#tempered glass cut to size

[academyglassandmirror]

Glass cutting services are all about precision and versatility. Discover how getting glass cut to size can make your next project something special.

#glass cutting service #glass cut to size #tempered glass cut to size #custom cut glass

[turtletaubwrites]

Numbers Game ~ Part 5

Numbers Game Masterlist

Pairings: Cross Guild x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1950

Ao3 Link

Summary: You're feeling overwhelmed. So overwhelmed. Mihawk and Crocodile make you an offer you can't refuse.

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Alcohol, Swearing, Angst, Smut, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, Discussion of Sex, Manipulation, Humiliation, Pet Names, Power Imbalance, Cross Guild boys are VILLAINS, Guilt, Possessive Behavior, Teasing, Threats, Size Difference, Reader is at her limit

A/N: I am unwell

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 | ko-fi |

“Let’s take this inside,” Mihawk commanded, setting his empty glass on the little round table. 

He stood, pressing close enough beside you to make you dizzy with his heady cologne. He held out those long fingers, and you managed to take them without getting frozen under his gaze. 

He lifted you easily, even wrapped up in Crocodile’s fur coat, like some heavy, decadent blanket. 

Thankfully the coat covered your thighs, keeping you from rubbing skin against warm skin as he carried you with his chest bared. 

He followed Crocodile through the hallway, the steady beat of their steps blending nicely with the sway you felt in the swordsman’s arms. 

“Hmm, are you feeling tired, pet? Are we working you too hard?”

Jerking in his arms, you cringed as you realized what you’d done. 

You had let your head fall gently as he carried you, resting in the crook of his neck. 

His satisfied laughter vibrated around you, clawing into you.

You’d done everything you could to maintain what tiny bit of distance they allowed you. 

But you were so warm. And he smelled so good. 

He leaned over you as you neared the door, stopping as he breathed down against your temple.

“Maybe you should stop keeping yourself up so late.”

His evil whisper sent blood rushing to your face, and pulsing down to your core, and you couldn’t keep your body from clenching in his arms.

Why is he doing this to me?

“Give her here.”

“We’re almost inside.”

“I don’t care.”

You had your eyes closed as Mihawk sighed, handing you over to Crocodile before heading into the lounge.

At least that’s what you’d decided to call that stupid room.

The scarred man held you, waiting outside the door until you finally opened your eyes and looked up at him. 

You couldn’t imagine him ever looking anything but frightening. His features were so harsh. His temper was hard for you to understand. He hadn’t seemed to care at all when he was threatening your life.

But you didn’t want to find out what would happen if you angered him. 

He smells good too.

You clamped your eyes shut again in frustration, until his rough voice wrapped around you.

“Miss Y/N, are you feeling alright?”

You choked, gaping up at him. 

“I–I…”

“Come, Crocodile. Let’s get our pet another glass of wine, and let her see the surprise.”

Crocodile let out a sigh, his warm breath on the top of your head as you kept yourself rigid. 

I don’t want to be weak.

The thought itself felt pathetic, but you were too overwhelmed to deal with it right now. You kept your eyes closed, deciding to judge yourself later.

He sat you down, and you could feel your golden eyed torturer beside you. 

Crocodile let you keep the coat underneath you, but ran his large hand over your calves and the tops of your feet as he set you down. 

Mihawk hummed, somehow making that tiny sound seem judgemental. 

“Take it.”

You opened your eyes just enough to see your lap, and Mihawk’s nimble fingers offering you a glass of wine. 

You took it, letting out a heavy breath as you took a sip, deciding you wanted to keep your eyes closed forever. 

Crocodile settled on your other side, stretching his arm across the back of the couch. 

His arm around your shoulder made you sit straight up, your eyes finally opening, and you jolted. 

“Bu–”

You cut yourself off this time, swallowing his name. But you had fallen forward in your seat, the wine sloshing in your glass. 

Mihawk grabbed it instantly, as if spilling a single drop would be a crime. 

Crocodile’s hand touched your shoulder gently, but firmly, pushing you back into the couch. 

Buggy.

He was right there. Sitting in an actual chair instead of slumped against the wall. 

The chair matched the couch, and he was close enough to prop his feet on the coffee table. 

He was so close. 

His crystal blue eyes searched yours, his face still covered in various shades of bruising, and faded paint. 

But he was up. He wasn’t covered in blood. He even gave you a small, albeit strained smile. 

“Our figurehead has earned the privilege of walking around and pretending to be important again,” Mihawk drawled, swirling your wine as he still held your glass.

“For now,” Crocodile huffed, his thumb rubbing along the back of your neck. 

Buggy’s eyes flicked down to that large hand on your body, before shaking himself and putting on a smile. 

“Come on, Crocodile! I work for you now, remember? Whatever you need, baby!”

Mihawk handed you the glass again, fingers grazing against yours too long, while Crocodile squeezed your shoulder gently.

Buggy seemed to look everywhere but you now. 

“You’re gonna stay in line,” Crocodile growled, leaning forward, gesturing at Buggy with his hook.

“And you’re not gonna try to leave or call for help, or pull any more of your bullshit.”

Crocodile’s voice only got darker, rage in his words that made you hold your breath. 

“Of c-course! Whatever you say, boss!”

Mihawk scoffed, then you felt his gaze shift to you. You met those amber eyes, and he touched your chin.

He spoke to Buggy, but kept his eyes, and his fingers, on you.

“Miss Y/N is one of our most valuable assets. We are allowing her to use her talents instead of wasting them as you did.”

You didn’t dare take your eyes off of Mihawk to look at Buggy. 

Those fingers pressed into your jaw, just a bit, before he continued.

“Since she is so valuable, we are making it a priority to protect her. This means that no one may touch her without our permission.”

Crocodile ran his thumb over your neck again before cutting in. 

“We live in a dangerous world, numbers girl. Stick with us, and we’ll keep you safe, alright?”

“Alright,” you choked out, agreeing to their threat. 

“Good girl,” Mihawk purred, finally releasing you to turn your head. To look at Buggy. 

He kept a pained smile on his face, and it made you ache.

So many mistakes led us here.

“You do understand our meaning, don’t you,” Mihawk drawled.

“M-Meaning,” he stuttered, shifting wide eyes to the swordsman. 

Crocodile’s hook slammed on the coffee table, Mihawk sighing as he saved your glass of wine again.

“It means you don’t fucking touch her, clown.”

You couldn’t help the stinging tears now, but you wiped them away as fast as you could, your fingers shaking. 

“Please…” your voice was small, and you hadn’t meant to speak. 

“Don’t beg for him, sweetheart,” Crocodile’s voice came out almost soothing, as if there were any way you could feel comforted right now. 

“He got you into this mess. But I promise you,” he said softly, touching your cheek with the back of his cold hook to turn you toward him. “Just keep being good for us, and you’ll have it all, sweetheart.”

He smiled. He smiled at you. 

They’re crazy. I’m crazy.

The weight on the couch shifted behind you, until you felt Mihawk’s breath along the back of your neck. He traced his fingers along your arm as he left deep, raspy taunts in your ear. 

