted you for Christmas. With clumsy fingers you grope for the chain, and breathe a sigh of relief when you find it still hanging there. You feel for the little pearl dangling at the base of the narcissus pendant. 

John had given you a choice. He’d told you that day that there was a micro-tracker inside the faux pearl, and that if you were wearing the necklace, he would know where you were. But you don’t know how long it’s been, or if your captors will allow you to keep this bauble. 

With shaking fingers you bend the soft gold jump ring to remove the little pearl from the larger pendant, and swallow it down. 

Come find me, John. 

With a strangely detached resignation, you just know he’s going to kill them all.

 ***

You’re not sure how much time goes past, before they come for you. Two big, Italian-accented men with rough features and very fine suits open a door and flip on a light, nearly blinding you after so long in the pitch black. You don’t fight them, when they tell you to come with them. 

There is no point. 

All you have to do is bide your time. 

You follow them down a narrow hallway, and you realize that you are on a boat. An expensive one. You feel the steady sway of waves beneath your feet, a weird feeling that might go to your head if you don’t get some fresh air soon. 

You are finally able to get a look at your hand. You resemble a mummy, but the wrapping is very neatly done. A professional job even, perhaps, though it aches like a motherfucker. You wonder if you can talk someone into a pain pill. 

Probably wishful thinking, considering. 

Your hand looks strange, without that finger, but maybe because you are so used to looking at John’s, it does not bother you quite as much as it should. 

Or maybe, you’re in shock, and still feeling weird from your crash and whatever it was they injected in you.  

Or maybe…you’re just so dead certain of the retribution coming their way that you find this injury laughable, in comparison. 

How could anyone be so stupid? 

The answer to that question is answered for you as the nattily-dressed thugs lead you up a steep set of stairs, into a luxurious dining area enclosed by windows all around. 

Dante d’Antonio sits at the head of the high-polished walnut table, GQ-cover ready in a pressed white shirt unbuttoned at the throat, looking smug and sure of himself as a Roman emperor upon his throne. 

This fucking kid. 

“Buonasera, y/n.” 

“Signor.” 

One of the toughs pulls out a chair for you, but spoils the illusion of manners when he forcibly pushes you down into it. After your training with Mariko, you think of three ways in which you could have used that close contact to hurt him–but you don’t. 

You can tell through the darkened windows that you are out to sea, god knows where with no lights in the distance. You have to bide your time. 

You notice one of the bodyguards standing behind Dante sports a nice bandage across his nose. The look he pays you is less than kind, and you guess he must have been the one who took your helmet to the face. 

There is quite a feast set out upon the table. Gilded crystal, china, and silver, the whole nine yards. Though your stomach aches with hunger, you don’t dare touch any of the sundries. Dante just stares at you, waiting, you suppose, for tears or begging or a tirade of questions. But you keep your cool, waiting. You’ve learned from John that silence can be way more unsettling than idle threats.

He tries to mask his annoyance, but it’s written all over his fine features when he sits up in his chair, leaning towards you. “That was quite a little chase you gave my boys. How are you feeling?” He looks pointedly at your hand, obviously craving a reaction. 

You shrug, looking down at your missing digit. “A little lighter on the left side,” you muse, winning a sneer. 

“Forgive us. Usually we are not so barbaric, but we had to let your fiancé know that we’re serious. He’s a little thick headed, when it comes to these things.” 

He makes it all sound so reasonable. 

“I see.” You lift an eyebrow. “Serious about what, exactly?” 

Dante, however, goes off on his own little tangent. “You know, my mother never told me the identity of my true father? I think she wanted me to believe I came about like a little god, sprung from her skull like Athena, or maybe like the immacolata concezione. Ah, but my mother was no virgin. That I know.” 

You think it’s a little odd to be sitting here at the table speculating with this man about his dead mother’s sex life, but maybe it’s just your ingrained puritanical American ethos that you can never quite seem to totally shake.  

“I…imagine it was hard, not having a father around,” you offer.

He waves that off as though it was a stupid thing to say. 

“I lacked for nothing. I loved my uncle Santino very much. Something else I owe your John for.” 

You start to lose some of your cool as you try to reason with his circular logic. It gives you whiplash. 

“Your uncle literally caused your mother’s death. Isn’t that what you’re so mad about?”

He makes a so-so motion with his beautifully manicured hand, smirking at you. “You know, when I was a boy, the adults around me spoke of John Wick like he was a god of Death. My mother couldn’t keep the fondness from her voice, when his name was upon her lips. I think a part of me hoped that he was my real father in those days. So foolish.”  

You blink at this–for the life of you, you cannot tell where the fuck this kid is going with all this. It dawns on you that maybe he’s not just infuriatingly entitled and poisoned by hubris, but also maybe, a little mad. 

That does not bode well for you at all.  

“If he knew…I’m sure he would have tried to do right by you.” You think about how badly young Jardani wanted to be a father with his ballerina. Would the older, more calloused John Wick have felt the same?

Dante laughs like you’ve said something exceptionally stupid. “My mother was practically a queen. She would not have borne the seed of a dirty zingaro peasant like John Wick.” 

You sit back in your chair, shocked by the blistering remark, though maybe you shouldn’t be surprised. All thoughts of keeping your cool fly out the window as you fire back, “I hope that someday, someone’s going to wash out your filthy fucking mouth.” 

The bandaged bodyguard makes a threatening move to cross the room to you, but Dante holds up a hand, smirking. You suppose he won, finally getting a rise out of you. 

It didn’t make him any less of a piece of shit. 

Gritting your teeth, you look around. The boat is moving fast over the waves, but you can’t really see anything. You’ve got to hand it to this young man. He’s succeeded in talking you in circles. 

“So…what is it you want, exactly?” 

“I want John Wick dead, of course,” he sneers. “You are the bait. Is this not obvious to you?” 

You look at him across the table for a long beat. 

“What do you think you gain exactly, by taking such a risk?” 

The young man sighs, massaging his temples. “Dio mio. He soiled the honor of my family! Killing my mother was a grave insult. I cannot suffer him to live.” 

“Aren’t you…aware of what happened, when the High Table tried to kill him?” 

Again, he makes that dismissive gesture, and then he grins at you like a wolf. “Ah, but they did not have you. What will John Wick give, to see his lady love go free?”

Maybe you are a little thick. When the logic catches up with you, your blood turns to ice in your veins. 

The answer, you fear, is a lot.

Shrugging, you hold up your mutilated hand. “Don’t know. I’m kind of damaged goods now.”

Dante just smirks at you. “There are worse things we could have cut off.” 

Ugh. 

“Yeah. Thanks?” 

This actually wins you a laugh. “You know…the man who kills John Wick will be a legend amongst our kind? What better way for the new capo dei capi to prove his power? No one will dare challenge me.”

“What about…the bosses in charge now?” You think about the two older gentlemen who you’d met at the negotiations table at the Continental. One of whom, whose finger you broke. 

“Oh. I have plans for them. John Wick is going to kill them for me.” 

You blink, wondering how he managed to frame the capi for your disappearance. You have a feeling your missing finger comes into play somehow. 

Someone’s been reading too much Mario Puzo. 

You’re smart enough not to say that aloud too. 

This reminds you of the end of the Godfather, when Michael Corleoni kills everyone who ever insulted his family in one fell swoop to prove to everyone that he’s not fucking around. It was a great twist in the book. In real life, however…you think he’s bitten off more than he can chew.

If this brat intends to rise to the highest office of the Camorra…it will take more than killing a retired if legendary assassin to cement his powerbase. 

Your control regained, you say nothing in response, and he gets bored, waving you away. “Take her back,” he gripes. Again, the bodyguard with the nose gear moves towards you, but again Dante waves him off again. “Not you, Luca. You might get carried away, and I need her in good health.” He grins at you. “In case we need to cut something else off to make our point.”

The man in question glares down at you, and kudos where kudos is due: he succeeds in scaring the snot out of you. Gooseflesh raises down your arms; uneasiness hardens like a ball of ice in your belly. 

“He’s a little cross, after what you did to his nose. But that’s what he gets for underestimating John Wick’s woman, eh?”

You press your lips, smart enough not to bait either of them any more. 

“You can thank Luca for your finger. Doesn’t he do nice work?” You glare up at Luca, but keep silent, and Dante sniggers. “So, behave yourself, or I’ll let Luca have his way. Andare.” 

One of the bodyguards who brought you takes your shoulder, leading you back down below. You’re a little disappointed you don’t get to eat any of that beautiful food. 

You guess he notices the glint of gold around your neck–quick as a cutpurse, he snatches the fine chain and breaks it, paying you a nasty smile before pushing you back into your tiny little cabin and locking it behind you.

As sorry as you are to lose the cherished necklace, you are so glad you swallowed your tracker. You hope that doesn’t cause you a problem later…but it just might save your life. 

Cold, hungry, and you suppose a little seasick, you settle back into your little closet of a berth. You sit on your bed with your fucked up hand and think to yourself that when John descends on Dante and his cronies with all the fury of the apocalypse…you won’t feel sorry for them at all.

—

all chapters

*zingaro - gypsy, offensive usage *capo dei capi - boss of bosses, the head honcho, the biggest cheese

[dc418writes]

|Hiding in Plain Sight|

✨Pairing: CEO!Curtis Everettxblack!reader

🪄Summary: Curtis has had enough

🚨: 18+ NO MINORS!, soft!dark Curtis maybe???, cheating (do not condone in real life, however for this plot…👀), mention of past adult happy fun times (everyone please be safe!), fingering (female receiving), verbal abuse, language

🎤: this is my submission for Siri’s Birthday Bonenanza! Happy belated birthday @stargazingfangirl18 !! I hope you had an amazing bday with lots of cake, presents, love, and any and everything else you desire💐🎂!!

