#phantom pistol au

[bobaboob]

kaeya wears peacock feathers in his hat. no one knows where he procures them from considering they live in idaho

[pt.3 of my vampire cowboy diluc au ft. kaeya]

[lucid-loves]

Taste Like Venom ~ Simon "Ghost" Riley Part 1

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x assassin!reader (fem!reader, no use of y/n, callsign “Hex”)

Word Count: 3.4k

CW: angst, violence, blood, strong language, scars, enemies to friends to lovers trope, slow burn, plot, clear attraction and sexual tension, smut later on, reader POV and ghost POV, minors dni, Soap lives in this AU

Let me know if I missed any CWs.

Synopsis: After Makarov gets away again, Laswell decides to force a favor from you, the world’s greatest assassin and best-kept secret. You are now expected to help the 141 with taking down Makarov in addition to playing nice with them. It’s hard to play nice when you have always worked alone. It doesn’t help that one of the team members, Ghost, gets curious about you with each interaction. 

Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 ~ Part 7 ~ Part 8 ~ Part 9 ~ Part 10

You’ve always been a light sleeper, if you could even be called that. The truth was that you hardly slept at all. Bedtime was always more like cat-nap time. Light, soundless, ready to pounce at the sound of dust falling to the floor. That’s how you trained yourself and the habit stuck, even if you don’t take missions anymore. It was hard to deprogram a killing machine. 

The two years have been peaceful even if you were always on edge. Semi-retirement has been kind in only giving you the sounds of the forest trees in the wind, the gentle rush of the creek, birds singing every morning, and most importantly, no visitors. The world didn’t know that you existed and you preferred to keep it that way for as long as you could. While you did feel the phantom blood dripping down your hands every now and then to an unsettling reminiscent degree, you did like this little slice of heaven that was your off-grid cabin. It was a good place to be before you undoubtedly go to hell in the end.

You were in your bed when you heard the rustling of the forest floor just outside your window. Steps. But not the steps belonging to a fox or bear you have learned to recognize over time. These were the steps of a man. No, multiple men. The way the foot falls of a man walking is an undeniable melody you have heard thousands of times. In the dead of night, you bolted up out of bed and reached for your throwing knife and a pistol, always kept at your bedside. Like a thief in your own home, you silently followed the sounds outside along the walls until you reached the living room. They were going to come in through the front door. 

Under the cover of darkness, you readied your aim at the door. To your surprise, they were messing with the keypad that locked your house down, inputting codes with a subtle click and then beep of a correct code. No one should know the code except for two people. Laswell and yourself. 

As soon as the door revealed moonlight and a silhouette, you fired your gun. A warning shot. Grazing right past neck. The men stopped and immediately aimed their own rifles, but the one in front held his hand up in surrender. Following orders, the rifles were lowered. You were the first to speak, your voice dripping with venom. “State your purpose and maybe I won’t kill you all where you stand.”

A gentle yet deep Liverpudlian accent voiced back. “Easy now. We don’t mean harm. Laswell sent us here. Code Swan.”

“Song?” You replied, your muscles still tense, unwilling to lower your defenses until the full code was complete. It is what ensured both yours and Laswell’s safety.

“Black Death.” He replied back. You stayed in position for a few moments before finally sighing and lowering your weapon. You turned on a table lamp next to you to get a better look at the intruders. Four men stood in your doorway. One with a fishing hat, one with a mohawk, one with a baseball cap, and one with a skull mask. They were all tall, big with muscle, and seemingly not American from their patches. An interesting bunch to say the least. 

“Fucking Laswell.” You cursed Kate’s name. She should have contacted you about this. You were just about to paint the porch with her mens’ brains. You hated surprises. You often killed them before finding out the intentions. 

With a wave of your hand, you invited the men to come into your cabin. They cautiously came in, surveying the layout and now understanding what Kate meant when she said that you were “belligerent.”

You turned on the main lights and tried to get a fire going to relieve some of the autumn chill that had crept through the house. Their leader began to unload his things on the kitchen table, sighing from the weight relief. His men joined in, save for one. You could feel his eyes on you as you encouraged the fire. You didn’t even have to look back to know that he was watching your every move. 

“It’s rude to stare.” You warned curtly as you stood and turned. The man in the skull mask and balaclava didn’t avert his gaze.

His voice was rich and gruff like gaboon ebony. His Manchester accent came clear as day. “You’re half naked.”

He was referring to the large band shirt and boyshort panties that you were wearing. What did he expect from someone that thought that enemies were breaking in? You rolled your eyes and scoffed. “I’m in my pajamas. Besides, a good soldier shouldn’t get distracted by any amount of nudity.”

His blue eyes narrowed at your dig. He was a good soldier. An excellent soldier actually. One of the best. But excellent, good, or bad, no one would be able to resist staring at your figure. The exposed thighs, the large neckline of the shirt hanging off your shoulder, various scars scattered across skin like an abstract painting. He’s never seen anyone like you before. 

Too bad you had a combative mouth. 

Before he could get a word in, you had walked off into the kitchen, not bothering to go get pants on. It was your home for fuck’s sake. Besides, there were more pressing matters than your clothes or lack thereof. 

You began to pull out all the food you had out of your fridge. Everything from deli meat to leftover lasagna was being laid out on the large quartz island. You weren’t going to heat anything up or make something new, but the laid out spread would be enough. You weren’t a completely heartless host. Just a bare minimum one.

Once the food was out for pickings, you headed back near the dining room, leaning against the doorframe. The boys had maps, blueprints, and laptops covering every surface of your table. Your beautiful, hand-made pine table. This was to be their new safehouse for now. Hopefully not for too long.

“Captain, it’s connecting now.” The one with the mohawk called out. The captain came right over to greet the screen.

“Laswell, can you hear us?”

“Loud and clear, John. Did everything go well?” Kate chipperly asked. You haven’t heard her voice in a long while. You almost forgot how nice her voice actually was.

“She nearly shot my fuckin’ neck off.” Mohawk-guy grumbled. 

Kate gave a light, short laugh. “Sounds like it went smoothly then. The best that it could be. She there?”

All four men looked up to you, expecting you to come over and face Laswell through the screen. However, you stayed where you were. Instead, you spoke loud enough for your friend to hear. “Kate Laswell.”

“Hex, I’m sorry that I couldn’t warn you about this beforehand. You know I wouldn’t have done this if it wasn’t an emergency situation.” She began to apologize and justify. It was always an apology followed by a justification. You wondered if she even ever means her apologies, but in the end, you never really cared enough. However, now it is different.

“I don’t exist, Kate. And now four new people know that I do. . .” You retorted back.

It was silent for a moment, the tension in the air thick. She was on the other side of the screen, but it felt like you were going to get into a physical fight with her anyways. “They’re trustworthy. I trust them with my life and the lives of millions upon millions. Just like I trust you. And as the only people that I trust, I need you to help them.”

“They have already taken over my home. What more do you want from me?” You clenched your jaw, trying to prepare yourself for an answer you probably wouldn’t like. Like hell were you going to play dorm mother to them and like hell you were going to just move out. The last thing you wanted was to take care of these men longer than necessary. This was already pushing that line for you.

“Athame.” She bluntly said. That was the worst answer she could have said. The confused looks the men gave each other made you grateful for a fleeting second. They didn’t understand your secret codes and languages. But they will soon.

Your jaw was clenched so hard that your teeth ached. You damn near cracked them. While your voice before was dripping with venom, it was now drowning in it. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“Hex, I-”

You finally came over, nearly pushing the captain out of the way in your warpath. Through the screen, Kate could see how angry you were. Not just angry, furious. She steeled herself, ready for your onslaught of curses, stopping herself midway through her explanation. “I don’t do this shit, Kate! I work solo for a very particular fucking reason. And now you want me to work with four strange men?! Now you want me to play nice?! I’m not a fucking soldier that can just be ordered around!”

“I know! I know. . . But. . . we’re desperate. I’m desperate, Hex. Please, this is the last favor I will ever ask from you. This is an awful target we’re talking about. Someone that is better off in this world dead.”

“You mean Makarov, right? Why should I clean up your government’s fuck-up? Again, might I add.” You spat. You lived off the grid and weren’t a citizen of anywhere, but you still watched the news. You always knew what was going on in the world among other secrets. Makarov was a threat to the world, but as far as you were concerned, it wasn’t your problem. If anything, the government needed this lesson as a direct consequence of their negligence and incompetence. 

“Because Chalice.” She simply stated, knowing that her final word was a last ditch effort. Chalice was an agreement that you two had made long ago. It could only be used once in your lives, a truly desperate resort for help. If one of you uttered it, then the other would have no choice but to help, no matter the request. That was the law between your friendship, among other things. The other code words were favors, but this was the ultimate one. Life or death.

You considered punching the laptop in anger. Right at Kate’s face. You didn’t like her call for Athame or Chalice, but now you didn’t have a choice but to comply. It didn’t mean that you weren’t still furious though. “Fuck you, Kate.”

“Thank you, Hex.” She breathed a sigh of relief. She wanted to tell you more about what she needed from you, but she knew that you had to cool off first otherwise you would burst into flames. That would've made things harder for all of you. So, she nodded as a signal for dismissal which you gladly took. You retreated to your room, locking the door shut and basking in the darkness. 

You could feel the blood boil within you. It burned your insides and choked you. Grabbing your pillow, you pressed it against your face and screamed out your frustration. When that didn’t help, you punched the exposed logs of your cabin wall until your knuckles were splintered and bleeding.

~

Ghost sat on the couch, his thoughts swirling with uncertainty. The rest of the meeting with Laswell was brief, wanting them to try to decompress for the next several hours. Sleep, eat, process. All in the comfort of an assassin’s home. 

Compared to your personality, the cabin was decorated warmly. Everything was cozy, earthy, and fresh. The fire crackled comfortably, the plush couch was broken in, and every wooden piece of furniture looked hand-made. Bookshelves were filled with classic books and another shelf collected various music records. The only thing that seemed out of place was the lack of real personal mementos. No pictures, no art, not even knick-knacks. The others didn’t seem to notice or care as they picked through the food left in the kitchen. But for Simon, it left him uneasy.

He recalled the briefing before they were sent to the middle of nowhere to you. Kate said that you were an old friend of hers from high school. You have been friends ever since, but you were different than most people. You were a deadly assassin unknown by the world. No records, no pictures, not even a birth certificate. You handled delicate problems with grace and grave justice. You always worked alone, you didn’t trust others, and you were deadly. Everything about you was a secret until Kate made the crucial choice to ask for your help. Hell, they didn’t even know your call sign until Kate said it over the video call. 

“You should eat, Lt. There’s a lot of options, but they’re dwindling fast.” Soap patted him on the shoulder, awakening him from deep thought. Ghost looked up at the sergeant, watching him stuff a sandwich into his mouth. It looked like all the deli meat from one packet was in between the bread. No lettuce or tomato. 

“In a bit. I’m gonna talk to Hex real quick and ask some questions.” He replied and got up from the couch. 

Soap swallowed nervously. “Kate said that she’s gonna need time to cool off. . .”

“Our new member is part of the team now. She’s gonna have to get used to us even if she wants time for herself.” He justified it with a shrug of his shoulders. Soap shook his head and walked back into the kitchen, knowing that what Simon was about to do was most likely going to be a bad idea.

Ghost walked down the hall, observing each door as he passed them. Most of them were slightly open revealing extra bedrooms, an office, and a bathroom. Only two of them remained closed, both locked with keypads. For a second, he wondered which bedroom was yours before he could hear the sound of light music behind one of them along with swearing. It made him wonder what was behind the other door that was locked down.

Deciding to let it go for now, he approached your door and knocked. “Hex, open up.”

He heard you let out a frustrated groan before the door opened up. It was only just enough to see you, the pure darkness behind you, and the blood dripping down your fists. He crossed his arms over his broad chest and quirked a brow that you couldn’t see behind the mask. It didn’t take a genius to realize what you had done. “Are you done throwing a temper tantrum?”

You scowled at him, a fire in your eyes that made Simon’s heart skip a beat which confused him. He wasn’t afraid of you, so why would his heart alter its beat for you?

“If I knew that you were just going to insult me, I would’ve shot you dead on my porch.” You bitterly snapped, moving to close the door in his face. However, Ghost stopped it from slamming and took your hand in his, observing the damage you’ve done to yourself.