“Isn’t this what you wanted, little rabbit? You wanted freedom from a boring life? Adventure? But you keep fighting it, don’t you? I wonder–”

“Give it a rest. You’re the one that keeps spooking her.”

You shivered between them, still wrapped up in their voices, under their light touches. 

Mihawk sat back, a low chuckle aimed at Crocodile this time. 

“Can’t you smell her? Our little rabbit is a little vixen, aren’t you?”

Smell me?

“You know, I thought the world’s greatest swordsman was supposed to be cool headed, intelligent. If I’d known you only think with your dick, I would have–”

Your breath hitched, eyes wide as you tried to stop existing. 

“You act as if you haven’t been taking liberties yourself, Sand Man. You know Miss Y/N has been aching for us to take her since we made her ours. Isn’t that right, pet?”

Mihawk pulled you gently so you were facing forward again. 

Facing Buggy. 

“You’ve been such a good girl for us,” he purred, stroking your hair out of your face. “I think you deserve to get what you’ve been craving.”

He shifted to look at Crocodile, tapping his fingers impatiently on your knee. 

“You did promise that we’d take care of our pet, hm?”

Crocodile shifted, letting out a deep breath before responding. 

“I did promise that.” 

His voice came out deep as he squeezed your shoulder again. 

“You say the word when you’re ready, sweet girl. We’ll make you feel so good.”

Your body was humming, their gentle fingers and dangerous promises making you soak through your panties. You’d probably made a mess on Crocodile’s coat.

Your eyes were fluttering as you tried to control yourself.

And there was Buggy. 

He was so close. He was watching their hands on you. He was watching you react like this, almost moaning, skin flushed as you felt dizzy from your need to say ‘yes.’

“Mm, there’s the trouble,” Mihawk mused, taking a sip of wine before taking and massaging your hand. 

“Our little rabbit is too sweet. Or too guilty. You don’t want to hurt this pathetic clown.”

You let out a tiny whimper, closing your eyes. 

“Is that it, sweetheart,” Crocodile asked, his voice smooth, drawing you in. “You know he treated you like crap. Almost got you killed because he’s a fucking idiot. You don’t owe him a thing.”

“Don’t let him,” Mihawk purred in your ear, like a devil on your shoulder. “Don’t let him hold you back from what you want. Don’t let him hold you back from pleasure.”

You were rocking slightly, focusing on your breathing. 

Focusing on not opening your legs, and begging them to fuck you. 

“It’s alright, sweet girl,” Crocodile comforted again. “You know we’ll–”

“If he wasn’t in the room would you say yes? Do you feel bad for him?”

You met Buggy’s gaze, saw the sweat dripping down his face, his fists clenched on his knees. 

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. You felt electric, body on fire with need. 

I would. I would say yes. Fuck.

“Let’s fix that,” Mihawk cleared his throat, lazily gesturing with his hand as his elbow rested on the armrest. 

“Clown. You know that Miss Y/N is ours now. You know that she wants to be ours. If not tonight, then someday soon, she will let herself have what she craves. Do you know this?”

Buggy stopped looking at you, and you saw his lip twitch in a snarl. But he answered.

“Yes.”

Your stomach clenched, guilt rising again. Crocodile gave a low chuckle. 

“So, when that happens, because it will happen,” Mihawk promised. And you couldn’t argue. You couldn’t take anymore of this. You’d go insane.

“When that happens, would you rather shove your fingers in your ears as her screams echo through the halls?”

You held in a whimper, Mihawk’s voice making your head spin.

“Or would you rather sit and watch while we fuck her into oblivion?”

Finally crying out, your head fell back for a moment, the desperate ache in your core almost painful now.

Buggy closed his eyes, the silence lasting too long for the men on the couch. 

“Decide,” Crocodile growled, “or we’ll decide for you.”

Buggy’s voice came out low, too quiet to hear. 

“Speak up, clown,” Crocodile threatened again.

Buggy met your eyes, his mouth hanging open with his ragged breaths. 

“I’d rather watch.”

Likes and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!

a/n: The brainrot is real. Send help

Tag List: @shewrites02 | @caniseethefourthsword | @hey-august | @chaoticqueen33 | @destinationmars | @novakitten0901 | @h0n3y-l3m0n05 | @dorky-birdie

Part 6

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 | ko-fi |

#cross guild x reader #buggy x reader #mihawk x reader #crocodile x reader #reader Insert #fem!reader #one piece x reader #x reader #turtletaub fics #mine #one piece fanfic #buggy fanfiction #sir crocodile x reader #dracule mihawk x reader #smut #one piece smut #mihawk smut #sir crocodile smut #buggy smut

[baohanhanesel]

Valeria Garza x Reader Vargas

You, Alejandro's sister, are in a party, hoping to stay out of your brother's sight. Because gods above know if you get caught in a party, you won't hear the last of it.

You usually don't prefer involving in such social events, you are more of a loner than a social butterfly. You are a nervous wreck inside that reserved exterior. Your brother has always been the party guy.

Alejandro was more social, easier to get along with despite his temper. You were more of the silent sibling. An introvert who just wanted to try something new!!

When you first set foot in the loud club, you were a bit hesitant. The sight of confident people who had a few drinks in already made you nauseous. Maybe this wasn't the brightest idea you had... But you were positive you needed to socialize a little. And what better way to do it other than attending a party? You squeezed yourself through the doors and finally landed yourself by the barstools. You sat down, and started to look around. So this was what Alejandro has been so enthusiastic about. Honestly, you did see the appeal. Pretty people despite the loud itchy music, you could see yourself coming here again.

In thirty minutes, you finally managed to buy yourself a cocktail. It wasn't anything fancy, it was a virgin cocktail. Helping yourself to alcohol in a new environment wouldn't be very wise of you, so you just took generous sips of your sweet drink. Watching the confident dancing figures in the middle of the dance floor, you were jealous of that amount of confidence and skill. Your eyes wandered on various figures, trying to take in the environment and get used to the feeling.

"Can I sit with you, pretty thing?"

You downright jumped in your seat, eyes meeting the source of the velvety voice who just spoke. You blinked once, twice. You didn't expect anyone else to approach you.

"Oh, uhm. Of course. Not waiting on anyone." You smiled awkwardly, was it necessary that you mentioned you weren't waiting for anyone? Well... It was late to change that now.

"Drinking by yourself? Would you mind if I join?"

The woman was boosting with confidence, and you liked that. You nodded, offering her your most genuine smile despite the embarrassment crawling on your face. Bright red cheeks making their appearance.

"No, not at all. I'd be delighted."

The woman orders herself a glass of tequila after settling down next to you, eyeing you up and down and sizing you up. Suddenly you feel more like a prey than anything. Was it smart to just accept an invitation from a stranger for a drink? It was too late for that as well!!

"Names Valeria." The woman smiles, leaning down on the bar counter and taking a sip from her drink.

You can't help but find the sight very alluring. Valeria is beautiful.

"Oh," you chuckle, and then introduce yourself as well. You tell your name, not sharing your surname for the balance.

"Like your dress, chiquita. You sure you aren't here with anyone?"