Prompts:

Scenario: Babe is doing this for your own good

Dialogue: “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?”

Kink Prompt: possessive!babe, squirting

Trope Prompt: scary,dangerous babe who is only soft with you (Curtis isn’t really dangerous tho, but you’ll see)

*DISCLAIMER!: I DO NOT CLAIM OWNERSHIP OF PICTURES USED as they were found via Pinterest*

At the sudden ‘click’ of the door closing, you’re startled; quickly turning towards the sound to find one of the reasons you felt the need for space from the festivities downstairs. Dressed in all black - from the button up spanning his firm chest to his impeccable slacks and polished designer shoes - it’s as if he walked straight out of GQ how dashing and handsome he looked.

Then again, when did he not?

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” His deep voice never fails to send tingles shooting down your spine. Have you embarrassingly willing to move at his command if he gave it.

“It’s okay. I-I should probably get back anyway.”

“To get ignored by your husband some more?,” he asks just as you pass him. His words make you pause with your shoulders just mere inches apart.

“Curtis..”

“He’s so busy smiling in everybody’s face and trying to be buddy-buddy with my associates, he hasn’t even noticed his own wife is gone. Then again…maybe he doesn’t want to.”

You didn’t want to come tonight. Tired from work and not in the mood to fake laugh at middle aged men who thought they were funny, you practically begged your husband to leave you home.

“You’re so fucking selfish you know that? This is my chance to make necessary connections to very important people.”

“Then you go Wes! Me being there won’t change that.”

He only kissed his teeth, tossing one of your purses at you and not caring of the scattered contents he left. “Be ready by 6 or I’ll get you ready myself.”

It was foolish to hope things would be different this time. You should know Wes would never arrive at anything having to do with business without his self proclaimed ‘good luck charm’. His trophy wife he used to sell this illusion that he was the man that had it all, so rejecting him would only hurt you.

And that’s not to say your husband didn’t deserve success - he was brilliant in his own right. It’s why Curtis himself decided to invest in Wes’ company and was his highest investor to date. But he saw past the illusion, and quickly saw the man he really was.

Which is how your complicated pairing began.

As he steps closer you hate how your body responds: eagerly ready to cave at the closest feeling of home. The bourbon - his favorite - practically being tasted in your own mouth as the smell wafts from his pink lips so close to yours. It mixes well with the spice from his cologne only making your head begin to swim and want to suffocate yourself in his neck.

His thick finger reaches out to trace the delicate gold chain on the necklace perfectly sat just below your collarbones. The small diamonds not equally spaced apart, but set in such a way it reminded you of twinkling stars in the night sky. It’s simple, but fitting for you. You were never the type for lavish jewelry that could blind someone a mile away, and from your short time together Curtis knew that.

“Knew it’d look beautiful on you,” he whispers letting the pad of his finger carry further until he was skimming your collarbone and causing you to shudder.

“I’m still married,” you practically have to force from your soul trying to stop your body from pressing against his. Stop your brain from turning to mush so he could have his way with you. Again.

His jaw ticks. “Why, I don’t know.”

“Curtis please, okay? Besides, you’re supposed to be celebrating.” He gently nods letting the rest of the brown liquor drain down his throat - your eyes shamefully following the bob of his Adams apple and missing how it felt under your lips.

“Fine,” he breathes closing the remaining space so you have no choice but to clutch his shoulders to stop from losing your footing in your heels. Not that he’d let you fall from his muscular arm around your waist. His mouth lowering impossibly closer that depending on what either of you said, your lips would brush. “Celebrate with me.”

“I-I don’t think your date would like that.” Were you angry when you saw the onyx haired beauty on his arm? Far from it. Did you guiltily wish her butt length, model-esque hair would catch fire when she passed one of the candles on the various tables so she’d have to leave? Maybe.

“Here I was thinking I was the jealous one.” And there was that smirk that briefly showed the hidden mischief in this man carved by God himself. “Yes, she’s my plus one, but would be more interested in you than me. Not that I blame her.”

“I still can’t,” you whisper letting your nose tap against his. Slowly but surely you feel yourself becoming drunk off his presence and that will to stand strong diminishing.

“Can’t or shouldn’t?”

At that you’re stuck. Now solely focused on his lips and so badly wanting - needing - to taste them again. Curtis grins realizing this himself. “My eyes are up here sweetheart.”

“Wha?” You should feel embarrassed, but as the air from his nostrils fan your face it only seems to make you needier. And when he brings his hand up to caress your cheek, there’s nothing that can stop you from leaning into his touch. Even between your legs you feel that pulse begin to grow in urgency.

“Look me in the eyes,” Curtis begins slowly, “and tell me you don’t want me. That you’re done. You’ll never hear from me again.”

You try, genuinely try to maintain eye contact but his stormy blues dilated with lust and longing only overwhelms you. Overwhelms you in that you should be good and say you don’t, leave, and act as if none of this has happened but you don’t want to. Curtis has easily become a part of you that you can’t let go and truthfully refuse to do so.

In a blink, your lips are frantically crushing against each others. His tongue smoothly, yet still eager, to reclaim your mouth after being away for so long. Your mind quickly enters that haze you only seemed to experience with him, unable to realize your body is being guided somewhere until you’re perched on the edge of a wooden desk. Your hands gripping the back of his neck while his push your pastel blue mini dress up past your hips leaving your lower half exposed to the cool air of the room.

Finally needing to breathe, his lips descend to your jaw then your neck causing you to whine his name wanting more of his mouth on yours. A quiet “shh” is the only warning you get before his hands are spreading your thighs to find a steady growing wet spot on your panties. His fingertips immediately reach to tease along your waiting slit watching as you squirm and moan.

“My needy girl. Probably been forever since he’s touched you like this huh? Made you feel good..”

The back of your head softly thuds against the wall as you lean back on your elbows. Letting yourself get lost in his touches and how his thumb circles your little button through your thoroughly soaked underwear.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this? Know how much I’ve missed you and those little noises you make when you take anything I give you,” he huskily states nipping your earlobe. “My fingers. My tongue. Fuck, and when you take my cock..?”

“Curtis,” you gasp nearly ready to guide his fingers inside you yourself to get that relief you now crave. As always, he knows what you need bringing your delicates swiftly down your legs to circle his middle finger around your dripping hole before plunging deep. The extended moan from your lips directly hitting his cock and making his pants feel tighter.

His ring finger soon joins as they steadily pump in and out. Not having been intimate with your own husband for a while now, you feel pathetic already being so close. Curtis can feel it too, as you clutch and squeeze.

“Should be ashamed of himself not taking care of you like you need. You deserve to be filled all day, every day. Filled to the point you can barely walk without feeling me drip down your legs. That what you want? To be filled with me?”

Your hips buck and grind on their own nearly riding his hand as your skin heats and sweat pricks your forehead. “Y-Yes! Yes Curtis please!,” you moan. His words hitting some deep seated, feral part you didn’t recognize but welcomed while palming your breast.

His mouth catches your scream when he adds a third finger. The room filling with your little “ah ah’s”, squelches, and the knock of the desk against the wall how you bucked to keep up with his fingers.

“Shit, might not ever leave the house. Just keep you by my side always wet and ready. Take you in every room and have you screaming for me.” He palms at the front of his slacks picturing your nude body bent over the counter. Or spread on the table for him and him only. “Or let you ride me and take what you want. Like that night after dinner.”

The way your toes curl and back arches he knows you’re seconds away now. Just needing that extra push to have you a twitching, trembling mess.

“Curtis I-I…please Curtis…Curtis!” Twisting his wrist just slightly to the right, he easily finds your spot as he firmly rubs his palm against you swollen nub making you gush down his hand and onto the hardwood below - a splash or two even finds the top of his shoe. It’s almost like a steady stream as it keeps flowing with every push of his fingers and Curtis can’t help but curse before finding your mouth again.

When you whimper and try to back away he knows it’s too much, slowly halting his movements before removing his hand. Automatically, you’re reaching out for him - needing some grounding force after what felt like your body floating to space - and he gladly lets you wrap your arms around his middle. Your face diving to his chest trying to hide your overwhelmed tears while he rubs your back with his clean hand.

“Did so good for me sweetheart. You feel alright?” You nod, turning your head just enough to catch him suck your release from his fingers; moaning from the taste. “Still so sweet,” he mumbles to himself and you swear you feel a small trickle of release escape your hole from that alone.

Your little bubble of ecstasy is quickly popped when the door opens reminding you of the party downstairs. Curtis shields you the best he can, but your dangling legs can easily be seen.

This makes it easy for Wes to recognize you. His face turning from amused shock at finding the always stone faced Curtis Everett with a woman to anger now realizing you were the moans and screams the men whispered about downstairs.

“The fuck are you doing up here?!,” he shouts making you scramble to get off the desk. Curtis still shields you with his back as you right your dress. Not only for your modesty, but to silently warn Wes he wouldn’t dare stand down.

“W-Wes I can explain-,”

“This was your plan the whole time huh? Use me to get to someone better..”

“No, I..I just-,”

“Just what? Accidentally ended up here with him?! Accidentally let him do whatever?” Now you were gathering a bit of a crowd, only increasing your anxiety.

“Wes please..”

“Please what?! Move on from you being a whore who opens her legs to any man she can get ahead with?!”

“Hey! Watch it,” Curtis warns stepping closer to a slightly drunk Wes.

“And after everything I did for you? Gave to you?!”

“You act like I asked for those things.”