Your breath caught in your throat. Electricity ran through you at his touch. When was the last time someone has touched you? You attempted to pull back, but his hand firmly gripped yours. “Hey! What the fuck? Let go of me!”

“Calm down and let me see. It hurts, doesn’t it? Stings?” 

You narrowed your eyes, but eventually nodded. It did sting and the dripping blood already stained your carpet. However, you could take care of it yourself. You didn’t need some man coming in to try to fix you. “I’ll be fine. I can tend to it myself.”

“First aid in the bathroom?” He asked, seeming to ignore your clear hint that you wanted to be alone. 

Understanding that he probably wouldn’t drop this until he saw gauze around your knuckles, you headed to the hall bathroom with a huff, opened up the cabinet, and took out the first aid kit. You then took a seat at the edge of the tub and began patching yourself up. Every now and then you looked up towards the doorway, making sure that the skull man was watching you take care of yourself. Without his help. Without anyone’s help.

Finally, your hands were wrapped and the bleeding had stopped. You held up your hands towards him. “Happy now? Will you leave me alone now?”

“Hex.” Ghost simply said as a warning. God, you were infuriating. An attitude problem was something he would normally be able to snuff out immediately. He did it all the time when training new soldiers. Not you though. New soldiers were like little candles, easily blown out of their fire with just a breath. You? You were like a raging forest fire. One that clearly had its own traumas over years of service that the world may never know. 

You didn’t like how he studied you. How his eyes trained on you were a mix between hatred, curiosity, and something else that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. A magnetic pull that begged for you to look at him too. You also didn’t like how he was trying to treat you like one of his rookie soldiers. The only thing you wanted to do to make it all stop was to push him away. “Don’t talk to me like some new recruit straight out of school. I’ve already earned my place in the world with the amount of scars I have. So, don’t treat me like I’m under you. I won’t even let your captain talk to me like that.”

After putting the first aid back where it belonged, you attempted to leave the bathroom and retreat back to your bedroom. Yet, Ghost wasn’t giving up just yet. His hold body blocked the bathroom exit. He was tall, strong, and sturdy. It wasn’t hard for him to completely fill up the space. However, that didn’t intimidate you. You got up close, and looked straight into those icy blues. Even with the black warpaint, you could tell that his lashes were meant to be blonde. Some of the paint had flecked off revealing some true color. You wondered what the rest of his face looked like for a second. Just a second.

You stood your ground, engaging in a heated staring contest. It was like lightning crackling between the two of you. After a while though, Simon finally gave in and held his hand up like a handshake. “Lieutenant. They call me Ghost.” 

Hesitantly, you took his hand and firmly shook it, refusing to back down from a battle of wills. “Hex. That’s all you will know me by.”

Suddenly, he pulled you in closer, your chest almost touching his. On instinct, you pulled a knife from the waistband of your underwear. It was the one you took with you earlier for the showdown at the door. You held it to his neck, blade dipping in until you could feel the push back of skin. Ghost didn’t flinch or jump back at your defense. Instead, he whispered into your ear that he wanted to get close to in the first place. “As hard as you may try to fight it, you’re going to know me. And I’m going to know you.”

You bit back the shiver that went down your spine from the whisper, aching to slice his throat in retaliation. Chalice had you pinned, though. You had to avoid killing the people you are going to be working with at the very least. 

Ghost slowly backed up and headed back towards the kitchen for some food, leaving you to process what just happened. You silently walked back to your room without looking back at him, ears turning red and heart racing unnaturally. You didn’t want to give him any satisfaction by giving him any more attention. However, Simon was already somewhat satisfied. 

Yet, there was a part of him that wanted more.

Soap was eating a piece of lasagna when he walked in. Gaz and Price were quietly conversing at the other end of the island. It took a lot of food to fill up men like them. It wouldn’t take long for them to eat you out of your house and home unfortunately. 

“So, how did it go?” Soap nosely inquired. As Simon surveyed the food before picking out a tupperware full of stew, he shrugged casually.

“She almost sliced my head off.”

Soap suppressed a chuckle and did his best impersonation of Laswell. “Sounds like it went smoothly then.”

[distracteddream]

Okay, since it’s International Talk like a Pirate Day, I’m sharing the first bit of my Lokius pirate AU here. I meant for this to be a quick thing to write, but then Plot happened. Anyways, enjoy this teaser!

I Won’t Lead and You Won’t Follow

The sound of Mobius’ boot heels echoed as he carefully trod down the steps to the dungeon. The captain of the Timely Ventures Associates’ flagship hated coming down to the fort’s lower levels. It was permanently damp and what windows there were in the stone walls were too small for fresh air or more than a sliver of daylight. As a consequence, smoke from the necessary torches hung heavy in the air, choking what light they provided for those who had reason to make the trek to where the prisoners were held.

He wouldn’t have come down to the dungeon without good reason and unfortunately, the captain had an excellent reason on that day.

Mobius stopped in front of one of the cells, the only one currently occupied. The torchlight barely penetrated into the darkness beyond the bars, but a shift of heavy chains told him the captive knew he was there.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” Mobius asked conversationally. “When Casey told me to come down here and see what we caught, I never imagined it would be you.” Mobius crossed his arms, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light within the cell. He could barely make out the faint outline of the prisoner against the wall, the length of chain he could see lax. Slowly, the shape of the man within became visible, separating from the deeper darkness around it.

Even without the foreknowledge, Mobius would have known him anywhere. The captain had spent years chasing the pirate who most people considered no more than a ghost. He was a mere spectre who came and went with the tides, never leaving any tangible signs he existed when the winds changed. Mobius knew he was real though. He’d come close enough to almost touch the pirate a few times and every time, he’d slipped through Mobius’ fingers like the phantom the rumors claimed he was. It was maddening and Mobius was rational enough to realize capturing the pirate was verging on an obsession.

Which was probably what had really led him to the dungeons that day.

A low chuckle came from the back of the cell. “Just what I needed to make things worse. Come to pour salt on my wounds, Mobius?”

The captain would like to have said that the voice emanating from the shadows didn’t pour through him like warm honey. He’d heard it in so many ways over the years of their chase: conversationally when their captive was trying to talk his way out of trouble, yelling obscenities at Mobius and the crew of his ship, the Resolute, across the waves, whispering lowly in alleys of schemes and mischief. Once, he’d heard Loki singing in a tavern, an old song of home in an even older language. Mobius enjoyed that voice, even when it was damning him to hell, but he’d never tell anyone that. Not even the preacher who occasionally endeavored to save Mobius’ soul.

“No. Not this time.” Mobius grabbed a stool the guard had left outside the cell and sat. For as long as they’d been doing this dance, Mobius had never approached the pirate without a weapon in his hand. This time, he kept his sword in its scabbard and his pistol holstered. Perhaps if he didn’t start on a defensive footing, the prisoner would be more amenable to listening to what Mobius had to say. “I’ve come to talk.”

The chains within rattled, the captive evidently taking his time to respond. Mobius didn’t mind. He could wait the prisoner out if need be. It wasn’t as though he didn’t have experience in waiting for the pirate after all.

“And just what would you have to talk to me about?”

The prisoner’s suspicion was justified. They did have him restrained after all. And they both knew Mobius wasn’t the one who typically conducted interrogations, if one was deigned to be granted. Those accused of piracy were rarely given the chance to explain themselves. A quick trial, one the accused didn’t actually need to be present for, and a short drop - that was often the best someone in his captive’s position could expect.

Mobius had a better offer. He hoped so at least. He simply had to entice the pirate to accept it.

“Where’s the treasure, Loki?” the captain asked.

The chain clattered on the stone, two long legs materializing from the inky dark to cross casually at the ankles. It couldn’t have been comfortable, the iron shackles above his feet knocking together, but Mobius was relieved the guards had at least left Loki’s boots on. The voice issuing from the dark this time was mocking. Mobius had heard that before, too.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. Did you get too much sun today?”

Mobius sighed and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “C’mon. The TVA just wants its property back.”

Metal on metal clanked noisily as Loki moved. Mobius realized he didn’t ask Casey if Loki had the four- or the five-point restraints on. That hidden part of Mobius, the one that would have admitted how much he enjoyed hearing Loki’s voice or just how well he knew the shape of Loki, hoped it was four. Mobius hated the idea of cold rusted iron around Loki’s throat.

“To do what with it, hm?” Loki asked.

Mobius knew, as with any pirate, Loki and his crew considered anything that could be taken, anything that they stole, to be theirs forever more. They would never willingly give back any property, regardless of who it had belonged to. Loki, however, always seemed to have a singular focus with his targets. Since trying to bring the pirate to justice, Mobius had studied each reported encounter with Loki. Aside from a few low-stakes plunders when he was younger, Loki only attacked Timely Ventures Association ships. He only stole Timely Ventures Association cargo. Mobius had wondered why but had never been in a position to ask TVA’s owner. At the end of it, Mobius’ duty didn’t require him to know why.

“It doesn’t matter what they do with it as long as my crew and I get paid when we’re due,” Mobius told him.

Loki laughed incredulously. “Right then. As long as you get yours and damn the rest of us. Do you know why the TVA needs all that silver? Do you know what the people you work for actually do out there in the real world, Mobius? Damn the rest of us, hm? Damn you! I’ve seen it! I’ve seen what happens when people like that get into power. I’ve seen how they destroy places and people and say it’s a better way of life and all they leave is despair and carnage behind.”

Mobius shook his head. This ranting was something Mobius had heard before, namely from any of Loki’s crew they’d managed to take alive over the years. They would repeat Loki’s ravings as gospel and no amount of discussion with them would change their minds - not even as they confidently strode to their deaths. Mobius himself had never witnessed any proof of Loki’s claims and frankly, he didn’t receive enough pay to contradict the TVA line either.

He did, however, get paid enough to know certain things about his prisoner.

“That’s enough of your lies, Captain Laufeyson.” Mobius sat up on the stool, affecting an unbothered air for the broadside he was about to fire. “Or should I call you Captain Odinson? Which is it?”

The chains clanged as Loki attempted to launch himself at the cell’s bars, coming to an abrupt stop when he ran out of length. The torches’ fire paled to the fury blazing in Loki’s eyes. “You shut your mouth,” the pirate snapped though it came out strangled from the iron collar digging into his throat.

Mobius didn’t flinch. He’d faced Loki’s anger before; he had the scars to prove it. Loki was one of the more dangerous pirates Mobius had dealt with because he was unpredictable, but he didn’t scare Mobius. Because Mobius had always survived his battles with Loki. Not all of his colleagues had been so lucky. That was another piece in Loki’s puzzle Mobius would have liked to have.

Perhaps now he could finally get it.

He waited until Loki seemed to calm, metal sliding against stone as Loki settled down on the floor nearer to the meager torchlight. The chains shifted, Loki having to lift both hands to rub at where the iron had pressed into his throat. If Mobius didn’t think Loki would gut anyone who came close, he might have told the guards to take the collar off. Mobius wasn’t so altruistic as to risk sacrificing people to Loki’s whims. He hated that they used that collar at all and wanted it gone. And to do so, Mobius would just have to hope Loki would hear him out.

“You’re not in a position to make demands here,” Mobius said in a gentle tone. “And lucky for you, I’m in the mood to bargain.”

The flames of the torches danced over the planes of Loki’s face as he rolled his head back and the sigh Loki gave him sounded like it had centuries of weariness behind it. “I have nothing you want.”

“You have knowledge.” Loki scoffed but Mobius was undeterred. He didn’t come to the dungeons to give up on this idea. “If you don’t have the treasure, then help me find who does. I know you can.”

“Your faith in me may be misplaced.”

It wasn’t an immediate no. Mobius waited. If there was one thing a sailor knew, it was patience.

Loki pursed his lips, eyes cutting to Mobius. “And what do I get in return?”

Mobius spread his hands out. “Your freedom.”

“I have that already.”

“Had,” Mobius pointed out.

“Ha!” Loki spat out a mocking laugh. Mobius tamped down on the shiver Loki’s sharp grin sent down his spine. Loki held up his hands, the chain between them tugging on the chain connected to the collar around his throat. “You think your chains will hold me much longer? I’ve escaped better places. I’ll be gone in the morning.”