"Thank you." You take a breath. This woman doesn't have any friendly intentions, you can notice. You should probably cut this interaction short. You are not even a lesbian. "I just wanted to enjoy the environment." You add after, taking bigger sips from your sweet drink and seeing the end of it.

"Let me help with it? That's a virgin cocktail, yeah?"

"yeah." You blink. What is happening.

Valeria turns to the bartender and orders you a drink. The drink you got in thirty minutes comes in front of her within a minute or two. Seems you wouldn't be going home very soon.

Laughter erupts from your seat, you can't help but engage in more conversations with Valeria. Valeria is a smart woman, and she is so charming with her words as well. She knows exactly what to tell you.

"You are such a darling," You keep on laughing, in your fourth drink. "But that's really enough for me. Thank you for your company, Valeria."

Valeria is all about smiles, she's been getting closer to you during the night. Each drink, she would come closer to you and offer her arm around your back.

"Thank you too, I would be bored out of my head without you," Seems Valeria was having a good time too. "Even so, I really want to have a repeat to this. Can I get your number?"

You stop. Everything freezes. Shit. You shouldn't have stayed this long, how are you supposed to get out of this situation? This beautiful woman is just so smart, thoughtful, and charming. How can you let her down. You are not even a lesbian. You shouldn't have let yourself engage with Valeria. Now you have to let her down. But how could you?

All you can do is nod.

Valeria gets her phone out, and then slides it on the table in front of you.

You look down at the digits and dial your number in her phone.

"Would it be okay if I called you same time next week?" Valeria's confident words carry you out of your damn mind. You should probably give her the wrong number. But no, that's so rude. Does it even matter if you are rude to a stranger, you can't decide that either. You are too nervous to make a quick decision. It is best you get out of here quickly without further steps into... whatever this is.

You eventually add yourself into Valeria's contacts with your name and surname. She did say she was a busy woman during your second drink, so she surely knows more people with your name. You don't want to confuse her.... Why don't you want her to confuse you with someone else, you'll think about it later.

"Sounds lovely." You say instead, making Valeria smirk wider. Gods, you wish you were at least drunk because there is no justifying your thoughts about Valeria.

When Valeria glances down at her phone, she sees your name.

"Vargas." Valeria stops, then starts to laugh. That laugh doesn't sound like the previous sweeter ones. This one is more of a joyful, amused, and maybe even mocking laugh. "See you next week." She says instead.

While you walk home, all you can think about is her. Valeria is such a beautiful and charming woman. Her confident and naturally leading personality makes you want to kick a wall. You exhale, hoping to hear from Valeria... Why? It brings you only more anxiety to think about what should come after. You should probably let her down in your next meeting... That if you will ever have one.

Well, you can definitely think about the attractive woman later... For now you should sneak into your house without letting your military trained brother notice. You don't give even the slight chance that Alejandro won't notice, but you'll try your chances.

"Where were you." Comes the loud voice of Alejandro, while you sit in your phyjamas on the kitchen counter. At least he fed you before starting the questioning.

"In a party."

To your answer, Alejandro grins. After a moment of silence, he notices you were not joking.

"Wait, seriously?"

You nod in response, stuffing your mouth with the leftover dinner.

Alejandro takes a moment longer to register what you just said, then his annoying smirk gets wider. Teasing, even. You know what is coming next. You hope he doesn't voice it out loud.

"Met anyone? At least text me if you want to spend the night in a hotel."

You roll your eyes, but then your mind wanders somewhere else despite the empty teasing of your brother. You... And Valeria could have ended up in a hotel. You quickly scratch that idea, cheeks flushing red with humiliation. You really wish you were drunk, at least you'd have a reason to think such obscene things then.

"Yes actually."

"You keep surprising me," Alejandro calls your name, nudging you to spill. "What's the name."

You have nothing to hide. And besides, if you give the woman's name he will stop teasing you and understand you just made a female friend. No male danger in sight. So you shrug.

"Valeria."

You did expect your brother's smile to fade, but you didn't expect it to fade this fast.

"Excuse me?!" Comes the loud voice of the guy in front of you, his eyes spoke louder somehow... He was pissed.

#call of duty #cod #cod modern warfare #valeria x reader #valeria mw2 #valeria cod #valeria garza #alejandro cod #alejandro vargas #alejandro mw2 #brother Alejandro #reader has a gay awakening

[strlingsav]

Interrogation

– Simon Ghost Riley x F!reader

— You're captured by 141.

Warnings: Knife play, size kink, bondage, spit play. Explicit sexual content under the cut.

Your hands tugged against the rope, itching against your naked wrists. Your hands were tied firmly to the arms of a chair. You couldn't see anything, but the small twinkles of light through the knitting of the bag over your head.

You could feel your breath fanning back against your face, chest rising and falling quickly. Your ankles were bound to the legs of the chair, and you shifted uncomfortably. You'd lost track of how long you'd been sitting- your tailbone starting to ache.

You were sure your wrists were raw as you fought your restraints. Still feeling the heavy weight of your vest, you wondered if your captors had forgotten to confiscate your radio. Shifting your jaw, you moved your head to see if you could find it.

A flicker of hope ignited in you when your jaw hit the antenna. Now, it was just a matter of turning it on. You weren't sure your reinforcements would be able to track your location. Being able to communicate with them would be much easier.

You stuck your jaw out again, trying desperately to turn on the right channel- the odds were not in your favour.

Suddenly, a loud clang sounded before you, squeaking of rusted metal, blinding light making you squint, even through the bag.

You heard boots- a lot of them, and suddenly the bag was lifted. You shifted again, letting your eyes adjust to the light, before the door was shut with a loud bang.

The only source of light now, was a single bulb that hung from the ceiling of what appeared to be a shipping container.

You looked around; six, armed men staring back at you. Your heart began to pound. They were well equipped, not shy about their heavy weaponry.

"You're the one they call Y/N?" A Hispanic accent sounded from beside you.

You turned your head, eyes focusing on the tall soldier. You didn't respond, eyes staring him down before he nodded.

"Thought you would decline to speak, hermosa," He said, taking a few steps toward you.

He glanced back at his colleagues, then made eye contact with you.

"You aren't really in a position to deny our help," He enunciated, glancing to your binds.

You still remained quiet, eyes shifting from his to stare at the metal wall behind him. There was nothing but silence, aside from quiet breaths and your heartbeat in your ears. The container creaked when any weight shifted, the soldiers before you antsy to get their answers.

Though you were restrained, you held all the power. The knowledge they were looking for.

"Habla, carajo!" He shouted, his face in yours.

You could see the anger in his eyes; brows furrowed, eyes like glass. Sweat leaked from his pores, dirt settled in the crevices of his skin, lips chapped with the heat.

Your lip twitched, trying your best to control your temper.

"Alejandro," Another man said, gripping his shoulder and pulling him back. Alejandro shook the hand off his arm, pacing for a moment.

Alejandro lifted a hand to his beard, rubbing his palm against the scruff. You heard their quiet whispers, speaking amongst themselves while calculating their next move. You watched it unravel, your gut twisted in knots.

Finally, he turned back to you, having collected himself.