He simply shakes his head before focusing on Curtis. “You know what, good luck with that one. Just a lazy sack that only wants to lie on her back. Can barely do that either always complaining-,”

Curtis didn’t let him finish quickly gripping Wes by the back of his neck making him kneel before you and everyone peeking through the open door. He tried to wiggle free and thrash, but Curtis just tightens his grip controlling Wes as if he was an animal handler trained to do this. Like he’d done it plenty of times before.

“You say you’re the one who gave her everything? Way I see it, you wouldn’t have had everything to give without her. Without your lovely wife, I would’ve already cancelled our partnership leaving you high and dry probably on fry duty at some fast food place. So I suggest you humble yourself pretty fucking quick.”

He seemed to get the message, remaining mostly still besides his back rising and falling from his unsteady breathing. “Matter of fact, I say you thank her.”

Wes is quiet, until Curtis jabs him in the ribs causing him to howl in pain.

“She’s waiting!”

“Th-Thank you! Thank you!,” he shouts sighing in relief when Curtis lets him go.

“Cmon,” he mumbles grabbing your hand to lead you past your husband. Past the vast crowd of people who dared not get in his way.

“W-Where are we going?,” you ask trying to keep up with his longer strides.

“Home.”

“But..but I-,”

Swiftly, he turns catching you against his chest with fingers gently gripping your chin so you’d be sure to hear him. “Home can be my place or yours and he gets put on the street, you choose. Either way from this point on, I’m not letting you stay away from me.” How could you argue with that? Especially now when he was using that commanding tone paired with that intense gaze making your core spasm. “Which one?”

“…Yours.”

He simply kisses your forehead leading you outside to retrieve his car from valet.

As for Wes, he was in for a rude awakening Monday morning when he’d be served an eviction notice saying his office space now belonged to Everett Co., minutes before he was served divorce papers already signed by you and your wedding ring.

-

Not gonna lie, I’m a little iffy about the ending but still I hope everyone enjoys! Also check out the other stories from this challenge as well💕!

[fairyhaos]

❍ the 2k event: jeonghan + empire

vote for this fic in the poll!

alternative title: burn, palace, burn

pairing: prince!jeonghan x f!empress!reader

genre: historical au, empire au, enemies to lovers, angst

word count: 1517

warnings: mentions of blood, war, death, manipulation, imprisonment (yeah,,, this ended up a little dark)

event taglist (send ask to be added): @slytherinshua @rubywonu @pepperonijem @amxlia-stars @weird-bookworm @hannyoontify @my-moarmy-heart @suminsfav @minhui896 @haocovr @lockburn-castle @jeonwonwoo

War is never something you’ve enjoyed.

Bloodshed is horrifying, and the amount of lives lost, often futilely, make your stomach churn and your heart ache. The effects of war are almost always felt for generations after, staining child after child and traumatising the land beyond belief, the blood of enemies and allies and victims painting nightmares into the soil.

What a shame that your hands are dripping in that very blood.

You sigh, straightening yourself in your throne, brushing at the delicate golden chains dangling from your headdress as they touch your shoulders. However, you’ve been brought up by a tyrannical family, hell-bent on controlling their people. It’s always been your greatest desire to undo that damage, create a prosperous society, but that has proved near impossible.

That was a lesson your advisors had taught you, early on in your reign. As a woman, you’d have little power but to do as the men before you had done.

“Your Imperial Highness! The Great Sun of our land! Your imperial army returns from their latest battle!”

The doors to the throne room burst open, and in strides the head general, helmet under his arm, chest puffed, cheeks splattered with blood. It makes you feel sick.

But what makes you even more ill is the fact that he’s not alone. Behind him, two other soldiers drag in a man, tugging on his chains and forcing him to kneel before you. His head his bent, once-rich robes tattered and torn. There is a crown on his head, but on closer inspection, it looks to be a crude imitation of one, fashioned from tatty cloth and rotten sticks.

“We have returned from our conquest in the East,” your Head General says, proud. “The Kingdom of Thae has fallen to your mighty reign.”

Another kingdom acquired by your crown, you think weakly. Another kingdom for your advisors to lord over. Another kingdom for you to play at being empress to.

“Well done,” you say, and try to hide the discomfort from your voice. Masking it should come easily, given the countless times you’ve done this, but your horror at what has become of you never ceases to fade. “The Imperial Crown thanks you for your service.”

The Head General nods in acknowledgement, and point to the man kneeling beside him. “We have brought the prince of the Thae Kingdom here to you. Though their King and Queen have been slaughtered, Advisor Kim relayed that you would enjoy certain… spoils of war, if there were any left.”

Your head spins. This is horrific. You want to leave.

“Yes,” you manage to force out, as gracefully as possible. “Thank you.” You look down at the man, and his head is still bent, but his chained wrists shake from the way he clenches his fists tightly. “Pray tell, what is the prince’s name?”

The Head General smirks, and steps back. “Would your Imperial Highness like to take a look at him?”

It’s posed as a question, but you have no choice.

You rise from your throne, (lies, it’s not yours, it’s always belonged to anyone but you—) and descend the steps, kneeling before the man, the heavy silks of your skirt fanning out beneath you.

With one finger, you lift up his head, and your breath catches.

He’s beautiful.

“Prince Yoon Jeonghan, Your Imperial Highness,” your Head General introduces for you, and even his name is beautiful.

His hair, raven-dark and mussed up, is still velvet-soft as you tuck a lock behind his ear, mesmerised by his beauty. His eyes are like black diamonds, so dark that you could fall into them and yet endlessly bright and sparkling. His skin is pale, and he looks so small and delicate and you wish for nothing more than to whisk him away from this horrible, horrible world.

Jeonghan snarls, and his teeth sink into your wrist.

Immediately, the guards around him pull at his chains and tug him back, tug him so hard that he falls back, head crashing painfully on the cold stone of the floor.

“Oh!” You don’t even register the stinging teeth marks on your wrist, bleeding red beads, standing up and rushing to his side, holding the back of his head, even as he swats angrily at you, chains clinking. “Are you alright?”

Jeonghan stares at you as if you’ve gone insane, wrestling himself from your grip and receiving more harsh tugs for his actions. 

“I gather that Your Imperial Majesty is pleased with this prince?” the Head General says, and the sick pleasure in his tone makes you look up.

“Indeed,” you say, with all the authority you can muster. “Now, leave us.”

There are little benefits to being a puppet empress, but at least the people still have to respect you.

Once they all leave, and the room is empty, you fall to your knees beside him once again, brushing at his robes, seeing if he’s alright. But Jeonghan pushes your hands away again, hissing.

“Leave me alone,” he snaps, and his voice is cracked and hoarse but the anger pulsates, ever-present and unable to be hidden. “I refuse to be your boytoy.”

“Let me help you,” you beg, noticing the bruises along his arms, the dried-up blood on his neck. “Please. I could— I could give you a good life here. I promise.”

Jeonghan’s eyes darken, icy flames dancing in his irises, every blink oozing hate. “Your promises mean nothing to me,” he spits. “I refuse to bow down to a bully like you. You’re a killer, a manipulator, and I want nothing to do with the likes of you.”

Every word is a steel shard struck straight into your heart, and it’s startling how much the hate stings you. You’ve conquered countless kingdoms before, albeit not by your own choice, and you know that this is how people must view you. And yet, it hurts, to hear the venom and calculated rage pouring out of this prince’s mouth.

“I’m not those things,” you say quietly, voice echoing meekly within the large throne room. 

Jeonghan scoffs, opening his mouth to retort, and you rush to carry on.

“I’m not the one in charge. I have no power, no control here. I’m—I’m as much a prisoner as you are, a prisoner to my people, to my advisors, to my court. They prod me and push me around as they please, and I can’t do anything against them without being killed. Please, I— just let me help you.”

The hate does not waver in Jeonghan’s eyes. His delicate, pale face is contorted into an expression of such loathing that it makes you shiver in fear.

“If you’re all those things,” he says venomously, “then how can you help me?”

“I can keep you alive,” you say. “I can make sure you won’t die any time soon.”

Jeonghan freezes, and then slumps. He’s sitting on the floor of your recently polished throne room, satin robes torn and charred and splattered with blood. The floor shines, and his blackened fingers curl into the stone, fingernails scraping painfully.

“I just want my parents to be alive,” he says, quietly. “I want my life back.”

His words hit too close to home, and your heart constricts. It takes you several deep breaths before you manage to compose yourself again, and you rest a hand gently on his own.

“I can’t give that to you,” you admit, “however much I want to. I… I can’t even do that for myself.”

Jeonghan looks up, and there’s a question there, amongst the flickering flames of derision and fury and sadness.

“But I can give you a life,” you say. “It won’t be your old one, but it’ll be a life all the same. If you work with me, I can… I think I can free you. Free everyone.”

Jeonghan’s brow furrows, and a sheen covers his eyes as he thinks it over. He’s tattered and underfed and probably suffering several wounds, and yet he is taking the time to think of your offer, and part of you wonders faintly if Jeonghan, before all of this had happened to him, had been someone intelligent and calculating and revered by his people.

You feel even more ill for what you've done to him. For what others have done to him in your name. 

“Very well,” Jeonghan says finally, and your eyes widen. His chains clatter once again, and he holds his hand out. “Help me, and I help you.”

You smile, and take his hand, gently helping him to his feet. “I promise.” You prod at the chains on his wrists. “I'll free you. I will."

The beginnings of a smile tug at Jeonghan's lips. He tugs at the golden threads of your crown, and you let him, let him push it off, let it crash to the floor in a tinkle of expensive and heavy metal. 