Mobius didn’t doubt him. It’s why he’d come as soon as he’d put to port and heard Loki was in the dungeon. Loki and prisons were a relationship that never lasted. If Mobius had any chance of success, he’d known he didn’t have much time.

“If you say so.” Mobius shrugged and pushed himself to his feet. Loki watched each movement from his spot on the floor. Mobius stepped closer to the cell door, well within striking distance if Loki had had just a few more inches of chain. “I hear the rats get rather bold at night. Might want to tuck your feet in tight if you’re still here.”

Mobius tapped the bars and turned. He got as far as the first step before he heard the chains behind him.

“Wait,” the pirate called and Mobius paused. “Wait, wait, wait. Fine.” Mobius pivoted to face Loki, and suddenly found himself trying not to lose focus at the sight of Loki kneeling in his restraints. “Fine. I’ll help you. It won’t do any good but I’ll do what I can.”

Mobius didn’t move, waiting for the trick. “And you’re not going to attack me the minute I turn you loose?”

It should have been impossible for Loki to look offended in that position and yet it seemed Loki still had some surprises up his sleeves for Mobius to discover.

“That’s not my style.”

“That is exactly your style.” Mobius withdrew his foot from the lowest step and crossed back to Loki’s cell. “Swear to me you won’t betray me the first chance you get.”

Loki shook his head. “You want me to swear? Are you in such dire straits that you’d take my word as bond?”

“Your word is all you have right now, Loki.” Loki’s eyes narrowed on him but Mobius wouldn’t back down. “So will you help me?”

He wasn’t sure what thoughts went through Loki’s head. How quickly he could free himself without Mobius letting him go? How he would betray Mobius in the end? How Mobius was an idiot for trusting him? Maybe all that and more.

Loki tossed his head back, a hard look in his eyes as he proudly lifted his chin. “Aye. I’ll help you find your treasure. Without the betrayal.”

Mobius grinned slowly, grabbing the cell’s keys from the wall. “See? I knew you weren’t all bad.”

[siriusleee]

nowhere fast

there is a monster at the edge of the mountain that haunts the townfolk. ghost x reader | twisted fairytale au 5.7k | smut, kidnapping (sorta), dubcon, minors dni request a fic here a/n: while writing this I got an idea for another twisted fairytale. thank god I'm off work this week.

You don't believe the rest of the town folk when they whisper of the monster in the woods - a horrendous fiend that haunts the mountain's edge looms on the horizon, blocking out the sun during the winter months. The rumors had started a year ago, whispered in the local diner as hunters clutched their coffee cups. The tails of traps set to catch the men who travel too far when hunting doesn't turn you away from fantasies of roaming the mountain's edge, of pushing farther through the forest than anyone else in town has. Even your father's warnings that he wouldn't come to save you if you decided to do something reckless didn't push the thoughts out of your head. 

So when the leaves start to brown again, and the trees start showing their bare patches, you leave. In the middle of the night, you shoulder your backpack, your dad's pistol situated in the waistband of your jeans and a flashlight tucked into your back pocket. The sounds of your family sleeping, of your mother's soft snores, aren't enough to get you to turn back as you step out of your front door, locking it behind you against whatever phantoms travel the night. The air is crystalline around you; the dense forest floor muffles your footsteps as you walk. The sound of the forest fills the air, and wraps itself around you; in the distance, the mountain never grows closer as you head towards it. Behind you, the lights from town disappear between the pine boughs. 

It takes two days of walking, of sleeping in a thin blanket underneath pine trees, before you reach the first sign of someone living in the woods. You're exhausted, and there's a blister forming on the edge of your pinkie toe when you stumble across a felled tree. Hunger gnaws at you and for the first time you think about the life you left behind; you think of your mother's venison stew and thick bread served in the same bowls your grandmother saved during WWII. An axe, free of any rust, leans against a section of the log. You trace your fingers against the handle (is it a trick of your mind to feel the warmth on the wood or is it that someone just got done cutting tonight's firewood and they're only a little ways ahead of you in the forest?).

You think for a moment about shouldering the axe, about how it may come in useful later. But the press of your father's gun - the once cold metal warmed by its two days pressed against your skin - reminds you that whatever is in the forest: monster or bear, won't be stopped by the swing of an axe. And besides, how would explain to the owner that you stole their axe, stole their way of providing themselves warmth if it came down to it?

So you leave it, leaning against the fallen tree for whomever it belongs to, to find it again tomorrow. 

Dusk begins to fall when you see the smoke in the sky. It's almost romantic, the way the smoke curls, tendrils disseminating in the clouds. You imagine a quaint little cabin in the distance, the smoke curing from a squat chimney; imagine yourself stepping inside and being greeted by the warmth from the fire, cutting through the chill that's starting to take over. Distantly, thunder rolls, and the steel gray sky threatens a storm. You know that if you want a shelter for the night, you have to find the source of the wood smoke and hope that whoever is there is benevolent enough to let you sleep inside for the night. You think of the monster that haunts these woods (and what kind of monster would need a fire to keep it warm at night?) and wonder if this is it.

You press ahead, toward the smoke. Only a hundred yards have passed when the sound of a tree branch snapping makes you freeze. You've lived near the edge of the forest and hunted the animals with your father long enough to know that unless what dwells in the forest wants you to know it's there, you won't ever hear it. Whatever is behind you is bigger than you, and not scared that you know it's there. Adrenaline's sharp edge starts in your veins, and your hand twitches towards the handgun at the small of your back. You steady yourself with a deep breath and press on, trying to let whatever is behind you think that you don't know it's there - that you still believe you're all alone. That you aren't a danger to whatever it is. 

You barely make it ten feet before you're yanked to your back. The contents of your backpack and the gun dig painfully into your skin; you feel something cut through the thin flesh of your hip bones as you hit the ground. Your head is spared only by your hands that reach up instinctively, but it feels like every knuckle on your right hand is broken when it slams against the ground. Stunned, you lay there, prey with its belly exposed as your eyes water and distort everything in your vision. Something monstrously huge leans down over you, blocking out the last bit of sun that remains. You try to blink the monster into sharper vision, but can't. Fairytale visions of werewolves, blood dripping from their maws shiver through you.

A warmth presses down on your chest, keeping you pinned to the ground. Through the pain, you can feel it's a hand, large enough to cover you from sternum to throat. 

"What are you doing here?"

The monster speaks in a low growl, and you realize it's just a man pressing you into the dirt and leaves. He doesn't give you a chance to answer before he yanks you to your feet, the hand at your chest gripping your jacket enough that you can feel the strings in the collar popping underneath the pressure he's putting on the fabric. 

Your feet dangle, your toes barely touching the ground as he shakes you (you want to tell him to stop, the pain in your head is enough). You grab his wrist, pulling him away from you. To your surprise, he recoils at your grip, dropping you to the dirt again. You land, for the second time, painfully in the dirt. This time you have enough wits about you to pull the pistol from your waistband, to raise it towards him as you stand. 

And the man just stands there, hands lose at his side. He towers over you, large enough that you have to look up at him, to take him in. Your hand doesn't shake against the trigger fingers as you take him in - dark jeans and scuffed boots, black shirt, and balaclava. The faded white outline of a skull covers the mask; in normal circumstances, you might think to laugh at it, but here in these strange woods you feel a tinge of fear for the first time, for the first time thinking back on the monster stories the locals would sit around and tell each other around night fires. You can imagine the white of that skull shining through the moonlight, around the curve of a trunk, and how terrifying that might be.

"I asked you a question," he growls out; the sweat on your palms makes the gun slip, just incrementally, on your hand.

"I'm the one holding the gun." Your voice sounds unnatural and weak after not speaking for two days. 

"If you were going to shoot me you would have done it already."

You hope he doesn't register the look on your face - the one that says he's right; you don't have any intention of shooting him as long as he just stands there. You never even had the stomach to shoot deer with your father when it came time to put food on your family's table. 

"I just came for a walk in the woods; nothing illegal about that."

He still doesn't speak. Your shoulder throbs from where you hit the ground; the gun falls just an inch. You half expect him to take advantage of this, to rush you and wrap his fingers around your throat until you're nothing but a half-memory in his mind, but he stays where he is at.

"I don't see how it's any of your business anyway."

"You're on my land."

"No one owns this land."

"I do."

Your arm falls another inch. This time, he pounces. One of his hands wraps around your wrist, pulling it to the side enough that you lose your grip on the gun. The other holds your shoulder - more gently than you could have imagined a mountain of a man to hold anything. 

The gun hits the forest floor silently. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from making a noise, to keep from letting him know that he's hurting you; the taste of iron coats your tongue. Up close you can make out every blonde eyelash of his, make out all the gold flecks in his iris. His breath is warm through the balaclava; he smells like woodsmoke and vaguely vanilla. 

"I don't think you came out here for a little walk, love."

The first raindrop falls between you two, crashing against the earth with a force that nearly knocks you over. Your skin burns you where he touches, the callouses on his hands rough against the sensitive skin of your wrist. 

Another drop falls, this time landing on his fingers. You watch it roll to his wrist, to the sliver of tattoo-covered skin that you can see as the sleeve of his shirt pulls away. The thought to reach out and trace the path of the raindrops with your tongue flashes in your mind; you feel yourself smile slightly and try to repress the feeling. The corners of his eye crinkle, you know he's frowning at you, eyebrows knitted together as he tries to figure out why you're here. 

Without speaking, the man pushes you forward; in your peripheral you see him bend down and pick your father's gun up before tucking it into his own waistband. You think about how angry your father would be at him touching your father's gun, at touching you - someone other than him, some other man, touching something of his. You're not sure if the shiver that runs down your spine is from the thought or from the biting cold air that blows through, bringing more raindrops with it. 

You walk towards the smoke in the distance, the man's hand pressed into your shoulder, forcing you to walk faster than usual.

"What's your name?"

"Why?"

"Well, I should know the name of my kidnapper and potential murderer."

He lets out a sound that lets you know he doesn't appreciate your description, but he doesn't dispute it. He doesn't speak again until you stumble over a root, and his hand is at your elbow to straighten you up and force you to keep walking. 

"It's Ghost."

The cabin is nothing like you expected it to be. It's not even really a cabin - more of an abandoned witches' house, ivy trellising up one side and wrapping around the chimney. It could have once been described as Victorian, but now you're not sure if that description would do it any justice. It's two stories, bigger than what you'd expected it to be here in the forest. A dog with thick brown and black fur is curled up beside the front door; its ears perk when it spots you and Ghost but doesn't move towards you.

When you pass by, however, the dog reaches out to sniff you, his tail wagging. Ghost reaches out with his free hand to pet the dog once before reaching around you to open the door, his back pressing against yours for just a moment.

The rain falls harder against the two of you as he pushes you inside, the door falling shut behind him heavily. You listen for the sound of a lock shutting but don't hear one. The dog shakes the water out of its fur before leaving the two of you alone in the foyer, disappearing down the hallway. 

You watch Ghost as he pulls his boots off; you follow suit, kicking yours off. Your feet throb, the pain of non-stop walking for two days finally catching up to you. You're barely able to catch your balance before Ghost's hands are at the straps of your backpack, pulling it off of your shoulders and dumping it to the ground beside your shoes. 

With one hand presses firmly into your back, he leads you down the hallway, pointing out each part of the house you might need. 

"Why are you showing me around, what if I want to leave?"

"You can leave whenever you want. But you can't go back to the town."

There's nowhere else for you to go (he must know this). The thought should chill you, but it doesn't. Ghost stops outside of a heavy oaken door, his hand pausing on the doorknob before pushing the door open.

"You can sleep down here."

You take in the room - dust-covered but clean. The bed is massive, and covered in more pillows than you think you've ever seen in your life. the air inside is stale, you know that no one has touched anything in this room for years. 

"Where do you sleep?" You've asked the question before you even mean to. The hand on your back curls just enough that you can feel the bite of Ghost's nails in your back. 

"I sleep up the stairs. You can go anywhere you want in the house, just not upstairs. Do you understand me?"

The nails in your back threaten to break through your skin; you're not afraid, but you know that Ghost hasn't shown you half of the strength he does have, and that does scare you. You nod, silently; Ghost's hand leaves your back, leaving an emptiness in its place. 

It rains for days - a torrential downfall that washes down the mountain; Ghost lingers around the house, and the two of you circle each other - planets with opposing orbits. On the third day, you find the library tucked away in the back corner of the house. It's attached to an empty solarium, the glass washed clean from the rain outside. 