"So be it," He shrugged. "I'll leave you with my hermanos. Soap, Ghost," He said, head nodding in your direction.

Four of the six men exited the shipping container, leaving you with the men you deemed to be Soap and Ghost. Your breathing was a bit shakier now, but you knew you needed to remain calm- unaffected.

You pursed your lips as you exhaled a soft breath, leaning back against the chair. You couldn't reveal Hassan's location; a mantra you repeated in your head.

"Tell us where Hassan is," The man with the Mohawk spoke. A Scottish accent accompanied his words, causing your ears to twitch.

You lifted your chin, tilting your head ever so slightly. He huffed when you stayed silent, letting your fingers tap rhythmically across the arms of the chair.

"We can protect you if things go South, but if you don't speak now, there's no tellin' what he'll do to you," The Scot said, shifting his eyes to the taller, broader man.

The other man, who also decided to stay quiet, was leant against the wall, arms crossed over his utility vest. He wore a mask- a white skull. One foot jutted out to stop him from sliding, his gaze burned holes in your face. You could barely see his eyes from your position, the single bulb offered minimal light.

Your eyes were glued to his frame, finding yourself drawn to his calm, quiet demeanour.

"I'll take my chances," You spoke finally.

The Scot nodded, lifting his arms in a defeated manner.

"Right then- all yours, Ghost," He said, gripping his rifle as he exited the shipping container.

The door slammed behind him, but Ghost stayed put. His eyes didn't budge. He was raking over your body, trying to figure you out- gears were turning in his head.

He kicked off the wall, sauntering toward you, knife unsheathed. The blade touched your throat, and you swallowed. Your heart began to race, looking up into his eyes as he leaned down. He was massive- a mountain of a man. You hated to admit it, but his size intimidated you.

"Speak, now," He ordered. You furrowed your eyebrows.

"Your methods aren't very motivating," You said, eyes locked with his.

He hummed in response, the blade digging into your flesh.

"You're not very cooperative," He

"I can be, just not for you or your men," You shot back.

"Suppose you wouldn't be- Hassan pays well."

Your lips pressed together, staring into the black abyss of a man before you.

"This is futile," You said. "You're wasting your time."

"Not surprised you'd say that," He added a bit more pressure to the blade against your neck. "You're talkin' an awful lot now though, ain't you?"

"I have plenty to say- but it won't be what you're looking for. Pain isn't very convincing," Your eyes shifted from his vest to his gaze.

It was like a switch had been flipped, his head cocked every so slightly, like he'd made a sudden discovery.

He pulled the knife away, leaving a nick across your skin. You sucked in a breath through your teeth, arms straining against the rope.

"I can be very convincing," He replied. "Just takes the right touch."

You tilted your head. "What is the right touch, Ghost?" You leaned forward, lips parting as you finished his name.

Your eyes fluttered to his hands as he sheathed his knife and pulled his gloves off. Long, thick fingers, decorated with strong veins that pulsed down the back of his hand. You swallowed.

He leaned closer, hand now gripping your thigh. You tried not to focus on the way it felt- the way his biceps and hands looked. Your eyes travelled up, spotting an assortment of tattoos. You could feel saliva pool in your mouth, womb burning with a sudden desire. You wanted to give your head a shake- he was the enemy. He was going to torture you.

He could nearly squeeze your entire leg in one hand- it made your stomach drop. You dragged your eyes from his place on your leg, to find his eyes. Dark brown- nearly black.

"Only good girls get to find out, sweetheart," He said, eyes unmoving.

Your blood felt like it had run cold, the only warmth settling between your thighs. Your pussy clenched as he called you sweetheart. You wanted to cross your legs, find some sort of relief. Your eyes scoured up and down his tall frame, taking in the thickness of his thighs, the way he shifted his weight and his broad shoulders swayed. You hated the way you'd fall to your knees for him, if he asked. But there was no way in hell you'd deliver him to Hassan.

"I haven't been a good girl?" You raised a brow, nearly scoffing.

"Not in the slightest- otherwise, you'd tell me where I can find Hassan."

"I think Hassan would take issue with me disclosing his whereabouts. He's a very private person."

"That's too bad. I can tell you're wet already- was looking forward to feelin' it myself," Ghost said, standing before you. His hand reached out, the faint touch of his fingertips trailing up your clothed thigh, resting his fingers just above your pussy.

The unexpected turn from pressing a knife to your throat to his fingers ghosting your groin nearly had you speechless.

Deciding to call his bluff, you played into his new method of torture.

"You still can," You answered, thighs spreading.

You were reminded of your restraints, ankles stopped from moving any further. He removed his hand.

"Ah- then how would I get what I need?" He asked, head tilting.

"You'll get what you need. And more," You said, face stoic as you gauged his reaction.

He came closer, squatting down before you. He was nearly the same height as you now. Your lips just barely curled into a smirk, watching him 'tsk' as he shook his head.

"Now you're just bein' cheeky," He said. "Won't get you anywhere, sweetheart."

His hand reached out to your ankle, warmth radiating through his hand. He dragged his hand up your calf, inner thigh, letting his palm cup your pussy. You held back a gasp- he clearly wasn't bluffing. Your cheeks burned red, body festering with heat. You shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to feel about the foreign territory you'd just entered.

He tucked his fingers in a bit, seam of your pants hitting your clit. You fought the urge to let out a deep sigh. Your body was so touch starved, you couldn't remember the last time a man made you orgasm. You sucked in a deep breath through your nose, determined to push past the facade of sexual gratification he'd created.

"Sure seems like it is," You said, a bit less confident now.

"Feels good now, doesn't it?" He said quietly. He leaned forward. "'Til I ruin you. Break you in half."

"That sounds quite enticing," You sighed, trying to maintain your cold exterior.

"I'm sure it does- you ain't a good girl."

You could feel the wetness drip from your pussy, you were sure it was nearly soaking the seat of your combat pants. Thank God for camo.

"Humour me," You spat.

"I'm afraid that's a negative," He sighed. "Looks like I'll be havin' to resort to other methods."

He gripped your vest, pulling it open on your chest, tugging it up and off your body. You gasped, his hands not quite finished as they ripped your button-up open. You couldn't help but clench your teeth.

He watched your breasts spill over your bra with every breath, chest expanding rapidly. You clenched your jaw even harder, chewing at your cheek.

"Knew you weren't a good girl," He whispered. "You get off on bein' manhandled?" He asked.

You bit down on your cheek, sure you'd drawn blood, eyes half-open as you contained yourself.

His knife made another appearance, the tip landing on your neck, softly tracing its way down to your right breast, gently prodding at the tissue. Your deep, rapid breaths pushed the skin of your breast into the knife, and the small sting made you lift your chin. Ghost stuck the blade beneath the fabric of your bra, ripping it with ease. He discarded it in the dark recesses of the container.

You groaned softly, hands balled into fists as your fingernails dug into your palms. You shut your eyes, nostrils flaring.

"Suppose you'll need to learn to be a good girl," He said, his hand reaching out to fondle your breasts.

Your head fell back again, neck exposed as you tried to fight how good it felt- how badly you needed him. His fingertips grazed over your nipples, erect in the cold of the room.