"How noble of you, Empress," he says, but there's a light in his eyes, devious and cunning. He's a fighter, Jeonghan is. You can tell. He grins. 

"Let's burn this empire to the ground."

[sheerfreesia007]

The Chase

Pairing: Hyunjin x Reader

Word count: 1,619

Content warnings: Violence, Manhandling, Suggestive, Stealing

Summary: Hyunjin is out shopping at his favorite store, but what happens when he catches a thief in the middle of his shopping? Will he deal with her just like he normally does when he catches a thief?

The soft music playing over the speakers in the store captures Hyunjin’s attention as he browses the clothing on display. Humming along to the music he smiles and nods at some of the other customers as he moves about the clothing section. His eyes catch on a jean clad woman as she moves about the store, something has caught his attention about her and he can’t place his finger on it but his eyes keep darting back over to her. She’s dressed in a pair of well worn jeans that are so worn at the knees that the material is threadbare and he can see her skin through it. Her rock band t-shirt And black jean jacket also look well worn and buttery soft, something he knows that most clothing lines strive for in their clothing.

He drapes the clothes that he’s interested in over his arm and he turns towards the dressing rooms when he spots the woman again. She’s flitting back and forth from the women’s dressing rooms as if she was dropping clothes off to people in there. But something seems off, he narrows his eyes slightly as he watches her move towards the dressing rooms once more.

She moves fluidly as she flits to one of the curtain stalls and gently moves the curtain to the side. He watches with stunned shock as she quickly slips her hand into the stall and then quickly slips it back out, a pretty decorated money clip full of folded bills gripped tightly in her hand. She easily slips it into her black jean jacket pocket before slinking away from the stall.

Hyunjin stands there in shock as he looks around the store to see if anyone else had seen the same thing he had. When he finds that no one else has seen the woman stealing from customers in the store he frowns softly. He’s Hwang Hyunjin, one of the most well known mob bosses who lords over the dark underground of the city, how dare this foolish woman steal in his presence. 

Gritting his teeth Hyunjin darts his eyes over to her and finds her silently skimming through the dress rack near the front door. He watches as she gazes around the store before turning back to the dress rack. He moves to stand behind a clothing rack to watch her for a moment, she looks up suddenly as if she feels his gaze on her and he quickly turns to the clothing rack. He can feel her eyes dance along his frame before she’s looking away and he turns his eyes back to her.

She looks around the store once more before her eyes dart over to the front door and he knows that she’s making a decision if she should stay and steal some more or if she should leave. He feels the desire to catch her rise up within him and he smirks softly before he makes a move. No one will steal from him while he’s shopping in his favorite store.

Moving to the clothing rack next to the one he was just looking at, he dramatically swishes his long coat back from his hip and flashes the pretty diamond chain that he had clipped around his waist. With a quick glance towards her side of the store he sees that he’s captured her attention and he feels the adrenaline start to course through him as raises his opposite hand to look at his expensive wrist watch in the store lights displaying it for anyone to see.

He can feel her calculating eyes on him and he hates to admit that he’s impressed, she hasn’t completely taken the bait yet. But he knows as he begins to tap his many rings against the metal rack with soft clicks that she’s slowly slipping into it. He huffs softly as if he hasn’t found what he’s looking for before dramatically turning away from the rack and stalking towards the men’s dressing room. His smirk is wide and wicked since he can feel her eyes following him through the store. Gotcha.

Stepping into the dressing room he hangs his long coat on the hook by the door and turns to the pile of clothes that he had picked out. He knew she wouldn’t move too quickly since she was already contemplating leaving the store so he figured he had some time to try on some of the clothes. He quickly slipped out of the shirt he was wearing until he only wore his white tank top and the black pants he had already been wearing.

He tried on the first two shirts that he had picked out before he heard soft shuffling outside the dressing room curtain. Quickly slipping out of the shirt he felt his blood begin to race with adrenaline as he waited with baited breath for the woman to slip her hand into the dressing room stall. 

He knew she would go for his coat assuming he would leave his money clip in the coat pocket, she wouldn’t be wrong but he had made sure to hang the coat on the further hook from the curtain so that she would have to reach further into the stall. Leaving him the perfect opportunity to catch her at her craft. 

Just then he watched as her slender hand slipped through the curtain and he had to hold himself back from immediately reacting. He waited until her hand slipped further into the stall past the curtain before he tightly gripped her wrist and yanked her into the stall. Moving so that he could slam her back against the wall he glared angrily into her shocked and surprised wide eyes.

”You dare to come into my favorite store and steal from the customers here. To try and steal from me?” He hissed out at you as he leaned in close towards your face while glaring at you. You gasp softly in response to his quick movements and jerk your head back to get away from him but he has a strong grip on you not letting you to escape. “Do you know who I am?” He hissed in a waspish tone and you frowned darkly at him.

”Some rich asshole.” You bit out and incredulous anger spiked through him as he stared at you with a squinted look. His eyes darted around your face and saw that you weren’t afraid of him as you frowned at him. He suddenly barked out a dark laugh and your eyes squinted on him as well.

”Oh honey, I’m more than just a rich asshole.” He drawled out to you and your eyes dilated slightly as he leaned closer to you. He smirked knowingly as he suddenly moved and caged you in his arms against the wall. “Still affected by this rich asshole, huh?” He asked seductively as his blood began to race for a completely different reason now. 

He had to admit you were a beauty in your own right, even though a little rough around the edges. He wondered if he could polish you to be the perfect partner for him. A smirk slips over his lips and he watches as your eyes squint slightly at his change in attitude. He raises his hand suddenly and gently trails it down the side of your face.

”I could make you so happy in every sense of the word.” He whispers to you and your eyebrows furrow for a moment before your face clears. He watches suspiciously as your pupils suddenly dilate and you lean into his space with a soft smile slipping onto your lips.

”Can you?” You gasp out at him as your body melts against his. He hums softly as he leans down towards you keeping an inch of space between both of your mouths being a tease.

”Absolutely gorgeous.” He husks out as his lips pull up into a sultry grin. You lean further into him and he licks at his lips with want for you, he wants to mold you into the perfect little arm candy. Flaunt you around as his mistress, dress you in all the finest clothes, extravagant gems.

You hum softly and he watches as a satisfied smirk slips onto your face before your hand comes up to push against his chest making him plop down onto the little bench in the dressing stall. He gazes up at you as you bend forward until your faces are inches apart.

”Too bad I’m already happy without you.” You coo out softly to him before giving him a pout as your eyes sparkle with challenge. He leans up to try and press a kiss to your lips but you’re suddenly whirling away from him and he’s frowning at your retreat. 

At the curtain you look over your shoulder at him and smirk wickedly. You look gorgeous like that, challenge sparking in your eyes as your smirk pulls your lips in a delicious curve across your face. 

“Thanks for the money clip asshole.” You tell him as you salute him with two fingers before slipping out of the dressing room stall. 

Hyunjin lurches from the bench to the doorway, swiping the curtain out of his way. His eyes dart around the store but you’re nowhere to be seen and as his eyes move to the store front windows he catches just a glimpse of your black jacket passing the window at a quick pace. He grits his teeth for a moment before a smirk forms on his lips and he retreats back into the dressing stall. He would find you and claim you as his, the chase was just going to be foreplay for you both.

SKZ Taglist: @intartaruginha, @kayleefriedchicken, @babigriin

[waspsarebetterthanbeesanyways]

Only the Dead 1

Figured I’d post the first scene of my WIP here.

part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10

_____

There’s something wrong.

Bruce wakes up slowly, despite the icy frisson of dread that crawls up his spine. His head hurts. His muscles ache, knotted like stone, to the point where simply shifting position feels like a Herculean task.

There’d been an Arkham breakout again. He’d gone after the Joker -- there’d been a hostage -- and then..?

He can hear voices, murmuring quietly around him on all sides, none of them familiar. He can smell disinfectant, wax, something floral, and a hint of rot underneath it all. A hospital? he wonders, mind sluggish.

“He’s waking up.”

Bruce peels his eyelids open with difficulty; his eyelashes stick together.

It’s not a hospital. It’s a warehouse? Wherever he is, it’s lit dimly, by only candlelight.

“No matter. We are ready to commence with the ritual.”

Bruce rolls his head to the side. He can feel the velvet of an expensive tablecloth underneath his cheek -- he’s on some sort of table -- an altar? Below him he can dark, geometric lines -- a circle, and a diamond within -- and strange symbols drawn around the edges. Above him tower shadowy figures -- people, men and women dressed in dark grey robes, their faces obscured. Batman uses similar scare tactics to frighten criminals, but Bruce still feels frightened at the sight.

He jerks, trying to get upright. Sharp pain blooms in his throat, his wrists and his ankles. He’s tied up -- no, he’s chained and collared, tightly, to the altar.

One of the robed figures approaches him. Her robes are distinct from the others, the seams embroidered with pale silver thread, taking the shapes of cartoon ghosts, of all things. She clicks her tongue at him. “Batman, Bruce Wayne,” she murmurs. “It was a lot of trouble getting you. Don’t think we’ll let you escape.”

Bruce’s heart hammers in his chest as his situation sinks in. He’s trapped, unable to move, kidnapped by a cult he hadn’t even been aware existed.

“Everybody get into position.”

There’s four of them, not counting the vestal. Each of them takes a candle from the corner of the altar, cupping them between their palms. The vestal pulls a knife from her robes. The blade is pitch black, like obsidian, and it gleams in the candlelight.