That day, when Ghost comes to find you to tell you that he's finished cooking he finds you on your hands and knees, scrubbing the dirt and dust away from the mosaic tiles with cleaning supplies you'd found tucked away in an unused backroom.

"What are you doing?" He asks, leaning against the doorway. Riley, always stuck to Ghost, sits at his feet. 

You don't look up at him as you speak, sweat dripping down your forehead. You watch your hands swirl across the tile, releasing the years-old dirt from the grout.

"I figured if I'm trapped here, I might as well put myself to work."

"Who said you're trapped here?"

You can barely hear Ghost over the rain on the solarium walls. Leaning back on your heels, you wipe your forehead on your shirt, trying to think about what to say to him. You choose your words carefully, chewing on them until they feel right.

"You would really let me leave?"

It's Ghost's turn to think about his words; you can feel his eyes boring a hole in your back. 

"No."

You don't say anything else to him as you turn back towards the floor. 

"Don't you think your family will come looking for you?"

"Probably. But they won't go any farther than the forest edge. They're terrified of the monster that lives here."

"And you're not."

"Not yet."

When the rain finally stops, Ghost disappears. He leaves Riley with a stern warning to guard the house before disappearing into the woods. You watch him leave from the kitchen window. The thought that you could escape teases you. It wouldn't be hard, you just needed to run down the mountain faster than he could realize you were gone. 

You leave that thought at the window. The lights flicker above you; Ghost had briefly explained about the solar panels at the backside of the cabin and you wonder if he installed them himself. The cabinets are nearly bare, but there's evidence that he leaves sometimes: name-brand can goods and a sack of bread flour. You wonder if you had ever walked by him in town, his mask off, and you never realized. The thought thrills you, that he could have been hiding in plain sight from the same people who whispered fearfully of him.

When he comes back, it's to the smell of fresh bread. The kitchen is clean, cleaner than he'd ever seen it; he watches as you turn the bread out of a pan and wrap it in a clean town. On the stove, a pot sits, something simmering inside. 

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?"

You can tell by the set of his shoulders that he doesn't like that - doesn't like the sarcasm that rolls easily from your lips. You turn to stir the stew on the stove, waiting on Ghost to say something, anything to fill the silence in the kitchen.

"Why are you cooking?"

"Because you're keeping me here captive for free. I figured it would nice for me to do something for you."

"You don't live here."

You know what he really means is that you don't need to make yourself comfortable - don't need to pretend that this arrangement is domestic.

***

You want him to hear you when you're curled up in your bed. You left the door open intentionally - an invitation if he would take it. Your fingers dip into your own cunt, pumping at a pace that is barely enough to satisfy you.

You hear the sound of the floor outside your door creaking; you can imagine Ghost out there, cock in hand, stroking himself at the sounds of you finger fucking yourself. Your breath catches in your throat when you moan out his name, face pressed against a pillow as you bite down on it, imagining if it was him.

The floor creaks again, and for a moment you think you see the curve of his shoulder in the doorway. You pull your hands out of your panties; lick the taste of yourself off of your fingertips. The shape of him is gone from the doorway in a flash. You fall onto your back, breathless from your orgasm. 

Heavy footfall on the stairs is heard from the hallway, followed quickly by the sound of a door shutting.

The weather turns for the worse as the weeks pass. The morning you awake to the first layer of snow on the ground, a letter is left on the counter beside the coffee pot. 

Gone to get winter supplies.

You're alone. Again. Riley pads into the kitchen lost without Ghost. He follows you across the house, nearly tripping you pressing himself so close to your feet. You intend to work on the solarium again - the weeks had seen you turning it into some recognition of its former glory- but you pause at the bottom of the stairs. An intense curiosity overtakes you - you want to go upstairs, to see what Ghost is hiding there from you. Your foot lands on the bottom of the staircase, when the sound of a car door slamming shut pulls you out of your thoughts. 

Your heart crashes in your chest, thinking of all the people who could have stumbled across the house, who could be forcing you back home. You press yourself into the banister, one hand outreach to bury itself in Riley's fur when Ghost steps through the door. 

Instant relief washes over you as his figure blocks the doorway. For a moment, you think about rushing towards him. He leans forward to place the grocery bags in his hands on the ground; you can see his eyebrows knitted together even through the balaclava. 

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

You worry that you speak too quickly, too suspiciously. You worry that he can read your thoughts, read how you almost betrayed him. So you press towards him, coffee cup landing on a small table right inside the doorway, trying to move the conversation away from your almost betrayal.

"Do you need help carrying everything in?"

"No."

But you want to help, want to get your mind off the thought of upstairs. You ignore him, and step outside, shivering in the cold air. An old truck you've never seen before is backed nearly up to the door, the back loaded down with supplies. 

"Is this all for the winter?"

"Once the snow starts falling we won't be able to get down until it thaws again."

It's all the explanation you need, but a new question erupts from you before you can stop it.

"How many winters have you had up here?"

"Enough."

The snow is thick when you've finally finished the solarium. Without you asking him to, Ghost dragged your bed to the room, followed by the dresser full of someone else's clothing that you've been wearing. It's where he finds you when he comes looking, curled up on a loveseat you'd found in an empty room in front of the fireplace. 

"Yes?"

You speak without your eyes ever leaving the book in your hands. You hear Ghost shuffle in the doorway. 

"Can I come sit with you?"

Without speaking you pull yourself in tighter, making room for him on the other side of the loveseat. He shuffles into the room, sitting down gently near your feet. He doesn't speak to you as you flip the pages. 

"What are you reading?"

"Bulfinch's Mythology."

"What is that?"

The question makes you smile, and for the first time since he'd walked in, you pull your eyes away from the book. Ghost isn't looking at you - he's focused intently on the flames dancing in the fireplace. He's tense, wound tightly enough you can almost see his muscles tense underneath his shirt.

"It's a translation of Greek mythology. It's your book, you don't know it?"

"I bought the house with everything in it."

"So none of this is really yours?"

Ghost doesn't answer, his hands are fisted tightly on his thighs. You know you're pushing it, asking him too much about his past. You shift, pressing your toes into the seam on his thighs, feeling his warmth through the denim. 

"How about I just read to you? Do you know the story of Cupid and Psyche?"

Ghost's only answer is a shake of his head. You flip through the pages, looking for the page you want. When you read, Ghost doesn't speak. His hands loosen, the one closest to you dropping onto your ankle. When you feel his touch against your skin, you stumble over your words. 

His touch makes you bold; you shift, never pausing your reading, to sit up and slide one foot onto his lap. His hand follows your ankle; when you've moved too close, his grip on your ankle tightens you, telling you that you've gone too far, too fast. 

You read over the soft sounds of snow falling on the glass, of the crackle of the logs in the fireplace. Softly, Ghost begins to draw patterns on the top of your foot. The feeling of his touch is starting to wind something inside of you. When you finish, you let the book fall closed in your lap and turn your attention to Ghost. He speaks quietly, barely louder than the ambient noise around the two of you.

"So she still loved him? After all of that?"

"Yes, after all of that."

Ghost's nails dig gently suddenly into the soft skin on the underside of your ankle. You can tell he's struggling to say what he wants, his mouth opening and closing beneath the balaclava before he finally speaks, his words desperate. 

"Would you still love him after everything?"

His voice is tight, his nails dig harder into your skin. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat, can feel the tension in the air. 

"What if I said no?"

Ghost's hand twitches against your skin, his grip suddenly painful. But still, he keeps his eyes trained on the fireplace, never looking towards you. 

"I suppose you would have to find your way home."

You let the book slide off of your lap and drop heavily to the floor. The fluttering in your stomach quickens at the heaviness that hangs over the two of you. When you speak again, your voice cracks - Ghost finally looks at you, eyes dark and burning.

"Of course, I would still love him after all of that."

Ghost nails disappear from your ankle; his hand slides up to your thigh before pulling you closer. You lose your balance, you fall back and before you can pull yourself back into a sitting position, Ghost is pressing his hand onto your abdomen, pressing you into the soft cushions. He slides one of his knees in between your thighs and presses it against the seam of your shorts. Your cunt throbs at the feeling; you whine, but keep your hands down at your side, worried that if you touch him, he'll run. 

"Do you want to stay here? With me?" He whispers, not lowering himself down onto you like you want him to. 

His warmth feels like it's drowning you; you squirm trying to rub yourself against his thigh- Ghost pulls away just enough that you can't reach him. He doesn't have to say what he wants, you already know it without him saying anything. 

"Of course, I want to stay here. With you."

You know it's not a lie when you say it; you hadn't thought of going home since you'd first stepped foot into the forest. And now, with Ghost pressing himself against you, you can't imagine leaving this place, leaving Ghost behind to go back to your family, back to everything you once knew. 

His knee presses harder onto your cunt and you grind down, trying to find some release. His hands' hook on the edge of your shorts, pulling them down, past your knees until you can kick them off. Your hands search for skin, dipping underneath his shirt. You dig your nails into his back as he trails his nails up your thigh, the feeling sending a shiver through you. He wraps one hand around your knee, hitching it around his waist until he's pressed against you. You can feel his erection through his jeans. He grinds into you, the rough denim rubbing against the soft fabric of your panties.

"Please." You don't know what you're begging for, just some sort of release from the tension inside of you. Maybe for him to touch you more, maybe for him to grind into you again.

Ghost presses his lips to your neck, the fabric of the balaclava warm against your skin. His hand sneaks between the two of you, fingers teasing your clit through your panties. You pull him closer, trying to press yourself into him, press his fingers into you. He keeps himself pulled back away from you, not letting himself sink into you.

"Why did you come here?"

He whispers in your ear, fingers pulling away from your clit when you don't answer. You try to find his hand and put it back, but he pushes you back down, a promise he won't do anything until you speak.

"I wanted to- to see if the rumors were true. I wanted to see if you were the monster everyone said you were."

You can feel the hint of a smile against your neck before he speaks again.

"Is that it?"

"I wanted," you swallow around the words, trying to pick which ones to use, "I wanted to get away from home."

His fingers dip under the waistband of your panties, teasing you. 

"Am I the monster you were expecting to find?"

You shake your head, burying your face in his chest and bite down on the moan that escapes you.

"Are you going to leave me when the snow thaws? You can if you want. I won't stop you." His voice is rough, almost tired. You hear a hint of sadness as if he already knows you're going to say yes, that you're already planning your escape.

You shake your head; his fingers start to pull away from you when you realize what he wants from you.

"No; never."

That's enough for him. He buries two fingers inside of you; you hiss at the sting, but it quickly turns into a moan when he pumps his fingers inside of you. You're not wet enough to take him, but you know that you will be in just a moment.

"Close your eyes."

You do as you're told, and you feel his lips press against your collarbone through your shirt. You turn, seeking his lips, eyes still pressed tightly closed. Ghost knows what you want, you can feel his nose trailing up your neck, the feeling of the balaclava pushed up around his nose. 

"You won't look?" He whispers against your lips, and you nod.

"I promise."

When he kisses you, you taste the coffee from earlier; his canines snag against your bottom lip as he pulls away to breathe. His fingers inside of you are working you into a release, faster than you've ever reached on your own. When it crashes into you, you cry out; Ghost whispers soft soothings to you, his free hand pushing your hair out of your face gently before fisting it to pull your head back and expose your neck just quick enough for him to press a kiss to your jugular. 

He disappears for a moment; you want to look at him, to watch him as the sound of his belt coming undone and falling against the floor reaches you, but you don't want to betray his trust, don't want to do anything until he tells you to. His hands are gentle on you as he rolls you over onto your stomach, pressing your face gently into the cushions so you can't see him. His hands trace the valleys of your body before he pulls your panties down to your knees, forcing them together. 

His fingers dip into your cunt before pulling away quickly; you hear the sound of him licking the taste of you off before his wet fingers fall on your ass, tracing patterns into your skin.

His hands grip your hips, pulling them up so he can place his cock between your folds. He doesn't push into you until you push backward, your hand between your thighs trying to guide him in. 

You moan when he presses his cock into you, the sound muffled by the cushion. He's larger - larger than anything - anyone - you've ever taken before. The feeling of being so full of him, so stretched out by him twists you and pushes you towards an ecstasy that you've never felt before. You mewl for him, pressing back into him as much as you can.