You were tired. Physically, your back was aching from your seated position, body taken a beating from every mission you'd been on in the last month.

Mentally, you needed sleep. You hadn't felt good in a long time. You needed a release, a hiatus from thinking and acting. Your head fell, eyes darting from the floor to his boots. Exhaustion having taken its toll, you no longer had the willpower to resist. So you gave in, and dove headfirst into the dark abyss.

"Teach me," You whispered, eyes meeting with his.

He nearly chuckled, hands still cupping your breasts. He offered a quick pinch of your nipples, making you suck in a harsh breath.

"Receptive," He drawled. "Maybe we can make somethin' of you yet."

You nodded, body tense against your restraints as he let his fingers trail down your stomach. He yanked your belt from the loops of your pants, and would've pulled you out of the chair had it not been for the ropes tying you down.

Letting it clank to the floor, he pulled open your pants, yanking them off your thighs. They pooled around your ankles, leaving you overexposed in the dim room.

He stepped back, looking over your form- breasts exposed, blouse hanging off your shoulders. Your black panties clung to your pussy, wetness leaking through the cotton.

"You look good, sweetheart. I'm sure my men would love a look at a sweet lil' thing like you," He quipped, leaning forward to speak directly into your ear. "They ain't had pussy in ages. Would you let 'em use you?"

Your eyes opened in shock. Your cheeks flushed, the imagery sent even more warmth to your clit, tilting your hips as you grew uncomfortable with the ache between your thighs.

"You like that?" He asked, exhaling a breath of disbelief.

You couldn't help but nod, body betraying you.

"Use your words," He said suddenly, a hand coming forward to grip your cheeks. His hand squished the apples of your cheeks, puckering your lips.

"Yes," You breathed out.

"Yes what?" He replied.

"Sir," You answered. "Yes, Sir."

He left a soft slap on your cheek, nodding.

"You're learnin'," He nodded. "Won't be long now."

You breathed deeply as he rid himself of the vest, the mask covering his balaclava. Even in his shirt, you could tell he had toned muscles. Your pussy fluttered.

"Could do this all night," He said aloud, sauntering toward you, before circling you like prey.

You stared straight forward, not daring to look back at him, waiting with anticipation as he stood behind you. His hands made contact with your neck first, sliding down slowly, resting on your breast. Your breathing picked up, body jolting when he pinched your nipple. He continued his endeavour, running down to your panties. He groaned when he made contact, wetness seeping through.

"Christ," He muttered. "Wet already?" He scoffed. "I knew it."

His fingers dug into your pussy, circling your clit. You went to lift your hands up, when they were stopped by the rope, and you groaned in frustration.

"You just sit back, sweetheart. Lesson's only just startin'."

You let out a shaky breath, writhing beneath his touch. His fingers were talented, the friction of your panties on your clit had you moaning aloud. Your breath hitched in your throat, grinding your hips against his hand. You felt a slap against your pussy, gasping softly. Your thighs shut around his hand.

"Don't move," He warned, eyes stern as he looked at you.

You nodded.

He cocked his head, expectantly staring at you.

"Yes, Sir."

"Better," He mumbled.

He continued his torture, and you fought every instinct to ride his fingers. Your moans escaped without shame, body quivering under his touch. He rubbed a bit harder now, watching you with hungry eyes as you threw your head back.

Your stomach tensed, climax teetering back and forth as he circled your clit, hard and fast. Just when he felt your thighs clench, he removed his hand. Your orgasm died, pussy practically vibrating. You groaned, frustration settling in your chest.

"Only good girls get to cum, sweetheart."

You opened your mouth to protest, your furrowed brows conveying your anger.

"That's- I was-"

"Shut the fuck up before I find another use for that mouth," He scolded you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your body revealing the flame of desire that lit up your womb.

"Just- please, I need-"

"You're just beggin' for me to fill your mouth," He scoffed, standing off to the side as you jumped against your restraints. "You wanna suck this cock?"

You stopped, eyes slowly lifting to meet his.

"Not sure I'll let you, that filthy mouth's been runnin' this whole time. Not sure you've quite learned your lesson."

"Please," You whined. Your eyes widened, brows drawing together as you pleaded with him. "Please, Sir."

"You sound so sweet," He drawled. "Ask me nicely."

His hands moved to his belt, pulling the leather from the clasp, metal colliding as it fell against his pants.

"Please, Sir, let me suck your cock," Your cheeks were flushed, mostly with desire, but the humiliation of begging to taste him added to it.

"There's a good girl," He stepped closer, pulling his cock from his briefs.

It was large, bigger than the outline you'd managed to see in his pants. Your eyes must've widened.

"Open your mouth."

As he neared, you smelled gasoline and gunpowder. A tinge of sweat, just enough to make your mouth water. It only reminded you he was a man's man, tough and seasoned with war-primal- and your pussy jumped.

You did as he said, letting your tongue rest on your bottom teeth as he slid his cock in your mouth. You groaned as he pushed all the way back, hitting your uvula, then receded. You gagged, sucking in a gasp of air.

"Fuck," He grunted. "Mouth is much better like this."

You didn't speak, eyes poring into his as his hands gripped the ponytail you wore. He held you still, his hips thrusting quickly in your mouth. Even through multiple gags, he did relent, growls bubbling front the back of his throat. He pulled out and you sucked in a deep breath, saliva trailing from his tip, connecting to your mouth.

He didn't wait long, stuffing himself between your lips, relentlessly pushing his cock further down your throat. Your eyes watered, throat and nose burning.

He paused, waiting for you to put in the work instead. You breathed through your nose, heart racing at the rush of oxygen. Your tongue licked the underside of him, cheeks hollowing as you suctioned your lips around him. You sucked harshly, moving your head to try and take his whole length.

"Atta girl," He said, jutting his hips forward. His hands clasped together behind his back.

You looked up at him again, watching his head gently sway, sucking in a breath every so often. Your throat closed around the head of his cock, squeezing gently. He grunted in response.

"So pretty like this," He said.

His hand reached down, gripping your cheeks.

"You're pretty, ain't you sweetheart? Mouth full of my cock," He shook your jaw back and forth, hand leaving a soft slap against your cheek.

You moaned on his cock, thighs rubbing together as the saliva dripped from your lips, the vulgar sounds of spit echoing around you.

"Enough o' that," He said, pulling his cock from your mouth. "Time to talk."

He zipped his pants back up, moving between your thighs. He stuck one finger between your pussy and your panties, yanking up harshly. Your pussy swallowed the cotton, and you let out a gasp as he tugged it against your clit.

His blade ripped through the soft fabric. He left your panties under you, moving back behind you. He didn't take his time, and instead he let his fingers drop to your clit.

You moaned, finally finding relief as his fingers worked your sensitive bud. You remembered to stay still, panting every so slightly as he took your clit between two fingers and tugged.

He dipped even further, two fingers sliding inside you with ease. Your mouth dropped, pussy clenching around him as he drove them even further in.

"You're just drippin'," He groaned.