Bruce squirms, feeling the chains, searching for a weakness. The vestal cards her fingers through his hair as if to calm him. “I am sorry,” she says. “I wouldn’t do this if there was another way. Know that we will honor your sacrifice. The Lord of Screams will follow your footsteps and bring salvation to this wretched city.”

“Don’t do this,” Bruce says.

The vestal tilts her head back and begins to chant. “O king, we beseech you; grace us with your presence.” The other cultists echo her words in Latin. “To you we gift you thus -- an offering of blood to bring you power, an offering of bone to anchor you to this plane -- a life for a life.”

“A life for a life,” the cultists chant.

The vestal lifts her blade, and with both hands, plunges it into Bruce’s chest.

The candle flames flicker out, then return a brilliant Lazarus green.

The vestal pulls her blade back out with a wet squelch and hastily backs out of the circle. The cultists back away at a slow, even pace. The lines of the circle begin to glow that same horrid, beautiful green, and they grow, expanding with each step the cultists take.

Bruce, still struggling, chokes on his own blood. It dribbles out his lips.

The lines of the circle thicken until the entire circle is filled in with that eerie green, and then it begins to swirl. A massive hand pulls itself out of the miasma, and then a flaming crown, a horned helmet, a scowling face. A giant, armored body, barely contained by the warehouse.

“Once again, I am freed,” the being says in a booming voice.

“Lord Phantom,” the vestal says. The glow has intensified enough for Bruce to make out her features -- her glistening eyes, her wide smile. “It really worked. You’re really here...”

“Phantom,” the being says. “Is that who you believe I am?”

“My lord?” the vestal asks, voice small.

“I am not Phantom,” the being spits, face twisting into a rictus of hatred. “I am none other than Pariah Dark, king of the Infinite Realms.”

The last Bruce sees of the vestal is the horror on her face before Pariah Dark slams down his fist, reducing her to a bloody smear. The remaining cultists flee, screaming.

“Cowards,” Pariah Dark sneers. “But they shall be my subjects soon enough.” He turns his gaze towards Bruce, and scoops him up into one of his massive hands, phase shifting him through the chains. “Now you, you must be one of those costumed warriors Phantom emulates so fondly.” He inspects the bat symbol on Bruce’s chest. The blood has spread so much it’s barely recognizable. “But a dying vessel has no use to me.”

With that, Pariah Dark carelessly tosses Bruce to the ground. Bruce shouts in pain, and dark splotches grow in his vision. They do not fade.

“Batman!”

“Dad!”

No. Bruce’s vision is fading quickly, but he can still tell. Nightwing, Red Robin, Batgirl -- his sons, and the girl who is like a daughter to him. They can’t be here.

“Run,” Bruce croaks, but Nightwing still approaches. The other two attack Pariah Dark. trying to distract him. Bruce can’t move, can’t run with them, can’t fight with them, can’t protect them. “Run away!”

Steph screams. Dick reaches Bruce and curls an arm around his shoulders. “We’re not leaving you,” Dick says. He sounds close to tears.

Bruce doesn’t hear him. He is already lost.

[weareravershq]

[gaysindistress]

Sad Girl

summary: James has an interesting new business’ proposal and one hell of a condition to deal with. 

pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

warnings: cursing... for now

word count: 1.8k

authors note: This is my first time posting so please let me know if you want to rest of this series!

series masterlist

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on google/Pinterest

Angry foot steps stomp through the large hallways and up the marble stairway. Raised voices try to alert the others that she is coming and is fuming. She waves a manicured hand above her head, telling them to shut the fuck up before she takes her anger out on them. Her heels nearly crack the marble as Scott trails after her, trying to get her to slow down.

“Ma’am please stop,” he gasps, lot of breath from chasing her through the foyer. 

She stops, taking a deep breath, and turns to look down at him. The diamond “S” of her necklace swings as the pearls and chain barely leave her skin. Her hair nearly whips Scott from the force of her turn. 

“Oh Scott it’s too late to reason with me. I’m already seeing red so why don’t you be a good boy and open that door before I tear it down,” she says eerily clam, pointing to the door in question at the top of the staircase. 

“I… I can’t do that,” he stutters. 

Her black french tips rub the headache coming on as she closes her eyes, “Yes, yes you can. Now go.”

The movement from her arm causes her black outercoat to open slightly and the holster with its accompanying gun flashes every so slightly. Scott’s eyes go straight to it, knowing that she would never pull it on him but the men she’s after are an entirely different question. Scott just nods, climbing the stairs around her as he curses himself for taking this job and dealing with such horrible people.

Once he reaches the door, he gives it a heavy push causing the room to go silent at the intrusion. There is a large oak desk towards the back of the room, crowded by men who all look the same. The head of the family is sitting behind the desk in an even larger throne-like chair, two giants at his sides. The men doing business with him are lounging in the oversized chairs in front of the desk. They too have men flanking their sides as if to say “fuck around and find out”. A woman typing feverishly at a computer is the corner and doesn’t even look at Scott because her job is not stop typing no matter what happens. The room also houses two couches and a coffee table for the “easier” business dealings, at least that’s what the family head says. 

Scott makes eye contact with the head, “she’s here and pissed.”

The head just nods and gestures to one of his side men. He starts to say something to him when the woman in question slides behind Scott, one hand on his shoulder and the other on her hip. 

“Hello, Dad.”

He smiles, “Hello, Darling. We were just finishing up.”

She lets out a sinister laugh, “Like hell you were. Did you really thing you could get away with doing all of this shit without me present?”

She gently pushes Scott out of the room, shutting the door in his face before walking towards the bar her father had installed to fuel his drinking habit. Grabbing 4 glasses and an amber bottle, she makes her way to the desk, not saying a word as if to dare any of the men to utter something. She pours a drink for each glass and hands her dad a glass. 

“You know you’re not supposed to be involved in all of this,” her dad states as he takes the glass and leans back in his throne.

Ignoring her dad, she turns to the men and gestures towards the glass, silently saying “go one and take one”.

“You know you aren’t supposed to offer your daughter up as collateral when you fuck up a business deal,” she offers over her shoulder as she takes a sip from her glass, leaning against the desk, “now which one of you fools actually agreed to this deal?”

The brunette is watching her and taking in every detail she has to offer, willing and accidentally. The blonde sits up a bit straighter and readjusts his suit jacket under his overcoat. 

“No one has agreed to anything yet, Miss. Stark,” the blonde says, crossing his hands in his lap. His watch peaks out from under his sleeve, shining under the natural light from the window. A slight glint bounces of his finger and she makes note of the pinky signet ring he wears. 

“Darling we were just about to sign the papers, so if you could leave that would be great,” Mr. Stark’s voice is growing slightly impatient at his daughter’s invading presence. 

“Don’t you want your business partner to see what prize he won for saving your ass, dad?” the last word is meant to land like a dagger in his heart but his unbothered face proves it does little to change his mind. 

“Don’t you think they might want an inspection? You know to make sure their new property isn’t damaged,” she sneers as she sets her glass and down and begins to take off her overcoat. 

“I’m sure they would love to make sure there are any structural flaws that would render their property useless,” she continues to shed her blazer, leaving her with her holster and v neck blouse. Her necklaces are now shining in all of their glory from the sun and the gun strapped to her ribcage makes everyone stand on high alert. 

“Stop,” is the single word that leaves Mr. Stark’s lips and now the impatience is growing to the surface. 

The men to his side step forward when they spot her gun and the men behind her step closer to their bosses. The blonde and brunette share a look as they both chuckle under their breath at the display of defiance and anger. 

“You are not property so stop referring to yourself as a real estate transaction.” 

The gun is pulled from the holster as she slips the holster off and tosses it on the desk beside her jackets. She points the revolver at her dad’s forehead as she shakes her head. 

“Then don’t treat me like I am one. I am your daughter so start showing me some respect and call of this deal.”

“Doll put the gun down,” the brunette says from behind her. 

“Doll?” she questions as she drops the revolver and turns to look at him, “Don’t call me by some pet name, Barnes. Use my name if you really want to talk to me or did you forget what it was considering you’re too dim witted to see what that contract actually entails.”

A shift in the air around her causes her to look to her right as the blonde takes the revolver from her hand and sets it on the desk. He towers over her, looking down as he scans her face. 

“We already made the necessary changes, Miss. Stark. I can assure you James and I are well aware of what we are getting ourselves into. Is there something you might want to add?” he says to her and her only. 

She scoffs at his pretend nice attitude and goes to push him away but his hand pins hers to his chest. 

“Do you want to make any changes?” he whispers again, blue eyes boring holes into her eyes. 

“Yeah take me out of it,” she whispers back and rips her hand from his. 

“Wanda!” the woman typing looks up at the sound of her name, “I have one thing that I want to add. If he harms me in any way, I reserve the right to cut his dick off, leave and nothing happens to my family.” 

The blonde continues to watch the enigma of a woman in front of him as she tries her hardest to not shot her father, him, and everyone else in this room. 

“Define harm,” Wanda asks, still typing. 

“If he lays a hand on me, breaths wrong, looks at me wrong, says something I don’t like, anything that I don’t like,” she replies and pushes past the blonde to steal his chair. 

The blonde chuckles again when it’s his turn to lean against the desk and glance between his friend and her. 

“She’s gonna be a real handful,” James states as he stands, “can we sign the papers and get out of here?” 

Confusion flashes across the woman’s face for a second but it returns to her resting bitch face. 

Mr. Stark nods his head, handing  James a pen as the blonde slides out of his way for him to sign the contract. 

“Um excuse me? Why the fuck are you signing?” she questions, pointing a finger at Barnes, “Isn’t Rogers the one my dad made the deal with?”