He's quiet, the only sign he's enjoying this is his bruising grip on you. He's soft at first, and you beg him for more with each stroke, but he ignores you. You can feel him holding back, feel that there are inches of cock still waiting for you to take it. You beg for more, beg for him to fuck you properly.

"Look at you, begging for the monster in the woods to fuck you harder."

On his last word, he slams into you; the pain of it makes you instinctually try to scramble away from him. He holds you, one hand at your hip and one at your shoulder, keeping you pinned to the couch. 

"You were just begging for this, remember? Don't run away now."

He fucks you with a brutal pace, hands not leaving you until he folds himself over you. One of his fingers traces a small circle around your clit as he bites into your shoulder. You cry out, hands gripping the cushions. 

"Ghost, I can't - I'm going to - fuck."

"That's it, baby - come on my cock like a good girl."

His words push you towards your orgasm, and when you crash again, he fucks you harder. You squirm underneath him, trying to get away, to get a break from his relentless pace - from this brutal fucking that you want more desperately than anything else in the world.

"Stop running."

His hand snakes under you, to grip your throat loosely. His chest presses against your back, his breath warm on your neck. You can feel another orgasm building up inside of you; you keen, pressing yourself into Ghost. You can't remember a time when anyone has ever fucked you this good - a time you've ever wanted someone the same way you want Ghost.

"I'm going to finish inside of you," he growls in your ear, movements bordering on erratic. "I'm going to make you mine."

You can't do anything but pant out a 'yes'. You feel it - the warmth when he finishes inside of you, but he doesn't stop pushing himself inside of you - he keeps fucking you, pushing his cum deeper into you until he finally stills. 

He stays on you for a breath before pushing himself up. You can't move, can't do anything but lay there and try to catch your breath. You feel him hook your fingers in the waistband of your panties once again, but this time he pulls them up, hand smoothing across your back. 

His hand traces the pattern of your spine before burying itself in the hair at the nape of your neck. You try to catch your breath under his touch.

"I meant it earlier when I said you can leave."

"I know," your say as you turn your face towards him, catching just a hint of the chin as he pulls his balaclava down. 

"I want to stay."

[cccc-aus]

The CCCC Persona 5 AU

Who said I couldn’t use this blog for my own AUs? So, Persona 5 is cool. Very cool. And so is CCCC. The result is this AU. There’s not much to say about this. Enjoy!

The Basics

In this universe, HMS have all become regular people after some weird incident, with no memory of the Headspace- or, within the context of the AU, Soul’s Palace

Then once the whole “edge of calamity, blah blah blah” thing starts to go down, a new Trickster is chosen in the form of Soul

Here’s an interesting fact, though: in this universe, regular people can’t be pulled into the Metaverse. They have to have some kind of connection to it first, wether they’re aware of that connection or not.

Other than that, the Metaverse remains mostly the same.

And, so begins the story of the Phantom Thieves of Desires (not hearts because that would get confusing quickly).

Soul

The founder of the Phantom Thieves of Desires, who’d been working solo for a few months

First awakened his Persona in his own Palace, as a matter of fact, which took the form of a mental asylum: the Shadows as staff, and his own Shadow as the head “doctor” (as well as, had he entered a few months earlier, two particularly aggressive Cognitions as patients)

He awakened after joining the dots that, yes, this place is a manifestation of his mind, and that’s fucked up, and he needs to find out why the fuck his brain’s like this

His Phantom Thief attire is mainly black, white and grey, looking like a ripped straightjacket, and his mask is half black and half white, with three red lines: two down each of his eyes, and one separating the two halves

His Persona, Atlas, takes the form of a large clay golem with six arms: two holding Earth behind his back, the remaining four holding smaller planets, and the Sun and Moon circling his head like a halo

His main damage type is Nuclear, and his weakness is Psychokinesis

Even though he doesn’t need to use Atlas- since, as a Trickster, he can wield multiple Personas- he’s strong enough that he still keeps him with him at all times

His weapon is a trident, and his gun is a pistol

And finally, his Phantom Thief codename being Soul is meant to be a nod to the whole cognitive world thing, as well as a way of saying “This is who I am, and nobody is going to control me”, y’know?

Anyways, since Awakening, he basically just used the Meta Nav to see if anyone he disliked had a Palace so he could screw them over

He basically just… used the role solely to benefit himself until the others joined.

OH and he’s also the one that writes all the Calling Cards, even after the others join!

Heart

The second member of the Phantom Thieves, who joined a few months after the initial founding

Since he’s blind, it took him until after he awakened his Persona to realise he was in another world (Soul basically just accidentally dragged him in and was like “uh. uhhh no need to worry just stay here and let me do this thing real quick okay????”)

His Phantom Thief attire is similar to Joker’s: black coat with kinda tuxedo-y looks, and a purple galaxy print on the little tails, and his mask is actually just his blindfold except purple with golden seams

You’d think he’d make a really bad Phantom Thief, but no: he can actually see perfectly fine in his Phantom Thief attire, for reasons I’ll explain in a bit

His Persona, Artemis, looks basically the same as she did in P2 at first glance: but with six wings, dual crossbows, and a crescent moon for a head, surrounded by multiple eyes

Her damage type is Curse (with a fair bit of Healing skills), and her weakness is Bless

His weapon is a sword, and his gun is a TOMMY GUN

Anyways, the reason why he can see in his Phantom Thief attire is because Artemis is his new eyes. When she’s summoned, his field of view changes to hers like third-person, which gets confusing really quick: so he tries to avoid summoning her for any longer than necessary

Aside from the general euphoria of being able to see again for the first time in like, years, when he was told his new friend is actually the Phantom Thief of Desires that’s been all over the news, he was like “YES. YEAH. I DIG THIS. LET ME HELP YOU. I WANT TO DO THIS TOO.”

As you can kinda tell, he’s basically like the Ryuji of the group: really bad at hiding that he’s a Thief. As well as in general the kinda similar vibe they give me.

He chose the name Heart mainly to fit with Soul, but as time passed it became more and more evident that he is, in a sense, the beating heart of the team

He was the one to encourage Soul to start going for bigger targets that are legitimately making people’s lives terrible, not just… random shmucks that he has a pointless grudge against

Mind

The third and final member of the Phantom Thieves of Desires, who joined a few weeks after Heart

Was one of the first people to start to catch onto the fact that that these two random people (who look suspiciously similar to him) might actually be the Phantom Thieves

When confronted about this, his suspects panicked, activated the Meta Nav trying to see if he has a Palace, and actually ended up pulling him in with them accidentally

He awakened his Persona after seeing the true nature of the kind of people they target, and realising “hey, maybe these guys have a point”.

His Phantom Thief Attire takes the form of some badass armour, complete with a blue cape with yellow highlights, and his mask is a metallic skull with five blue points like a crown: basically a more sci-fi version of Ryuji’s

His Persona, Apollo, kinda looks the same to how he did in P2, but with a more yellow-y and blue colour scheme, and six eyes

His damage type is Bless (with a fair bit of Support skills), and his weakness is Curse

His weapon is an axe, and his gun is a rifle

He also takes the role of the Navigator in the group, whereas beforehand the role was kinda haphazardly shared between Soul and Heart

And speaking of which: he decided on the codename Mind after realising how badly these idiots needed someone who has their shit together

After Awakening, he was just kinda like “FUCK. I guess I’m a Phantom Thief now.” and kinda brooded for a while before just deciding to deal with all the risks

It was never a question to him wether he was going to join after Awakening: the thought of just doing his own thing with his new power never occurred to him, actually

He and Heart kinda bicker a lot, but it’s never actually violent bickering like in canon. Just, like, little petty sibling arguments.

He was also the first one to notice how they all look near-identical. Well, of course they noticed it before, but never really stopped to think about how weird it was.

oh yeah and Darrel is the Morgana stand-in

[lady-wallace]

Phantom Traveler (JJBA-Vampire Hunter AU)

We are now at the Notorious B.I.G arc in this AU! I had quite a good time coming up with ideas for this one. Hope you all enjoy!

~~~

(Vampire Hunter AU) On the run from the Boss, Bucciarati and his team leave Venice and travel by sea toward a safehouse. However, a mysterious stowaway might spell doom for the voyage when the team of Hunters mysteriously start to turn against each other.