You could hardly focus, the callouses of his fingers adding more stimulation to your insides when he began to curl them against the rough patch in you. His lips were beside your ear now, leaning down, speaking in a level tone.

"You're doin' yourself a disservice, sweetheart. Best to let us handle Hassan from here."

He gripped your ponytail with his other hand, tugging your head back to look at him. Your mouth gaped, plump lips teasing him.

"Let me cum, I'll tell you whatever you want," You gasped, mouth glistening with spit.

His thumb began to rub against your clit, and you whimpered softly, body jerking as you neared your climax.

"You've been listenin'," He sounded impressed. "I expect you'll be singin' my praises in no time."

You prayed he'd let you finish this time- you'd done well enough to deserve it. You whined on his fingers, panting as he kept your neck at the uncomfortable angle. Your lips stayed parted, looking up at him with desperation.

He broke his grasp, lifting the balaclava enough to expose his lips and nose.

"Open," He commanded. "Wider."

You opened your mouth wider, breathing heavily. He let a string of spit fall from his mouth, dripping into yours. Your tongue swirled it around your mouth, the burn in your womb beginning to spread to your clit.

"Swallow," He said.

You did as he asked, and he groaned.

"Good girl," He whispered, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. "Go on, cum on my fingers."

You exhaled loudly, relief flooding through you as you clenched down on his fingers, body shaking until you bared down, unintentionally squirting over his palm.

He groaned, the warm liquid flooding his fingers, adding to the creamy sounds of your pussy that rung in his ears. He could've cum right then and there.

"Fuckin' hell," He grunted, allowing you to catch your breath, releasing your head.

He pulled his fingers from your core, they were drenched. A white ring around his knuckles, glistening in the light, a web formed between his fingers.

You were sure you were flushed all over, heart racing, cheeks reddened.

"Anything to tell me?" He asked.

You stayed quiet, eyes narrowed as you tried to recover.

"I don't mind fuckin' it out of you," He spat. "Bet you'd like that wouldn't you? Think you can handle this cock?" He asked, unzipping his pants.

"Yes Sir," You said quickly, leaning forward in your seat.

"Make a move, I'll have to further restrain you," He warned.

At that point, your instinct was not to run. You wanted to obey, feel the pleasures he had to offer.

He cut the ropes on your ankles, and one wrist.

"Get up," he ordered. You listened. "Up," He said. "On your knees."

You did the best you could, lifting your knees to the seat of the chair, which was slippery with your cum and sweat.

His palm slapped against your ass, and you gasped as the sting radiated through your body.

"Head down," His hand gripped your neck, pressing you down to the arm of the chair where your wrist was still bound.

You heard his pants come down further, and peeked over your shoulder to see his cock, hard. He ran his hand up and down his length, and you felt the nudge of his tip against your pussy. You shut your eyes, relishing in the chills of anticipation. Your ankles crossed, arching your back for him.

He pushed himself inside, bottoming out in one fell swoop. You heard him moan from behind you. He listened to the sounds of your wet pussy, hugging his cock like it was made for him.

"God," You moaned, fingers gripping the chair with white knuckles.

"He ain't here sweetheart," Ghost muttered. "You wanna call for someone, say my name."

You nodded, "Yes Sir."

You screwed your eyes shut, as Ghost picked up his speed. Cock thrusting into you as his hips hit your ass. His hands came down to grip your waist, using it as leverage to go deeper.

"This pussy is tight," He groaned, hunching over your body. "I might just break you in half," He said.

"Please," You whispered.

The chair rocked with Ghost's thrusts, but his grip kept you steady. You weren't concerned about falling, only focused on the impending climax.

His hand moved to grip your throat, lifting you to his chest while he thrusted into you. He stepped his left leg up, camo-print-covered thigh tucked against your own, and a muddy combat boot resting right beside your calf as he had you flush with his body. You let out a harsh groan as he now had even better access to your core, thrusting with ease.

"Play with your pussy," He ordered.

You let your free hand roam down, running over your clit while his cock scraped against the soft lining of your insides. You moaned even louder, body shaking in his grip. The hand around your throat squeezed, your moans becoming breathier as you gasped for air. He'd allow you a moment of relief, before squeezing down again. Your pussy clenched, contracting around his cock as your orgasm drew near.

His hands were everywhere- your throat, waist, and breasts. He took note of your pussy squeezing him, lifting the flesh of your ass to dig deeper inside you. You let your head fall back to his shoulder, lips parting with your rapid breaths.

"You wanna cum on this cock, sweetheart?" He asked.

"Y-yes Sir," You cried.

"Where's Hassan?" He asked, low and rough in your ear.

You stifled a sob, head falling to his shoulder. He slapped your hand out of the way, letting his fingers dig into your clit.

"Tell me, sweetheart. I'll keep this pretty face safe," He grunted.

Your mind was going a mile a minute. He could've easily tortured you- painfully, of course. He could've killed you. Yet, he was offering a safe place, shelter from Hassan. You were a bit skeptical, having been burned before, but he hadn't done anything untrustworthy while you were restrained.

You wondered if Hassan would show you the same mercy, knowing you'd just been captured. He didn't like his soldiers caught up in the middle- he eliminated any loose ends. You were a foot soldier; disposable. You knew your best shot at survival was to give in. Tell Ghost where he'd gone. You trusted that he'd keep you safe.

"Chicago," You cried. "He left, he's in Chicago."

"Good girl," He groaned again. "Pussy is so wet," He breathed, stirring your insides while he rubbed your clit. "Go on, cum for me, sweetheart."

You didn't need any other incentive, and your abdomen tensed as you went rigid, your orgasm rippling through you, waves enveloping your body. Your pussy drenched his cock, and you let out a strangled exhale, collapsing against the back of the chair.

"Fuck me," He cursed. "Good girl, showerin' my cock. How sweet," He cooed.

Your heart was pounding, pussy sensitive as he still pounded into you.

"Nearly there, love," He groaned. "Where d'ya want it?"

"Inside," You panted. "Inside me, Sir."

He grunted in response, unloading himself inside your pussy, thrusting a few times after to make sure it stuck, coated your insides the way he wanted.

"Keep it in there," He whispered in your ear. You nodded softly.

Slowly, he pulled out, tucking himself away in his briefs, then his pants.

"Here," He said gruffly, lending you his jacket to cover yourself with.

He leaned down, slicing the rope with his knife.

"Get dressed, we're goin' after Hassan."

When he exited, you heard exclamations, his teammates asking what happened and why it was so loud, if you were still standing. Your lips curled into a smile, buttoning your blouse and yanking your pants back over your thighs and ass.

You felt his cum leak out of you, and wore it like a medal of honour as you walked out of the shipping container, into the pack of wolves.

#simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod #cod mw2 #ghost smut #strlingsavwrites

[lu-lus-duckies]

@huskers-bar x @nunalastor chapter 2

Tags: enemies to lovers, angst?, eventual fluff, yearning?, soft huskers-bar, both mods are separate people, no beta we die like i do in this fic (not yet though), minor character death, ooc, au: hellaverse (hazbin hotel), nunalastor is head of the marketing department of the hazbin hotel (lucifer grabbed them randomly), jealousy?, huskers-bar is an employee at voxtek, lulu as a villain, lulu is a dog, huskers-bar is a liar, secret dating?

chapter: 2/? / chapter Word count: 1852 / total word count: 3283

Featuring: babygirl anon and @xxx-angie . eventually will feature solis, the oc of @soliac-snecc

nunalastor as a single entity is nunalastor, traumatized mod dickmaster and cursed mod nun. and huskers-bar just husk. babygirl anon will be babygirl anon. I will be lulu. Angie will be angie but is meant to be read as angel dust.

A/N: I am a little drunk while writing the start of this, forgive me for any weird mistakes and stuff. bit of a change to the script, angie will no longer be a villain, but an obstacle and yes. I am currently the only true villain. the font size joke was very much forced in

this chapter is huskers-bar focused

"Ugh... Fuck"

The growly and gruff voice of Huskers echoed throughout the empty room. They winced as they rolled over in bed, accidentally knocking over a pile of empty bottles. The sound of their clinking was giving them a headache. One shattered at the side of the makeshift bed of their small private room-

Which you can only get at voxtek, come and become a part of the family! Voxtek, trust us with your employment and living quarters-

Ugh, they must be hallucinating... They squinted their eyes, trying to make sense of their surroundings. The migrane wasn't helping. Huskers stared at the ceiling, a little more dazed than usual. They tried to recall what happened, but the past few hours were completely wiped from their memory. It must've been one of those days. They look over at the clock.

It'a about time they get to work...

With one groan they get up, dragging their hands on the floor as they reach for their keys and phone. The room still spun a little, but it's not like they had a choice. They headed towards the door, less than ready, and finally left their sanctuary.

~

"Where the fuck is my cameraman?!" The angry shouting of Val could be heard from behind closed doors. Vox can already hear the glasses breaking and his precious voxtek equipment getting destroyed. The frustration of dealing with that mans temper never stops. Who does he think he is anyway?! Making all these expensive equipment costs money! Precious money! And it doesn't help the fact that he always demands the highest quality cameras too. Besides, why does he need them?! His eyes see in 144p anyway!

It was right at that point when a knife cut through the wooden door and broke yet another piece of expensive furniture. Great. All these were custom made god damn it.

Vox sighed heavily, trying to pinch an imaginary bridge of his nose, before his fingers were met with the flatness of his screen. It was the thought that counts.

"Hey huskers" vox called out with casual annoyance, like he'd rather not be dealing with this right now.

Huskers who had been loading up the latest voxtek equipment paused and turned their attention to Vox. "Yes?" They asked.

"I need you to take over the cameraman duty, our regular isn't showing up on time" Vox explained, already making his way to the door and waving his hand dismissively, muttering something under his breath about killing their regular with a five headed spear later.

Huskers, hurried to put away the box, which they assumed was filled with weird sex toys, and hurried over to Val's door. The knife sticking out of the door was concerning but it wouldn't be the first. Carefully they opened the door, readying themselves to dodge any attack thrown their way. Luckily for them, Val seemed to be distracted with another employee.

"Hi, I'm a stand-in for the cameraman" husk said, sliding over to the cameras sneakily. Val of course noticed and angrily shouted. "Fucking finally! That slut finally sent a bitch. Now chop chop!"

~

The job of a cameraman was not an easy one, especially when the scene in front of you is ridiculous. Not intentionally of course, but husk had to keep it in if they valued their life. Val didn't seem like the type of person who would take that kind of "disrespect" lightly.

"Oh daddy, please don't stack all those donuts on my penis!" Came the overly sexual and whimpering voice of Angie, who finally had gotten that line down without breaking character. A fish demon groaned, both for the act and because this stupid scene had finally been recorded after attempt number 69, much to everyone's relief. Val was getting antsy and would murder some poor employee any second.

Husk didn't know how angie took any of it seriously, even the sexier scenes. The whole scripted aspect felt very silly and goofy.

They guessed it didn't matter though, their job was finally done and they can fuck off from the studio. Husk would not be missing this place. They got up off their chair and just as they were about to head out, Angie, the one and only, had stopped them with an arm on the shoulder.

"Hey there new kid, pleasure-" he said, moaning out that specific word like a bitch in heat "to be doin buisness with ya" he said, offering two hands to shake husks one. Angie leaned against one of the lamps, nearly knocking it over in the process and started eyeing them up and down. "So, what brings ya to this studio?"

Huskers was visibly a little put off by the directness, but they should've expected as much. Everyday an event just reminds them that they are indeed in hell and that only the worst of the worst live here...

Ah, yes the question. "I'm just a stand-in for whoever was here before" They answered, pointing vaguely at the outside world. "Vox asked me to, and honestly doing camerawork is a much lighter load than what I was doing before"

Angie quirked a brow at this, either confused or not expecting that response. It could've honestly been both. His demeanor changed quickly though. "yeah. say, whatchya doin later?" biting his lip, he wiggled his eyebrows in a manner that would make grown men cum on the spot.

"Drowning down my sorrows with liquor" Huskers deadpanned, not biting at that fruit angel was so provocatively dangling in front of them. A scoff from him was expected. what wasn't expected though, was that the scoff was more amused than offended.

"you remind me of someone. say, how do you feel about redemption?"

~

"And these are the cockroaches that won't stop breeding! and this is the wall with a record breaking repairs done to it, and here's Angies dildo collection and-"

"babe, we've talked about this, you don't have to show them everything" Vaggie said, patting charlies shoulder hoping to ease or at least slow down the excited vibrating of her dearly beloved.

"Right, right! Sorry!" Charlie was quick to snap out of it, offering a small kiss to the back of Vaggies palm as an appreciative thank you and returning her attention back to Husk.

Husk was very much overwhelmed. All the energy in the room was making their brain sort-circuit and start buffering. They felt like they were under a microscope and being prodded with electric wires and it was... strangely pleasant. "Uh... Yes hi?"

A very mischievous chuckle came from nearby, one very much at a higher pitch of frequency and- Wait, is that the radio demon?

"Pardon my intrusion, but what is that on your wrist?" Alastor the radio demon said, bending his slutty waist to lean down at Husks eye level. "I believe there's a strict 'no voxtek products' policy here. Did you not bother to read the sign?" Alastor pointed his cane over to the whiteboard, which read:

RULES:

no Voxtek

no Vox

Jambalaya every friday

One of those sexy tentacles reached out, unclipping and retrieving the watch. He held it up in the air in front of everyone to see.

A collective gasp echoed through the room as Vaggie swiftly retrieved her spear from behind her back, pointing it menacingly at Husk "Not another one of these idiots" Vaggie growled, now in her defensive position. Angie and Charlie both flew to husk's defense, meanwhile Husk remained frozen in place. This was how they double died wasn't it?

"It's okay guys, they just work at voxtek. They're okay, I would know. They're harmless" Angie used one set of arms to shield husk and the other to gesture for everyone to ease their guard. The tension did die down a little, but that was fine. The tension in the room slowly began to dissipate, but Angie knew that Charlie would soon work her magic and convince everyone to give Husk a chance, as per usual.