James takes a look at her before going back to finish signing the papers in front of him. Rogers, the blonde, hands back her hostler, blazer, and overcoat before speaking, “James and I both made a deal with your dad. In exchange for our protection and resources, we will receive a portion of his earnings from Stark Industries. For extra reassurance that he wouldn’t cross us, he gave me his vibranium supplier and he gave you to James.” 

Silence fills the room. She stares daggers at Rogers, slicing her way to Barnes before settling her knives on her father. 

“You gave me up instead of some other supplier?” she nearly screamed at her father as the two men at his side quickly grab her by the arms. All sense of self preservation and elegance has left her body as she thrashes in their hands and desperately tries to keep her sobs in. 

“You chose a fucking supplier relationship over me?” 

Mr. Stark ignores her as he signs his name and passes the papers off to Rogers. He shakes James’ and Rogers’ hands before stalking his way towards his daughter. 

“You are my daughter so start fucking acting like it. You knew this was going to be your life when I found you begging on my door step. If you’re going to be mad at anyone, be mad at your mother for leaving you for drugs,” he whispers through clenched teeth into her ear. 

Her eyes had welled up with tears but her father’s words freeze her, only one escaping down her cheek. Mr. Stark makes a motion with her hand and the men release her on unsteady feet. She stumbles forward into her father’s arms. 

He wipes the tear away, pulls her into a death grip hug and soothes her hair down as he whispers in her ear again, “James is the lesser of two evils. He won’t hurt you if you play the part. You know I wouldn’t let any undeserving harm come to you. Now go pack a bag and get ready to leave with him.”

He pulls away, keeping her at arm’s length and pretends to check over her as a good father would if his babygirl was upset. All she does, all she can do is nod, pick up her dropped jackets, and walk out of the room. All eyes are on her as the head strong façade crumbles in front of them, leaving behind the frightened little girl she really is. 

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

Spider-Punk x Black Cat: Punk!Cat Headcanons

Yes, I'm doing this. Every Spider-Man needs his Cat.

First of all, they'll be the first to tell you they are not dating.

If you ask, they'll both say 'We hate labels'. It's their thing.

If Hobie is the king of all things anti-facist then Felicia is the monarch of rage fueled feminism and anti-capitalism

Hates all things classist, racist and sexist and has a 'k!ll your local rap*st' patch on her battle vest

And her weapon of choice is spiked-out brass knuckle claws

Hobie towers over her (like he does everyone), but Felicia's ten times louder and twice as confrontational. Felicia in any universe talks bold with no filter, and Punk!Cat is that turned up to eleven

Which is probably why she's on vocals in the band

She has a mouth like a sailor and an accent as thick as Hobie's, so mixed with his slang, their conversation are literally British-dipped jibberish

Her style sits on the border of old-school punk and trad goth. She's usually in all black and white, compared to Hobie's red and blue, and sometime her domino mask is swapped out for trad goth style eyeliner

The motives align more than any other Spider-Man, at that makes things a lot easier.

Hobie loves a girl who can do a little direct action, and his anarchist beliefs align more with hers than any other Spider-man.

Though they did have to get over the fact he's an anarchist and she's a communist (she constantly says to him 'i dont believe in private property')

Of course she likes to steal, and she's real good at it

To most Spider-men this would be annoying, but Hobie actually finds it fairly impressive.

She steals things for him constantly, and he keeps every single thing she gives him. Lots of times they turn out to be useful, especially in his builds

Punk!Cat steals shit from museums to return objects back to their native countries and defaces pieces from racist, sexist artists

Steals from banks to handover the money to grass-roots resistance movements

And since Hobie is one of the only Spider-men to hate cops (blue laces people) he's always there to happily protect her from the pigs

She's still herself, but a bit different than most Felicias

Every Felicia is a little 'not normal' about Spider-Man, and Punk!Cat is the same, but approaches it from a different angle

She'll call Hobie a hero only because she know it bugs the day lights out of him

But unlike a LOT of Felicias, Punk!Cat outright hates Spider-Man merch and imagery

She thinks it's incredibly exploitative of Hobie and everything he stands for.

And she hates their totalitarian J.Jonah more than anything because if theres one thing she hates, it's misinformation and propaganda

Although most Fe's love their jewlery like no other, Punk!Cat takes another slight deviation -

Punk!Cat knows that things like diamonds, pearls, and gold has been used as items of oppression for literal centuries. Instead of a taste for items of bougeois lust, Felicia is much more into punk jewlery

She loves everything pinned, spiked, and covered in soda tabs. Her hero uniform is covered in chains, and even her canon 3-claw grappling hook is replaced with a heavy chain and hook she fashioned herself. Scavanged, of course.

She's really close with Gwen and Pavi

Community outreach is everything to a punk, ya'll

Her and Gwen get along immediately. Felicia is never one to be quick to jealousy and she accepts Gwen with open arms.

Gwen turns up to Hobie's universe distraught and homeless.

She teaches her about squatters rights and how her and Hobie keep a roof over their heads, always made sure she had toiletries and someone to talk to, because she knows what it's like to have a strained relationship with your dad

Pavi takes to everyone quickly, but when he and Felicia are together, it gets LOUD

The Spider-Society hates her

And Felicia and Hobie love it

Hobie had no idea how controversial dating Felicia would be. Not for band fans, but for all the other Spider-people

Turns out, Felicias aren't very popular with the Society

The both of them thinks it hilarious

They tell him Spider-people are suppose to be with their MJ's. That's how it's meant to be.

Dating a Felicia or saving a Gwen is an anonmaly waiting to happen.

But neither of them care, and if anything, that only eggs them on. If everyone thinks they're 'bound' to breakup eventually then thats even more reason for them to stick together.

Hobie has absolutely made Felicia her own watch

One which she uses to crash the Spider-Society every now and again

Because of this, Miguel hates her and Jess is just so done with the both of them

Even if Hobie and Peter.B are in no way close, Peter seems to be the only adult in their corner. As a Spider-man that didn't have the most conventional story with his MJ, he's more than supportive of Hobie and his unconventional story with Felicia. He figures if he and MJ can make it work, so can they.

Her and Gwen bond over the awkwardness of being variants of the dead or ex-girlfriend of most of the Spider-society, and how Spider-men see them because of it

And when it's time to take the Society down, she's the first in line (after Hobie, Gwen, and Pavi of course)

[harmonyrae]

Power Couple

CHAPTER 3 - Introductions

Concept: AU of how Sylus & you (reader) met. Both are leaders of large factions in the N109 Zone, Onychinus (Sylus) and Himitsu (you). They have been cutting into your territory over the past few weeks, so you decided an introduction is required. You laid the trap and Sylus walked right into it. But this is just the beginning...

Your fingers run along the bars. You survey the lock and the evol suppressor beacons, breathing in the scent of fresh paint. This room was your masterpiece. You were waiting for the opportunity to use it for nearly 2 months. A huge metal cage sitting in the center of the room. A metal chair chained to the floor sits inside. The lock, both mechanical for a physical key and a print scanner, sits square on the heavy door. Three large evol suppressor beacons hang from the ceiling facing the cage. Whoever sits inside would have no access to their Evol. A large black recliner sits outside the cage. A carpet with an intricate floral pattern sits beneath it. You’ve referred to it as your throne as a joke, but tonight, it will be. You can’t suppress your smile.

The thick door in the far corner of the room swings open slowly. Dorian enters the room with hastened steps.

“It’s time.”

You never attend operations. You plan them and deal with the aftermath, but never get your hands dirty. Tonight that changes. You lean your head back against the headrest. You’ve been sitting in this car for nearly 10 minutes waiting for Dorian’s signal. 

Blackburn Bar sits before you. Dorian and your team secure the building and you’ve already heard the sharp pop of a silenced handgun in the alley to your right. Your earpiece filled with confirmations as one-by-one, the men Sylus placed around the bar are taken out. You spot Dorian on the roof of the bar, setting up the signal blocker. Sylus won’t be able to call for backup or communicate with anyone for that matter. 

You check your golden watch, allowing your fingertips to trace the diamonds circling the face. It’s 10 minutes past 8pm and your heart is pounding in your throat. The bracelet sitting beside the watch faintly glowing. You’ll keep your word on the evol suppressor, not that it works on you or that you’d even need to use your evol with how many men you have stationed around the bar. 

“Green light.” Dorian whispers through the earpiece. 

Your door opens and you gingerly step out. Pulling your coat tighter around your shoulder as you walk toward the entrance of the bar. 

Ding Ding

The chime of the bell above the door rings to signal your entrance. You glance around the empty bar silently. Your eyes land on a single figure, casually leaning against a billiards table at the back of the bar. You let your eyes drift from his sleek dress shoes, to his pressed suit pants, the fitted button up closed in by a dark suit jacket adorned with swirls of red draped over him. His broad shoulders look even more impressive with the jacket hugging him tightly. His hand holds a glass of whiskey, he swirls the liquid slowly. The ring on his middle finger glowing faintly - his evol suppressor it seems. 

You dare to start your slow walk towards him, hearing your heels click on the tile beneath you. Your eyes never leave the shadowed figure. 

Your eyes fixate themselves on his chest, the top buttons of his shirt undone, then you’re staring at his face. You realize his eyes are staring right back at you. You don’t stop walking and you hold his gaze. You take in his breathtaking features. A smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. Your eyes drift up to his eyes, somehow dark and bright at the same time. They shine like rubies in the dim lights of the bar. His silver hair swept across his forehead, shielding part of one of his eyes, which you swore looked to be glowing. 