~~~~~~~

Read on Ao3

Read on FF.net

~~~~~~~

"Weird, isn't it?" Abbacchio muttered. "Sending one seemingly untrained man after a bunch of Hunters?"

Bruno nodded, having thought the same thing. Perhaps that was why he had a very strange foreboding.

"Well, that's that," Mista commented, taking his cap off and rubbing the back of his head. "Any other stowaways, Giorno?"

"Not that I'm aware of," Giorno said, but frowned. "Still, there is something. Is it just me, or does anyone else think that was too easy?"

"We're all thinking it," Bruno told him quietly.

Mista took out his pistol again and started to reload it with silver bullets. "You're right, something does feel a little fishy," he said, then, "Actually surprised you haven't figured it out yet."

He suddenly grinned and brought the gun up, pointing it directly at Giorno.

"Mista, what—" Giorno demanded, eyes wide, before the gunman suddenly opened fire and sent Giorno reeling back with a spray of blood.

[fdelopera]

Welcome to the 49th installment of 15 Weeks of Phantom, where I post all 68 sections of Le Fantôme de l’Opéra, as they were first printed in Le Gaulois newspaper 113 yeas ago.

In today’s installment, we have Part II of Chapter 21, “Le Vicomte et le Persan” (The Vicomte and the Persian), and Part I of Chapter 22, "Dans les dessous de l’Opéra" (In the Underside of the Opera).

This section was first printed on Friday, 10 December, 1909.

For anyone following along in David Coward’s translation (the link is to the Kindle edition on Amazon US), the text starts in Chapter 20, “'No, Viscount,' the Persian said sadly, 'I don't hate him. If I did he would have stopped being able to hurt people a long time ago'," and goes to Chapter 21, “He saw the Persian get down on his knees again and then, lowering himself into the hole, hung by his arms from the edge of the aperture and then, with his pistol between his teeth, he let himself fall.”

There are some differences between the standard 1st Edition text and the Gaulois text. In this section, these include (highlighted in red above):

1) Chapter XXII was misprinted as Chapter XXIV. This is an additional numbering error to the error made in Chapter VII, and makes this chapter two numbers in advance of where it actually is.

2) Chapter 21 in the Gaulois text is Chapter 20 in the 1st Edition, etc.

3) Compare the Gaulois text:

plût au ciel que nous ayons affaire à un fantôme ! 

(please be to Heaven that we are dealing with a phantom!)

To the 1st Edition:

plût au ciel que nous eussions affaire à un fantôme ! 

(please be to Heaven that we were dealing with a phantom!)

4) Compare the Gaulois text:

Elle sera alors sur son pivot 

(It will then be on its pivot)

To the 1st Edition:

Elle sera alors sur un pivot 

(It will then be on a pivot)

5) Compare the Gaulois text:

comme la salle du trépied à Delphes... comme... 

(like the room of the Oracle's tripod at Delphi... like...)

To the 1st Edition:

comme la salle du trépied à Delphes. 

(like the room of the Oracle's tripod at Delphi.)

6) Compare the Gaulois text:

Le Persan se décida à faire un mouvement 

(The Persian decided to make a move)

To the 1st Edition:

Enfin, le Persan se décida à faire un mouvement 

(Finally, the Persian decided to make a move)

7) Minor differences in punctuation, italicization, and capitalization.

Click here to see the entire edition of Le Gaulois from 10 December, 1909. This link brings you to page 4 of the newspaper — Le Fantôme is at the bottom of the page in the feuilleton section. Click on the arrow buttons at the bottom of the screen to turn the pages of the newspaper, and click on the Zoom button at the bottom left to magnify the text.

[sailingmakai]

FACTS / HEADCANONS ABOUT THE MUSE. (using my main verse only, in this one)

---

tagged by: Stolen shamelessly from @linklewinklewoman (first one I've stolen from you~!)

tagging: *gestures wildly*

---

Due to constantly travelling in and out of various worlds, many of which often put him into legitimate danger and fights, Akira has changed his entire outfit. While still themed off his metaversal costume, it's built with real-world fighting in mind - sturdier fabrics, metal plating, and numerous enchantments; all courtesy of the Adventurers Guild in Eorzea. Similarly, his weapons have been changed from mere models, to ones more built for constant, regular usage - a pair of large folding blades, and a pistol that's been altered by Cid and friends to feed off Aether Crystals, since Akira himself has kind of shit aether control. .

Akira has improvised a generator, water-tank, stove, AND fridge, all made largely out of elemental crystals found in Eorzea, so he can more easily live in his ship long term. The water tank in particular even has an overfill prevention system - excess water drains out of a port in the side of the ship when too much water collects in the tank, so that his ship never floods. Otherwise, he just drains it himself and donates the excess to worlds with issues collecting clean water. .

Akira has died several times since Bonding with his rescued Ghost, Kenzo. He actively hates the sensation (both dying AND 'coming back') and it's one of the reasons he has yet to return to Kenzo's world to properly learn how to use his own new powers - if he makes it official, he reasons that he'll probably end up dying more often, as Guardians tend to do once they get accustomed to their new pseudo-immortal state. .

Akira hasn't considered himself to be a Phantom Thief in quite a long time, due to his new views on killing - and the fact that now, he's taken easily more lives than Akechi ever did. It's almost always self-defense, but Akira still takes the Thieves rules to heart: Phantom Thieves Don't Kill - therefor, he is no longer a Thief. Even if he manages to find his friends, or even better, his homeworld, he'll likely never again consider himself to be a Thief. .

The main difference, at least for now, between Akira's vessel and manmade ones, is that his ship does not need external cleaning (at least in regards to rot and barnacles and things), and can generate its own 'wind' with which to propel itself forward. Due to this, Akira is actually fairly adept at captaining an old-fashioned sailing ship - and has found he greatly enjoys it. Already, he gets antsy when on land for overly long - and despite planning a place to stay and call an official home, it's unlikely he'll settle down there for long before heading back out again to explore and travel. The Sea of Souls may not be an official sea, but it's gotten into his head nonetheless, and made him itch to be on it any time he's not. .

Bonus Fact! This au was originally meant to simply be 'Akira if he was/became a pirate', but quickly changed to the Kingdom Hearts adjacent jumble of self-indulgence that it is today, when I began to include multiversal travel into the mix - going from pirate, to multiversal smuggler, to what it is now. Evidence of the au's old smuggling era can be seen in Akira's penchant towards collecting, stealing, or purchasing items from every world he goes to, even if they serve no immediate use, and the remaining bit of evidence to the original 'pirate' era, beyond him having an old fashioned galleon ship, is in the personal Discord server I use to maintain all my au's information, where this one is listed simply as 'Pirate Akira'.

[ssolessurvivor]

“It’s okay. You can rest.” For the new au

memes - always accepting! - @goldenboybarracuda

"Believe it or not, I can't."

This is so far removed from active combat, Logan almost can't even begin to think of adjusting. A little radio in his ear, the wire snaking down the back of his neck, a suit instead of a thirty pound pack to lug around for miles. A pistol in a holster, hidden under his blazer instead of in easy reach slung over his chest.

But it's all he's worth: to protect others.

Perhaps serving the White House, being the personal Secret Service Agent for the First Son will be enough penance for his failures in deep space. He rolls his shoulders for a moment, a mild phantom pain slithering up the scars, the collar of his button down rubbing on them persistently. Hopefully it won't prove a problem.

"If I'm worth my salt, I can't rest." He doesn't say it in any mean way, far from it. If his body can't find a moment of relaxation until he goes to bed each night, then his voice can find a less rigid form to take when somewhat alone with his charge.

[bobaboob]

"Travelers beware the burning hair."

"A two-pistoled man keeps one to shoot your back."

"If you see red eyes late at night, keep riding and hope they don't follow."

𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘗𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘮 𝘗𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘭

[my half of an art trade with the lovely @mmmairon <33]

[pillow-anime-talk]

i love girls month ; eleventh day.

synopsis: You’ve been a threat to the Spider’s Head, Chrollo. That’s why he had to get rid of you.

# tags: scenario; secret lovers!au; slight romance; drama; angst; chrollo vs. reader; mention of blood & death; suggestive

includes: gender neutral reader ft. machi komacine {hxh}

author’s note: yeah, angst time :DDD

“... Just do it.” You smiled at Machi and she just bit her lower lip as she felt the tears coming in her both eyes. For the first time in your life you saw her so damaged; she was always confident, refined, calm, perfect in her actions but now she looked like a newborn kitten who couldn’t yet open his eyes and he only relied on his mom. “Machi, I’d rather you do it than that hideous loser standing to your right.” You admitted with a slight chuckle, looking at Chrollo, who was just waiting for your body to fall dead to the dirty, wet ground. “Come on, baby. Just like I taught you.”

“I-I can’t.” She whispered. “I won’t kill you.”

“Then I’ll do it.” Shalnark said suddenly, but the pink-haired woman immediately looked at him with her dark, blank gaze, making the member of the Phantom Troupe step back. “Okay okay. So no.”

You glanced again at the young girl who was holding one of Pakunoda’s pistols, which Chrollo had given her. He gave her a simple – in his opinion – task. Machi was only supposed to kill you. She was supposed to make you stop breathing, and that your death would increase the possibilities for Spider Head. You were an obstacle for him, you were his  worst enemy, so you couldn’t live any longer. 

Not when Chrollo Lucilfer doing it.

“Hey, Machi. It’s not a big deal.” You spoke again. “Just do it. I don’t want you to get hurt either.” You added softly and she just shook her head. She was so weak now, so innocent, so receptive to every word. “Machi.” You muttered more seriously. “If you don’t do it, you’ll be really weak.”

“I’m weak. I am very weak.” She said in a terrified tone of voice and you frowned.

You breathed out loudly, smiling once more at the teenager. You were about to say something, but someone interrupted your actions.

“I’m sick of it.” The group leader interrupted, and you already knew what awaited you. He finally got you. After these eight years of constant chase, tricks, fights and quarrels. A dark-haired man dressed in a long coat took a black pistol from his subordinate and fired three bullets; on the head, on the larynx, on the chest. You calmly accepted each bullet, all the time looking at the woman who until recently slept so sweetly in your arms. You blinked a little at her before your eyelids involuntarily drooped. “Machi, you’ve been really useless lately, but I hope that now everything will be back to normal, since our problem is gone.” He said calmly, handing over the property to the other, tall woman. “Back to work y’all.”

“... Yes, boss!”

Well, maybe in your next life both of you will at least admit your feelings if you missed it this time. But... who knows?

previous day ; rumi usagiyama from boku no hero academia ♡ next day ; brunhilde from record of ragnarok

[alice-angel12x]

Twisted Wonderland (soul eater Au)

(Thank You For 800+ Followers!) So as thanks this will be a mini sires/one-shot, Au!

LORE!

Long ago in the time of Old, a horrible monster appeared. Spreading fear and madness everywhere. So heroes, villains, and Lord Death band togeather to take down the creature of madness. Togeather The monster of madness was defeated, but the world was forever changed.

From that day on Phantoms, blot, and Demon weapons appeared. Blot is the built-up by-product of using magic. If not properly taken care of, it can cause the user to become taken by blot and negativity. Forming a Phantom.

Phantoms and horribly corrupt humans sought out innocent human souls to strengthen themselves through dark means. If not stopped in time, a Kishin could be born.

Sadly magic alone isn't enough, thus the aid of Demon weapons is needed. Whether be it a blessing or curse, random individuals magical or not are born with a weapon in their soul. With the help of a mister, they have the power to take down Phantoms and monsters. Which is why many schools like Death Academy and Royal Sword Academy helped teach future mister and weapon pairs to protect the realm.

There is one school among the rest that was...Not quite...Like the others. Night Raven College was...Unique to say the least. A school that looks up to the villains of the world, who for the most part is simply a magic school. Yet their strange rivalry with RSA makes them want to try one-up them in everything. So they too also tried to become a mister school too, but...

With students so prideful, forming mister and weapon pairs was almost impossible. Will other schools are pumping out an entire class worth of pairs each year, NRC at most produces 3 or at best 7 pairs. They could bearly particapte in any fighting tournaments or compatintions their rivals. And If they couldn't beat them in tournaments, they would try to beat them in mission boards.

Yet, Even so, most mister and weapon pairs from NRC don't do missions for justice or righteous reasons, but for money and fame. So Misters and weapons, are you up to the challenge?!

Weapons Heartslabyul Riddle, a scythe

Cater, a mirror weapon

Deuce, spiky brass knuckles Savanaclaw

Jack, metal gauntlets

Ruggie, switchblade Octavinelle

Leech twins, twin pistol

Azul, claymore Scarabia

Kalim, a kiliji(long swords)

Jamil, blade sleeve sword. Pomfiore

Vil, bladed fan

Rook, crossbow

Epel, parasol spear Ignihyde

Idia, flamethrower

ortho, himself Diasomnia

Silver, a sword

Sebek, a halberd

Malleus, a naginata( death scythe) Misters

Trey

Ace

Leona

Lilia

Othro (somewhat )

If you guys have any requests, leave them in the comments or go to my ask me anything. Just no NSFW things.

Soul Eater Au Masterlist

[grand-alter]

Phantom Thief Zen/Rei AU

Shujin Academy Uniforms

Commission drawn by @fauxpapillons

Phantom Thief Outfits

Commission drawn by @nemirutami

I requested that Minty draw artwork of Zen along with Rei being in Phantom Thief outfits to go with the commission which Faux did before. After some discussion with @essentionesque on here, I decided they could go by Zen Watanabe and Rei Takahashi for proper full names. Zen goes by Knight (or King) for his codename, and Rei goes by Flora (or Lotus). Zen wields a scythe for melee strikes along with a crossbow for ranged strikes, and Rei wields an umbrella blade for melee strikes along with a mini pistol for ranged strikes.

Zen is part of the Rebirth Arcana (Other version of Death like how Councillor is for Magician) while Rei is part of the Charity Arcana (From the Visconti-Sforza deck which has Faith), and their respective primary elements are Curse and Bless. I also set their stages of Personas as Kuroishi > Chronos > Edward (A dark knight from English history) for Zen and Persinette > Saturnus > Rapunzel (A classical princess like Kasumi has with Cinderella) for Rei.

[jojo-reader-hell]

Hello Bad and Naughty Jojo's it is Tiem for Stinking Masterlist of this Hell, IN ACTUAL ORDER!

Part 1: Phantom Blood

Jonathan Joestar x Reader

Dio Brando x Reader

Erina Pendleton x Reader

Part 2: Battle Tendency

Joseph Joestar x Reader

That one Joseph x Reader fic that predicted the end of my seven year relationship

Obligatory Joseph Birthday, Sequel to the Button

Joseph Joestar and his poor twin who he cannot stop clinging to Headcanons

Caesar Zeppeli x Reader

Please let Grandpa Caesar rest in peace

Suzi/Suzie Q x Reader

Granny Suzie Q is best granny of them all headcanons

Lisa Lisa x Reader

Where my gays at lets marry Lisa Lisa

Lisa Lisa x Pillarman Reader

The BEEF (Pillar Men x Reader)

PILLAR DADDIES!!! Mute!Reader x Wammu x Kars where I make you cry at the end

Kars x Pillarman!Reader aka the best fucking thing ever

Kars x Pillarman Reader: Beautiful Boy

Let’s see how many Clan of the Cavebear references I can sneak in here before somebody notices (Pillar!Reader world Headcanons)

Part 3: Stardust Crusaders

Crusaders x Reader

The group of songfics because I said so.

Jotaro Kujo x Reader

This is a very serious set of headcanons with Jotaro, Josuke and Giorno reacting to a reader who hurts themselves

SDC x Reader headcanons where Jotaro’s S/O is Bobby Hill of king of the hill (aka that one headcanon list with THATS MY PURSE I DONT KNOW YOU)

Guess what friends, your brother is Jotaro Headcanons

Here’s some uwu Headcanons for Jotaro because sometimes, you just need a soft boi

Wolfo Boi Jotaro and expecting his fluffy brood Headcanons

Noriaki Kakyoin x Reader

Kakyoin discovers the Japanese foster care system is fucked up headcanons

Muhammad Abdul x Reader

I turned Magician’s Red into that goddamn lemme smash bird Muhammad Abdul x Reader Headcanons

Muhammad Abdul x Reader feat. A very fussy bebe

Jean Pierre Polnareff x Reader

Jean Pierre knocks up Jotaro’s older sister more at 11

SDC x Reader with the Moana Song

Part 4: Diamond is Unbreakable

Josuke Higashikata x Reader

Josuke’s S/o is the epitome of “no talk me I angy”

You’re Josuke’s favorite Niece/Nephew headcanons

Josuke’s twin who finally calls their brother “Elvis” (come on we all were thinking it when we saw his hair)

Josuke x Kishibe Reader welcome to moominvalley

Rohan Kishibe x Reader

Rohan is a cunt but in this story he’s just a misguided big brother who acts like a cunt, also there’s Moomins

Mikitaka, Rohan, and Kira find out that their S/O is going to have a baby

Yukako Yamagishi x Reader

MINI Headcanon Minute number 1

a gay moment with Yukako

You thought I was trying to steal Koichi, but it was I, THE LESBIAN READER X YUKAKO

Part 5: Vento Aureo/Golden Wind

Team Buccellati x Reader

Giorno Giovana Hanahaki

a slightly angsty Mista x Reader

Mermy Reader x Bruno Buccellati

Bucci Gang with s/o’s PLONT addiction

Bucci Gang With Stuttering S/o

STAND FUCKERS UNITE: Bucci Gang Stands Flirt

Narancia Ghirga x reader babey Giorno part 1

Narancia Ghirga x Reader with babey Giorno part 2

Bucci Gang Sudoh Buck AU

Abbacchio coffee shop AU

Bucci Gang x Reader: Adheridos Separados

STAND FUCKERS UNITE HEADCANONS part 1

Mista is a good daddo headcanons (with mini pistol daddos)

Stand Fuckers UNITE part 2 headcanons

Giorno Giovanna’s baby sister is gay and in lesbians with Trish

Mistaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa x reader Valentine’s Day with the best song from Karen Carpenter

My Nana Ghirga x Reader because he is beautiful and deserving of love

You and Fugo show Abbacchio your new baby

Mista x Reader where we drive off into the sunset with our boi as we are completely passed the fuck out in the passenger’s side

Stand fuckers rejoice and have some Sex Pistols x Reader headcanons that my other bestie requested

Fugo and Bestie Book Club headcanons

My bestie always requests the cutest Mista x Reader and we owe her our lives for it

I titled this Bruno Buccellati x Reader “Slow Dancing in the Dark” and my friend on discord told me they don’t trust like that, they were right not to trust me like that

Narancia and his bestie who are math incompetent headcanons

Leone Abbacchio is best daddo Headcanons

Pannacotta Fugo x An Absolutely Feral Reader who was tenderly raised by a good boi Secco

The Finale for Fugo x Secco’s Baby Childe

I wrote this Abbacchio headcanon when I was laid up in bed for two weeks with a pulled back

Trish Una x Reader

Gay Cottagecore Lesbians with Trisha

this is the Trish Una x Reader with the Sad Bitch Hours TM Quote from Lemony Snicket’s The Beatrice Letters

I am Very Gay™️ for Trish Una and Spice Girl

La Squadra x Reader

La Squadra Babies

Creep out the creepsters with Secco and Melone

Formaggio and Little Sister!Reader, aka the first request to my blog

La Squadra thought Melone and his little sister just had a kink someone please send help

Melone is a very good doting boi for his asexual s/o

Mewone best boi headcanons

Formaggio is a big brubber and uses his stand to play dollies with his little sister headcanons

Mewone, Risotto, Bwuno, and the Stinky Cheese Young Nastyman with their sailor mouth babe

I took wigs once, and I will kill again. The Outside Part 1

The Outside Part 2

Trans!Melone x Reader headcanons

Pesci, Narancia, Mista and Rohan with Sailor Mouth Bebe

Secco/Cioccolata x Reader

Secco is Babey headcanons

Cioccolata x Reader x Secco “Wicked Games”

Cioccolata thought it was smart to give Secco a stolen baby and it turns out this was the best thing he could have ever done for the good boy

I projected a lot of shit about my ex on Cioccolata and Secco is still a good boy

Secco x Cioccolata x Reader with Bird Nest popcorn

Part 6: Stone Ocean

Foo Fighter’s Nickname is Foofy Foof and they are going to comfort you in this trying time

HELLO FRIENDS ITS TIME FOR QUEERS: Jolyne x Reader x Hermes x Foo Fighters

Instead of the DMs, it goes down in the pinta with Gwess x Fem!Reader

Author’s Picks:

Glitter Freeze Part 1

Glitter Freeze part 2 aka the one that NEVER FUCKING SHOWS UP IN THE MOTHER FUCKING TAGS

Glitter Freeze Part 3

JOTARO WANTED TO KNOW IF HIS BABY SIBLING BELONGED TO HIM YES HONEY YOURE A BIG BROTHER (alternatively fuck Sadao Kujo)

Taika Waititi Presents “We’re Wolves”, a Werewolf!AU where no one fucking dies and your great granny Lisa Lisa is there

Werewolf Au with all the JoJo’s alive part 2

Jotaro and Sibling Reader comfort

The one Gyro Zeppeli x Reader on this blog

[eight-ball-juice]

So, my persona 5 au is coming along nicely, actually.

I have a full lineup of Phantom Thieves, but designs and personas are only developed on a few. I’ll post what I have, in order of how… permanent or how much progress I’ve made. Top is basically cemented, bottom can change.

Mishima, Leader

Codename: Mod/Moderator

Persona: A.J. Raffles, “Cracksman”

The Fool Arcana

Technology Aesthetic

Melee: Sickle Sword

Gun: Pistol with Silencer

Hifumi, Tactician

Codename: “General”

Persona: Mary, Queen of Scots

The Star Arcana

Military Aesthetic

Melee: Kali Sticks

Gun: Bayonet Rifle

Shiho

Codename: “Mirage”

Persona: Hatshepsut

The Strength Arcana

Egyptian Aesthetic

Melee: Spear

Gun: Crossbow

Ryuji

Persona: Captain Kidd

The Empress Arcana

Flashy Pirate Aesthetic

Melee: Blunt Objects

Gun: Shotgun

Haru

Persona: Milady

The Chariot Arcana

Melee: Battle Axe

Gun: Grenade Launcher

Lavenza / Twin Wardens - Mascot/Navigator

Shinya (TBD)

Some other swaps in the au include

Jose - Akechi

Shido - God of Control

Takemi - Maruki

[maxineswritingcenter]

The Ghost of Winter - Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

The Phantom of the Opera AU! Bucky Barnes x fem!reader, Steve Rogers x fem!reader

Legacy agent, (Y/N), has been trained her entire life by a mystery man. When they learn that HYDRA has infiltrated SHIELD, she must fight to stop them. But could she betray the trust of her friends for her teacher?

Decided to dive into Marvel territory. I also watched Phantom of the Opera finally. Am I in love with toxic mask man? Absolutely I am. 

-------

When Nick Fury first decided to take on the project, he had no idea the assignment would come with so many... Difficulties. It wasn’t going to be easy, he knew that from the start, especially when it came to a child. 

Twenty years ago, SHIELD found and infiltrated a HYDRA lab hidden in an abandoned military base. They had found fourteen missing children that were being raised to create super soldiers that would be strong enough to tolerate whatever concoction they had created to try to replicate Dr. Erskine’s serum that had been lost nearly a hundreds years ago. 

All but one of the children had been able to go back to their normal lives. One child, (Y/N) Coulson, was left- since orphaned in 2012 in the Loki incident. She had always been around the SHIELD office since Phil didn’t want her to leave his sight. She had trained alongside the finest field agents and had become a master fighter, spy, and agent. Now, as a new HYDRA threat appears, will she be ready? Fury knew she would. 

-

The two agents smiled as they danced in the chorus of the play, twirling and swaying to the beat of the orchestra. (Y/N) twirled on her toes, catching the target out of the corner of her eye. The man, Jasper Sitwell, was a SHIELD agent suspected of working for HYDRA. He was also a patron of the theater they performed in. He was speaking with the director of the play while the rehearsal was performed. (Y/N) passed Nastasha, using her ballet shoe clad foot to point towards the direction their target had gone. A flick of her wrist was all (Y/N) needed from her to know that they needed to get to the next stage of her plan. 

Over the small device in her ear she heard Natasha’s voice signaling the other members: “Subject is heading outside. Keep an eye from the sky, Wilson.” 

“On it.” The newest member of their squad, Sam Wilson, called out. This meant (Y/N) and Natasha needed to make a swift get away. They plied off stage, walking normally they quickly changed back into their normal attire. As (Y/N) pulled the straps on her boots tight, Natasha spoke casually. 

“What about Jordan from tech?” Natasha, who was insistent on finding her a date. 

“The one that Stark caught playing Space Invaders when we were trying to stop an intergalactic army?” 

Her green eyes narrowed as she thought, “Well, they can’t all be winners.” (Y/N) chuckled and rolled her eyes. 

“Between me and Rogers, you starting a matchmaking business?” She asked as they walked down the hall to the outside. 

“Oooh. Steve, he’s a good option too.” She smiled, “Kind, loyal, strong, tough, patriotic.” 

“Just listing adjectives now, Tasha?” (Y/N) said the nickname fondly, using her elbow to knock out and break the nose of the HYDRA scum that had been following them. The Black Widow had been so fascinated by (Y/N)'s intuition. (Y/N) was able to sense enemies even years of her training had not been able to master. 

“God, that is so frustrating. How did you hear that guy?” Natasha asked, loading her pistol. 

“You know that saying about magicians and never giving up their secrets?” (Y/N)’s sentence strained between her teeth as she kicked out door of the performance house, revealing a group of HYDRA agents who were in the middle of an intel meeting. 

“I got this.” (Y/N) smirked, springing into action and taking out the agents, giving Nat the clearance to get to the computers and hack into their system, downloading all their secrets onto a hard drive. The agents fell under his fists as if all of their training had been for naught. She was strong, quick, brutal in her style. Just as she had been taught. 

Eight years old. (Y/N) was just eight years old when she had been taken to be experimented on. After being brought back home, she had asked her father to stay at the SHIELD office, so she felt safe. He had agreed, even sleeping outside her bedroom that had been made out of his own office. 

What he didn’t know, however, was that HYDRA had taught her how to be light on her feet. (Y/N) would sneak out in the middle of the night to go to the outside training area. For a while, she would throw knives, only for them to fall to the ground. She tried the sparring dummies, only to be smacked back three times harder by inanimate swinging arms. After doing this for hours, she fell to the ground, broken and alone. (Y/N) just wanted to be able to protect herself. Being poked and prodded by those evil scientists made her feel so weak, she couldn’t even defend herself. But looking at herself... Maybe she would always be weak. 

Wrapping her arms around her scraped knees, she hid her face and cried, not caring that the chill of the night air raised goosebumps on her arms, the bitter chill burning her ears and nose. 

Then suddenly, the moonlight that had been illuminating her was gone, leaving her in total darkness. When she looked up, her blood ran cold. The man in front of her was tall and sturdy looking. One hand clenched in a fist and the other, made entirely of metal, held a gun. He had black paint smeared across his eyes, but even the darkness couldn’t hide how bright his blue eyes were. Blue eyes that were looking into her soul. 

(Y/N)’s breath quickened as tears came to her eyes again. HYDRA must have sent him to kill her, to hide their failed experiments. 

“Stoyat', devushka.” He barked in Russian.

“Please...” She whimpered, “I just want to see my daddy.” She thought of her father, who believed he was protecting his daughter at that moment, who believed she was sleeping away, feeling safe that her father was right outside the door so no one would hurt her. 