Your eyes dip back to his lips. Still set in a smirk. Your thoughts hone in on how smug he looks and how much you are looking forward to ripping that confidence from him. Then another thought invades your focus. His lips look so soft. You suddenly remember his voice from the phone call earlier that day and you try to blink away the heat rising to your cheeks. That voice, passing those lips. You bite the inside of your cheek. You plan for everything, but somehow, the one thing you did not plan for, was how to react if your rival was one of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen.

You’re finally close enough to him now, you smile sweetly. Taking in how much taller he was compared to yourself. He sets his glass on the table, still never taking his eyes off of you. 

“How many of my men did you take out before finally deciding to stroll in here?” His voice, that deep rumbling voice, still confident as ever. 

“All of them. But I’m sure you figured as much.” You’re surprised how smooth your voice sounds. You were sure there would be a twinge of panic or a stutter in there somewhere. 

“I’m impressed. I really didn’t expect Hunter to be late. Or should I say, "Miss Hunter.” 

You can’t contain your smile anymore. You’ve been waiting for this moment for years. You’d practiced a speech for the first person to receive the revelation. But realizing he had connected the dots on his own in the short walk you made from the door sent chills down your spine. To hear “Miss Hunter” - you couldn’t put words to the feeling. Proud. Satisfied. Content. All of the above. You slip your coat off your shoulders and lay it on the booth next to you. 

“Y/N.”

“Y/N.” You watch his lips form your name, it was mesmerizing. But hearing him say it, you had to break eye contact for a brief moment so he wouldn’t see your eyes light up. Your name sounds so good when he says it. 

“And you’re Sylus. The infamous leader of Onychinus.” 

“Infamous? I think ‘notorious’ is a more fitting description.” There’s that cockiness again. Oh if you could only kiss that smirk - wait, no no no - if only you could wipe that smirk off his face. 

You’re becoming acutely aware of your body temperature rising. You unbutton your blazer in an attempt to cool yourself. You straighten your shoulders and move closer to him. Realizing your face hadn’t been illuminated fully until now. For a second, you see his eyes widen slightly. His eyebrows raise and his smirk falters. It’s only for a second, but you saw it. And it’s already been filed away in your mental notes. You can overthink later, right now you need to be the leader of Himitsu. You need to make sure your plan plays out perfectly. 

You stand directly in front of him, nearly drowning in those ruby eyes before flipping the switch. 

“I think I prefer “former,” personally.” You tuck your hands in your trouser pockets and shift your weight between your feet. Back and forth. A method of self-soothing, your anxiety was building, or was it your confidence? You weren’t sure. 

“Are you planning to kill me, Miss Hunter?” For the first time, his eye contact breaks. His gaze falls as he scans your body before locking back to your eyes once more. You can feel your chest and cheeks growing hotter. You try your best to mask the fluttering in your chest.

“Oh that wouldn’t be nearly as fun, sweetie.” Your voice is deep and clear. You surprise yourself, but you’re proud. You did it.

Sylus hits the floor in a thud. The tranquilizer darts scattered across his chest. You’re almost sad that you can’t stare at those crimson eyes anymore. A faint red and black mist circles his hand slowly before dissipating in what seems like defeat. 

Dorian stands beside you now. His eyes set on you, bright with amusement.

“You okay boss? You look a little…” You clasp your hand over his mouth in one swift movement. 

“Get him to the cage.” You drop your hand revealing Dorian’s smile. You grab your jacket and stride to the door of the bar. You turn on your heel and look back at him.

“And turn the beacons to max. His evol is…” You have no idea how to describe what you felt. Evol suppressants don’t work well on you, you can resonate with any evol, but what you sensed was something different. You’re not even sure you could resonate with whatever is contained within the man now laying in a heap on the floor. 

“It’s different.” That’s the only way you can describe it. Dorian nods. Turning to work with the other men who have arrived to secure Sylus. 

You leave the bar and climb into the car at the curb. Immediately hitting the switch on the ceiling to close the barrier between the driver and the passenger area. You catch your driver's gaze, he throws you a knowing wink before the screen completely closes. Harvey was used to you needing to have a moment of privacy while he drives you around the zone. He once drove around for 3 hours to let you nap undisturbed. 

With the screen closed, you tear off your blazer and aim the car vents at your face cranking the air conditioner to the max. You open the mini cooler under the seat in front of you and pull a mini bottle of champagne out. You rip off the cap and drink it quickly, the bubbles burning your throat. Your stomach is still doing back flips. You look out the window, the tint so dark you only see your reflection.

“I am not going to let this man get under my skin. I have worked too damn hard to waste this opportunity just because he is attractive. I will not…” Your determination drifting away as the echo of Sylus saying your name floods in your mind. 

This is going to be more complicated than you thought.

Words: 1,645

Chapter 1: https://shorturl.at/Bx95C Chapter 2: https://shorturl.at/3PwTi Chapter 3: https://shorturl.at/a7xnF Chapter 4: https://shorturl.at/fKYgX

Tag List (comment if you wanna be added!): @trishiepo0

[sinkingteethinwhitenoise]

Carpe Noctem - Nick Folio

Pairing: Nick Folio x Celia (fem!OC)

Warnings: SMUT/NSFW 18+ ONLY, oral (fem!receiving), unprotected p in v, kissing, masks, gloves

Word Count: 3k

Carpe Noctem (Latin) ~ Seize the night; Enjoy the pleasures of the night

Celia’s heels clicked on the concrete as she walked up the packed driveway. Her golden hair flowed with the gentle, frigid breeze. A shiver went down her spine. She would blame it on the cold weather, but she knew that every time she approached the dark, castle-like mansion, she would get an eerie feeling. For a moment she thought she should have dressed warmer, feeling much too chilly in her formal wear: a floor length red dress with a high slit, a straight neckline and thin straps. The diamond necklace around her neck and the skinny chain bracket around her wrist felt like ice against her skin. However, she knew that due to the sheer amount of party goers that were bound to be inside would soon have her sweating beneath her red, bejeweled half mask. As she approached the front porch, she saw long, curly black hair being illuminated by the warm, dim light from the sconces on either side of the glossy black front door. A smile crept up onto her glossy red lips as she approached. “Hey Phoebe.”

Phoebe was Celia’s best friend since grade school. And her parents were loaded. Each year they held a masquerade ball on New Year’s Eve in their impressive gothic mansion. Each year, since Celia has been old enough, she attended. And each year the party always seemed to be more extravagant than the last. A happy squeal left Phoebe’s closed lips as she turned and hugged Celia. “Thank God, you finally made it!” She beamed. Celia returned the hug and once they pulled away from each other, Phoebe linked their arms. “Come on! I’ve been dying for a drink.”

The only word that could describe the inside of the mansion was ornate. The walls were painted black. Fine art lined the walls, each piece sat perfectly inside of gold antique frames. Gold sconces lined the walls between every other painting. Each seat was draped in dark red velvet. An elaborate, crystal chandelier hung from the middle of the tall ceiling, sparkling and filling the room with dim, warm light. It was a vampire’s dream estate. 

Celia’s hazel eyes scanned the room as Phoebe led her through crowds of people and to the bar. Men and women were dressed to the nines, all in their best suits and dresses, all in masks. Most wore half masks like herself, others opted for full masks. She knew most of the people in attendance, but she couldn’t pick anyone out of the crowd quite yet, not with the quick rushed glances she was able to take while being dragged to the bar. They finally stopped walking and Phoebe grabbed two crystal champagne flutes, her gloved hand carefully handing one to Celia. 

She brought the crystal to her lips as she scanned the room once more. Some guests were seated, listening to a story told by a tall man in a red suit, hanging onto his every word. Others were standing, chatting in small groups throughout the room. There were couples dancing to a beautiful Waltz, their steps perfectly in sync. And-

There was someone staring at her. 

From across the room she met a set of deep brown eyes behind an all black half mask, it seemed to be textured but from this distance she couldn’t make out the details of it. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. He wore a black dress shirt underneath, no tie in sight, as well as a shiny pair of black loafers. His hands were hidden inside of black leather gloves. His hair was neatly slicked back. The mask was small enough to notice that he had a square jaw and full lips. It was also small enough for her to know that she had never seen this man before. She reached for Phoebe, eyes still locked with the mysterious man’s. “Hey, who’s that?” She questioned. 

By the time Phoebe looked where Celia was looking, the man had turned his head. They both stared for a moment, Phoebe tilting her head before shrugging. “Not sure,” she hummed, turning back to look at Celia. “Maybe someone’s plus one? I don’t think I’ve ever seen him before.” 

“And you’re not concerned about that?” Celia looked at her, confused expression hidden by her mask. 

Phoebe shrugged, “Not really. My parents invite more and more people every year.” Then she was waving at someone and rushing off in their direction. She must’ve recognized them even with their mask on. And vice versa. Quickly, Celia downed the rest of her champagne and grabbed a new glass. Then she followed after Phoebe. Odds were that she knew the person too. 

After about an hour of mingling, Celia’s feet were begging her to sit down. She walked around until she found an empty seat and sat down, crossing her legs. She ran her hands across the crushed red velvet she was seated on; it was soft under her fingers. Her mind drifted to the mysterious man that was staring at her earlier. She wondered how he looked under that mask. She wondered if he was actually looking at her. He couldn’t have been. Right? There were so many people around; he could’ve been staring at any one of them. Then why did it feel like they made eye contact?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a voice that came from right next to her. “Is this seat taken?” 

She looked over to the source of the voice, a man standing beside the chair next to her. Her eyes drifted to his masked face and she realized that it was him. Now that he was closer, she noticed that the texture to his mask were little gears. It reminded her of steampunk.