The man only stared down at her, grabbing her with a tight grip and pulling her to her feet. She cried, pushing at his fingers, her trembling hands making it almost impossible to get a grip on his gloves. 

“Quiet.” He said gruffly, this time in English. Pressing her lips tightly together, she met the man’s eyes. He huffed at her, bringing her back to the training dummy. 

He released her wrist, positioning her in a fighting stance: “Your feet need to be square with your shoulders. Keep your thumbs out of your fists, that’s how you break them.” He stood behind her, pulling back her fist and positioning it as if she had drawn it back herself. 

“I want you to imagine those doctors that hurt you, use that rage, let it flow through your whole body.” He coached. She listened, thinking of the evil men and how they laughed at her when she cried out for her father, begging them to stop hurting her and the others. The rage she felt was like a white, searing heat that coursed through her veins. 

“Swing.”

All that heat making its way to her fist and transferred to the dummy. The dummy, not having stood a chance, fell back against the concrete. 

Seeing the dummy lying there made her smile for the first time since she had come home, she turned to the stranger. 

“Not bad, kid. But let’s do better.

When the last man fell, she dramatically blew across her knuckles as if they were smoking. 

Natasha rolled her eyes, “Show off.” She grabbed the USB containing the information.

-

After the day’s events, (Y/N) sat in her room. Cleaning and polishing her guns had been a way for her to pass the time, to keep her thoughts occupied. Unfortunately, it made her think about a day that she was trying so hard to get past. 

(Y/N) followed behind Fury, a large blaster in her hands. She wasn’t entirely sure what it did, but it looked powerful. When they got to where Loki’s containment had been breached, her heart sank. Seeing her father slumped against the wall made flashes of her life flash before her eyes. When he took her to the park on Sundays for ice cream, no matter how old she was. Dancing on his shoes at Daddy-Daughter dances. Tears running down his face as she ran into his arms after he had fought off endless HYDRA agents and scientists to get her back. Now here he lay, his suit soaked in his own blood, a line of red coming from his mouth. 

Fury was right besides her as they knelt to the ground in front of him, her eyes burning again with that all too familiar feeling. 

“Dad.” She said, carefully taking his hand in hers, seeing that he had already lost a lot of blood. 

“Hey Jellybean,” He said softly, using the same nickname he had come up with after she had gotten an upset stomach Easter of ‘97, “Just figured out what the blaster does. Pretty cool.” His attempt to calm her down did not hold as much weight as the situation at hand. 

“I’m sorry, boss.” Her father said to Fury, “They got rabbited.” 

Fury only shook his head, “Just stay awake. Eyes on me.” 

Her father swallowed thickly, his breathing becoming more and more labored: “Oh I’m clockin’ out here.” His eyes looked at her, eyes so full of love: “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” 

“Not an option.” Fury said. 

“Dad, come on, just hold out a little bit longer, the medical team is so close.” She hadn’t noticed it but her hands had started shaking. 

“It’s okay.” He whispered, a light chuckle in his voice, “This was never gonna work- if they didn’t have something- to...” His sentence trailed off and Phil Coulson took his last breath. 

“Dad.” With her free hand, she shook his shoulder, “Dad, come on.” Her breathing erratic, she shook his shoulder again, “Dad!” 

“(Y/N)-” Fury put a hand on her shoulder that she shook off. 

“Dad, come on, wake up!” She said through gritted teeth, “Come on, you promised we would go to the park this weekend. Because-because we missed last week because of... of the-the-” The paramedics arrived soon after. Fury took her by the shoulders, pulling her away from her father’s corpse. 

“No! NO!” She screeched, feeling very much like that innocent child again, stolen from her bed, “DADDY!” 

“(Y/N)?” Natasha called, as if she had called once before. Inhaling deeply, she turned to the doorway. The red head was standing in the frame, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion and concern. 

“Hey, what’s going on?” She asked as she got closer, “Are you crying?” 

Not realizing the tears that had fallen, she quickly looked away and wiped her eyes, “Sorry... Just... Thinking about....You know.” 

“Yeah. I know.” She sat on the bed beside her, “So are you gonna tell me about your coach or do I just keep getting gaslighted?” 

Her joke lifted (Y/N)’s spirits a little, “Look, you’re gonna think I’m crazy.” 

“If it makes you feel better, I already thought you were crazy.” She smiled, “You get real funky when you get a couple shots in you.” She shimmed her hips. 

The laughter that bubbled from her throat was genuine, something she needed: “Alright, alright. Fine.” She sighed, “After I was brought back from the HYDRA base, I was trying to get tough, but I just wasn’t strong enough. Right when I gave up a man appeared, I thought he was there to kill me but he taught me how to fight, how to walk silently, how to be what I am today.”

“What’s his name?” She asked. 

“I uh... I don’t know.” She chuckled, “He never told me.” 

“Well, why don’t you ask him?” 

“I don’t really see him too often.” She leaned back on her arms, “Only once every couple of years and he doesn't stay long. Last time I saw him was 2009. I don’t even know what he really looks like. He’s got a mask that covers his nose and mouth. I just know he’s got these piercing blue eyes.” 

 “Piercing? Huh.” Nat thought for a moment, “You know who else has piercing blue eyes?” 

“Don’t say Steve Rogers.” 

“It’s Steve Rogers.” 

“Tasha.” (Y/N) groaned dramatically, falling back on cot.

“TaShA.” She said in a mocking voice, “C’mon, I see the way he looks at you.” 

“I see the way he looks at me too. We’re just friends.”  Was Steve Rogers her childhood idol? Duh. Her father used to joke that she was a bigger Captain America fan than he was - which was definitely not true. Back before he had been taken off ice, when only a handful of people could recall the Captain from their history books, her dad hand made costumes of Captain America for himself and she was Cap’s best friend, Bucky. While dad focused more on the Captain, she had put a little more focus on the Howling Commandos and James Barnes was her favorite. 

After kicking Nat out, she decided to make her way to the kitchen in the safe house they were using. When she got there, she saw Steve sitting at one of the tiny tables with a mug in front of him. If there had been anything hot in it, it wasn’t now. 

“Hey.” He smiled, glancing up from his intense stare at the mug. 

“Hey.” She said, leaning against the fridge after grabbing a bottle of water, “How are you?” 

He leaned back, dragging one of his arms over the back of his seat, “If you would have told me a hundred years later that I would still be dealing with HYDRA.” He paused, “Well, I wouldn’t be surprised, just disappointed.” 

“Right.” She said, “My dad felt the same way. If he were here, he would be right beside us. Taking them out one evil S-O-B at a time.” 

Steve looked up at her, then glanced away, “I never got a chance to sign his cards.” 

Gnawing at her cheek, she took a seat at the table, reaching into her jacket pocket, pulling out the stack of vintage trading cards. She had spent years finding a place that would be able to restore them to their former glory, removing the blood and smell of death. Eventually when all the shops that turned her down, she asked a favor of Stark. With the help of Dr. Banner, they had created a solvent that would clean the cards without destroying the sensitive material. 

She took out a marker, pulling the cap off, “You got a minute now?” 

A smile pulled at his lips, the first one she had seen since this new mission had started, “Yeah. Yeah, I got time.” 

When the cards were signed, fulfilling her father’s last wish, they started talking. Nothing in general, just talking. The man that her father had taught her so much about was in front of her and he was just as glorious as she had imagined. And just as handsome. 

That night she had decided to go on a run while everyone was asleep. There had been too much to think about lately, especially about things she wanted to forget. It was almost the anniversary of when she had been saved from HYDRA and the flashes of her torture there had been popping up randomly in her mind. The doctors pumping her full of adrenaline so she would stay awake for hours, her fear driving her further and further. The painful serums they would test to increase her muscles and abilities. 

Eventually, her legs could push her no further. (Y/N) came to a stop, leaning against a tree for support. Her breathing was heavy, her heart beat loud in her ears. But not loud enough that she didn’t hear the twig snap. Her body became rigid, pulling a knife from its sheath at her hip. Fingers dancing over the handle before gripping tight and swinging behind her. A metal thud caused her to pause, the familiar piercing eyes putting her at ease. 

“Oh, it’s you.” She turned towards him, putting her knife back in its place, “It’s been a while.”

“You were slower than usual.” He was always straight to business. 

“Yeah, sorry, I got a lot on my mind right now.” She sighed, leaning back against the tree, “My friends are in trouble. My father died in my arms. But I guess that shouldn’t get in the way of my training, right?” 

Her teacher stared at her for a while, his expression unreadable. Mostly because it was underneath a mask. 

“But uh, I had a question?” 

His expression changed to his usual one, neutral: “You know how I feel about questions, solntse.” That word, solntse, it was a word he had called her before. She never knew how to spell it to look it up though. 

“I know, I know but... I follow your every order. You say jump, I jump. I just want to know... Your name.” 

He looked at her, then narrowed his eyes in anger. Without another word, he started to stomp off. 

“Wait!” She called, trying to catch up, “I’m sorry. Forget I asked.” He didn’t respond, just kept walking. 

“Please!” She stopped, “When am I going to see you again?” Soon, the man with the metal arm was nothing but a shadow in the dark, not to be seen. Maybe never again. 

-

The next day, the mission had been to get to Jasper Sitwell. Lucky enough, he was right where they wanted him. After leaving a meeting with Senator Stern, Sam Wilson had led Sitwell into a trap. Sam gave (Y/N) and Natasha the coordinates, leading them both out to the roof where Steve had already gotten a hold of Jasper.

“Tell me about Zola’s algorithm.” Steve said down at the man he had just pushed to the ground.

Sitwell recovered, putting his glasses back on and walking backwards: “Never heard of it-”

Steve just continued walking Sitwell to the edge of the roof, “What were you doing on the Lemurian Star?” Talking about the ship their last mission was on, the one she was told to sit out on.

“I was throwing up. I get seasick.” Sitwell excused himself before gasping as the backs of his legs hit the ledge of the building. He spun his arms around as he almost fell, both (Y/N) and Rogers reaching him out and grabbing him by the jacket so he stayed upright.

“Is this little display meant to insinuate that you’re going to throw me off the roof?” He looked between the two agents, “Your father taught you better than to fight an unarmed man.” Her jaw clenched and her grip tightened on his jacket.

“And it’s not your style, Rogers.” Steve hummed and released his grip, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder to release. She complied, unwillingly.

“You’re right.” Steve smoothed out the arms on Sitwell’s suit jacket, “It’s not.”

(Y/N) smiled sweetly, “It’s hers.” Steve and (Y/N) stepped away and Natasha stiff kicked Sitwell over the edge.

After a moment of hearing him scream, Natasha snapped her fingers: “Oh wait, what about that girl from accounting... Laura, Laura...”

“Lillian.” Steve produced the name.

“Lilly Lip Piercing.” (Y/N) said. Her father had taught her how to remember people names with association

“Yeah, she’s cute.” Natasha nudged Steve’s side a little.

‘Yeah,” Steve shoved his hands in his pockets, glancing at (Y/N) quickly, “I’m not ready for that.” He looked away when Sitwell’s screams were heard coming back up with Sam Wilson in his falcon wings. While his glance was quick, it wasn’t quick enough for her keen eyes.

While Sam and Steve escorted Sitwell towards the door, she kept Natasha back. 

“Hey, uh, what does solntse mean?” 

“It means the sun or little sun. It’s a term of endearment in Russian. Its like Sunshine.” She narrowed her eyes, “Why, who called you that?” 

“No one.” She lied, “I just saw it somewhere and was curious.”

-

“HYDRA doesn't like leaks.” Sitwell said from the backseat of the car Sam drove. (Y/N) rode in front of them on a motorcycle to alert if any HYDRA personnel came for Sitwell. Her earpiece made it so she could hear the conversation in the car.

“So why don't you try sticking a cork in it.” Sam snapped back.

“Insight's launching in sixteen hours, we're cutting it a little bit close here.” Tasha pointed out.

“I know. We'll use him to bypass the DNA scans and access the Helicarriers directly.” Steve said.

“What?!” Sitwell protested, “Are you crazy? That is a terrible, terrible idea-” He words were cut off by a scream. (Y/N) looked in the small mirror attached to the windshield and saw a man on top of the car, reaching in and grabbing Sitwell before throwing him into the other lane of oncoming traffic. He then got on top of the car, pointing a pistol downwards, shooting off a few rounds. Suddenly, the car came to a halt, throwing the assailant from the top. Though, the skilled assassin landed on his feet, staring the car down.

(Y/N) made the bike come to a screeching halt, getting off the bike and aiming a pistol at the man. But, for the first time, she hesitated. She knew his frame even from the back.

"You...." Her words were a whisper, but the man -her teacher- seemed to hear her, his head turning back towards her slightly. He had glanced at her out of the corner of his goggles, a spark of recognition.

-----------

You can read part 2 here!

New series! I'm so happy with this version since I had to rewrite it.

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