He stared at her expectantly. She shook her head and motioned at the seat with her hand. A small, closed mouth grin spread across his face as he sat down, not taking his eyes off of her. She felt somewhat…small under his gaze, but somehow…not uncomfortable. 

“Are you enjoying yourself?” the man asked.

Celia nodded as she turned to face him completely. “I am. Are you?”

The man nodded. “It’s a nice party,” he murmured. “How come you’re over here by yourself?”

“Oh, I’ve been mingling for the last hour and my feet needed a break,” she said, giving him a soft smile. 

“Yeah? You know a lot of people here?”

“I do,” she nodded. “I’ve been coming to these parties since I was 16.” 

“How old are you now?”

“26.” 

He broke out into a big goofy smile. “Me too,” he beamed. “This is my first time here. My friend invited me. But I lost him pretty much as soon as we walked through the door.” 

“Lots of people, a big house, everyone in masks, it’s pretty easy to lose someone,” she said with a shrug. “So you only know one person here?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. Then he met her eyes. “Maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll know two.”

She felt a blush creep onto her cheeks as she tried to suppress a giggle. “Maybe you won’t need luck.”

She watched as his eyes looked her up and down, “What’s your name?” he asked her. 

She could’ve told him. She wanted to. But her desire to be mysterious for a little bit longer was overriding her desire to tell him. Instead of responding with her name, she just smirked at him. “Would you like to dance?”

His eyes got noticeably wider, clearly not expecting the question. “I don’t know how to Waltz.” 

“I’ll show you, then.” She stood up and reached for his gloved hand. He gladly accepted. 

Celia was facing him, she grabbed her right hand with her left. “Place this hand between my shoulder blades.” Once he did, she placed her left hand on his right shoulder. Then she grabbed his left hand with her right. “Now, just follow after me.” She began the steps with a swiftness. It took him a few minutes of nearly tripping over his own feet, but eventually, he got it well enough to where neither of them were in danger of falling. “There you go,” she grinned. “You’re a natural.”

“Thanks,” he said, grinning back with that goofy smile of his. “You never told me your name, by the way.”

She chuckled softly, “You know the whole point of a masquerade ball is to conceal your identity, right?”

He huffed out a laugh. “Yeah. Of course. Right,” he nodded. After a silent moment he spoke again. “What if I tell you my name first?”

“Depends,” she hummed. “If your name starts with a ‘J’, not only am I not telling you my name, I’m walking away,” she joked. 

He fully laughed at that. “Nick,” he said through laughter. “My name is Nick.”

She laughed along with him. “Oh thank goodness. Not a ‘J’ name,” she teased. “Nice to meet you Nick. I’m Celia.”

“A beautiful name for a beautiful girl,” he smiled, his laughter dying down. 

“You can’t even see my whole face, Nick,” Celia giggled. 

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “And I don’t need to. You’re beautiful.”

“So, you don’t want to see my face is what I’m hearing?” she joked, a mischievous glint in her eyes. 

“Need and want are two different things,” he grinned. “I don’t need to see your entire face to know that you’re absolutely gorgeous. But, I do want to see your entire face at some point.”

She felt like her face was burning up. She was absolutely flustered. But she didn’t want to let that show. “Maybe, if you’re lucky, you’ll see my face around midnight,” she shot him a wink. “But I want to see yours too.” 

“What do I have to do to turn that maybe into a yes?” 

She smirked, “Make my night, Nick.” 

Several hours and glasses of champagne later, they’d learned a bit about each other. She learned that he loved to play drums, ride motorcycles, and fish, trout specifically. He’d grown up in the town over and pursued drumming right out of high school. He learned that she loved to dance, crochet, and read books, mysteries specifically. She worked as a dental hygienist at an office in town. They discovered that their senses of humor were similar. It seemed that there wasn’t a moment that they weren’t laughing at something the other said. 

Maybe it was the liquid courage, or maybe it was just the fact that they were so drawn to each other. But Celia found herself leading Nick to a room upstairs, and he followed her more than willingly. Once they entered the room and locked the door, he had her backed up against the wall. He leaned in to kiss her, but she lifted her hand and pressed her pointer finger to his lips. “You can’t kiss my lips until midnight,” she whispered. “Nor can you take off my mask. Or your own. Those are my only conditions.”

“Anything you wish, Celia,” Nick whispered back. He tilted his head and pressed his full lips to her neck. She moved her hair and stretched her neck to give him better access. He kissed up and down the expanse of her neck until he placed a kiss upon her pulse point. A shuddering sigh escaped her parted lips. “Right there?” he murmured against the skin. The soft whimper that followed was all the answer he needed. He began to nip gently at the skin above her pulse point. The crown of her head softly thudded against the wall behind her, quiet whimpers left her mouth. 

When he pulled away, the slightest hint of a mark was left. He groaned at the sight of it in the low light. He began to kiss down her chest until his lips hit the neckline of her dress. The next thing she knew, he was on his knees before her. He looked up at her through his mask, eyes wide, pupils blown. “May I taste you?”

She looked down at him, “Please.” 

He smiled at her, not a smirk, a genuine smile. He didn’t seem smug about the situation. He seemed happy, grateful even. He placed his gloved hands on the back of her calves before slowly sliding them up her legs until they met her panties. He began to slide them down her legs, noticing as her breathing picked up. “Are you okay, honey?” he breathed, pausing his actions to look up into her eyes. 

Her heart nearly burst at the action and sight before her. “Yeah,” she breathed, a small giggle prominent in her words. “Keep going, please.” 

Nick leaned forward to press a soft kiss to the skin of her thigh that was exposed by the slit in her dress as he pulled her panties down the rest of the way. Red lace pooled at her ankles. He looked up at her once more. “Can you hold your dress up for me?”

Celia nodded, her hands grasping her dress and pulling it up to expose herself to him. She watched as he looked directly at her center. He licked his lips before he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her clit. While there wasn’t much pressure to it, she found herself moaning anyway. This encouraged him to slide his tongue through her folds and back up to her clit, flatting his tongue with a groan. Her hands gripped the fabric of her dress harder, her knuckles turning white. He continued to lick her until he knees began to shake and his face was covered in her slick. “Nick,” she whimpered. “I’m so close.”

With those words, he pulled away from her. “Do you want to…?” He trailed off, as if shy to ask for sex, even though he just had his face buried in her pussy. 

She nodded as she tried to catch her breath. “Please,” she whimpered. “I need you.” She let go of her dress, letting it fall to its normal length as she reached for his hand. He stood up and walked him to the bed in the middle of the room. She lay on the bed and he followed, hovering over her as her legs spread open for him. She heard the clink of his belt and the zipper of his pants. Then she felt the head of his warm cock tapping against her clit, drawing a mewl from her. He ran the head through her slick folds a few times before he began to push in, her back arching off the bed as he filled her. 

Once she adjusted to the delicious stretch, she grinded her hips into his, urging him to move. He started off with slow, deep thrusts. Each thrust resulted in a breathy moan from Celia and a deep grunt from Nick. “Go faster,” she whined after a while. It felt great, but she needed more. Nick was happy to oblige, quickening the pace of his hips, slamming into her at a mind breaking speed. She had to force her moans down; force herself to be quiet. 

Her walls began to pulse around him. Nick knew what that probably meant. He snaked his hand between their bodies and pressed his thumb to her clit, rubbing it in quick right circles. Celia’s back arched off the bed as she tried, and failed, to hold back a loud whine. “I-I’m close,” she whimpered for the second time of the night. 

“Come for me,” Nick breathed. His thrusts were getting sloppy as he got closer himself. Shortly after his demand, she pulsed around him uncontrollably, bringing a hand to her mouth to suppress the uncontrollable moans escaping her. He managed to keep himself under control through her entire orgasm. “Where do you want it?” he asked frantically once she had ridden through her orgasm. 

“Inside,” she breathed. “I’m on birth control.” That was all Nick needed to completely come undone. He buried himself deep inside of her as his cock twitched and unloaded all of his seed. 

He slowly pulled out after his orgasm, causing them both to groan from the loss. He laid next to her for a moment, both of them catching their breath. After a minute, Celia stood, put her panties back on, and adjusted her dress. She walked over to the mirror that was in the room and fixed her hair as well. Nick stood and fixed his pants before walking up and hugging her from behind. “Did you enjoy yourself,” he whispered in her ear. 

She turned to face him. “Of course I did,” she grinned. “Did you?”

“Absolutely.” 

She couldn’t help but giggle. “Do you have the time?”

Nick pulled his phone from his pocket, “11:45.” 

“Would you like to be my New Year’s kiss?” She asked, tilting her head. 

Nick nodded, “I would love to be your New Year’s kiss.”

She grabbed his hand, “Come on, then.”

30 seconds until midnight, everyone in attendance stood downstairs with a glass of champagne, waiting excitedly for the ten second countdown. Celia stood with Nick, arms linked. She looked up at him. “How about we take our masks off when the countdown starts?” 

Nick looked down at her with that amazing goofy smile. “Sounds like a plan.”

Before they knew it, the countdown was starting. 

“10!”

They made eye contact. 

“9!”

They pulled their masks off. 

“8! 7!”

“You’re so beautiful,” Nick whispered. 

“6! 5!”

“You’re so handsome,” Celia whispered back. 

“4! 3!”

They stared at each other, eyes wide. 

“2!”

They began to lean in. 

“1! Happy New Year!”

Their lips met in a passionate kiss. Both of their masks dropped to the floor so they could hold each other’s faces as their lips moved perfectly in sync. So perfectly in sync that any bystander would have figured they’d kissed hundreds, even thousands, of times before. And they both knew at that moment that this wouldn’t be the end of them.