~

Bang! Bang! Bang!

"nun get out! I need to take a shit" dickmaster banged on the hotel's currently singular clean bathroom. The force of their knocking was definitely excessive and damaging to their hands, but it got the desperation of the request-no-demand across.

"you said to help answer asks, so I am doing that... in the toilet" Nun yelled through the door, not even bothering to look towards the door, currently blocking access to Dickmasters relief.

"I doubt that" Dickmaster crossed their arms, and legs. Their bladder was about to fucking explode. Just at that moment a ding went off on their phone.

'nunalastor just posted: anonymous asked...'.

huh.

guess they were actually answering asks in there.

"Okay fine but I still need to shit! Do your answering outside!"

"I'll get out after one more ask" Nun chuckled, knowing full well, they weren't about to stop the torment anytime soon.

"Your eyesight is piss poor. I doubt you can even read anything on your phone"

"You'll just have to wait and see~"

And of course, as any normal sane person would do in this situation, Dickmaster decided to start banging on the door until either nun had enough and left or until the door broke and they murdered nun themself.

"I bet your phone's font size is 230%-"

~

All that banging attracted the attention of Husk, who had been wandering around the room with Angie. They weren't walking together, but their paths were the same.

"What's that noise?"

"Oh that? That's just our marketing team doing their job"

"Sounds like fucking... Are they fucking?"

"HA, doubt it..." there was a pause, both in the speech and in the walk. "Maybe, sex sells afterall" Angie shrugged and continued walking forward.

"seems counterproductive for a place made for rehabilitation..."

Husk couldn't help but be curious. This hotel had turned out to be everything they hadn't expected from Hell. The residents were surprisingly pleasant, and even the staff, though weird as fuck, weren't as unbearable as the other sinners in Hell. Now that they thought about it, Charlie never mentioned a marketing staff. She seemed so excited to share about the hotel and it's people. One would think she wouldn't forget to mention them, right?

unable to resist the curiousity, Husk had to know who they were. They quietly sneaked towards the source of the banging. They rounded the corner and was met with an... Interesting visual. One demon, black eyes with yellow pupils desperately pounding on a door.

Dickmaster paused their relentless banging, a feeling of being watched washing over them. Their head snapped immediately in Husk's direction, locking eyes with them. Their expression displayed emotional as well as physical constipation.

Husk froze, their body stiffening like a board. Had they interrupted something? Should they make a break for it? The state of being caught in such an awkward situation was undeniably terrifying. With a rigid and awkward wave, Husk managed an awkward smile. And then they realised-

"Are you nunalastor? You look just like your profile picture"

FUCK, they're going to get accused of being a stalker.

#stopping the fic here because I am actually going insane #and yes #I got a bit lazy at the end #nunwhiskers #huskers bar x nunalastor #huskers-bar x nunalastor

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Old Bonds - Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO

Vi remembers a different time...

Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

"Flex your fingers," Sevika orders. Vi curls her hands into fists. "Good. Gloves on."

The gloves are ten-ouncers. Well-worn, but good quality. Vi butts her fists together, and frowns. "These fit me."

"You thought they wouldn't?" Sevika says. "I remember your size."

It's wrong to feel the sick tremor of nostalgia. But Vi does. The first time she'd sparred with Sevika was during the Equinox Bazaar, after all. She remembers because they'd gone afterwards to the market for Vekauran-style lentil stew with mango pickles.

Sevika explained that an old boyfriend from the Pump Station used to like it that way. Vi figured he must be dead, because Sevika's eyes would hold a gloss nearly like sadness whenever she mentioned him. Other times, her lip would unconsciously curl into a sexy little smile.  Whoever the guy was, he'd apparently eaten pussy like a pro, given the details Sevika would drop sometimes about his technique, details Vi could barely take in over her own flushed waves of embarrassment.

Even then, she'd been a little bit jealous, a lot aroused, and a whole lot confused.

Afterward, Sevika had stripped off her heavy-duty gloves to show Vi the calluses on her hands: six Hex-sized patches so tough they put pressure on the nerves.

"Rather have real Hexes in my hands," Sevika had griped.

Sometimes, she'd give Vi tips on dirty footwork and sneak-jabs. Vi was a firecracker of raw potential, but Sevika had a decade of experience at laying the nastiest opponents flat with a well-timed blow. She'd show Vi how to deliver a sidewinder by turning her hips the barest fraction. How to move her hands and feet in unison, like a pair of dancers. How to talk trash and stay patient until it was time to go for the knockout.

"You need to get that temper under control," Sevika had warned her once, after a particularly punishing match. "It's gonna get you killed."

Vi scoffed. "Temper's my specialty."

"It'll be the end of you."

"Well, it hasn't been."

"Yet." Sevika shrugged, wiping her brow with a towel. "Then again, I'm not the one you're always trying to impress."

Vi's eyes snapped to hers. The words had a bite, but Sevika's look was knowing.

Vi dropped her gaze.

She'd never told Sevika about her need to prove herself to Vander. Prove that her parents hadn't died for nothing. Prove that she could be strong enough, brave enough, to keep the Lanes safe.

Prove that she could protect Powder.

Now, looking at the familiar glide of Sevika's fingers, her easy competence with the laces, Vi finds the same emotions bubbling up. Dread that she'd never live up to Vander's legacy. The gut-deep longing to prove her worth. Prove she was a force nobody would mess with, because that was the only way to keep everyone safe.

Sevika had that in common with Vi. They'd both lost their families. Both found meaning only in their fists.

But Sevika wanted more than strength. Her bottom line was rooted in one principle: brute will. Her gang always ran the loosest, fastest, riskiest jobs in the Lanes. They played dirty, had little qualms with cutting corners, and none with breaking necks.

Sevika was a hardheaded bitch. If the Undercity was a battlefield, she was always gunning for top-dog. 

Vi remembers one night at the Drop. A fight had broken out over a poker game. The Sledgerunners had been caught cheating. The Dead Enders had taken offense. Violating the Drop’s rules of neutral territory, they’d savaged each other like dogs.

By the time Vi and Sevika arrived, the Sledgerunner's leader, a beefy bastard named Chud, had pulled a blade. His victim lay on floorboards gone glittering-red with broken glass and blood. Mylo and Claggor had helped Vi make a tourniquet out of old belts while Powder ran to fetch a medick. Sevika had flattened Chud with three precise blows and held the rest of his gang at knifepoint until Vander returned.

Sevika proposed taking an ear from both the Sledgerunners and Dead Enders as compensation for the broken peace. Vi suggested letting them off with a warning. Vander had listened patiently to both. Afterward, he'd sent both the Sledgerunners and the Dead Enders back to their territories.

Then he'd taken Vi and Sevika aside and made his thoughts plain.

"We're not judges, and this isn't the gallows," he'd told them. "We're here to keep the Lanes stable. Not make a name for ourselves."

Sevika had looked pissed. "So you'll let them disrespect your turf?"

Vander's eyes had grown dark. "It's not my turf. It's everyone's. I'm here to help keep the peace, not enforce a regime."

Vi's own frustration had bubbled over. "What's the difference?"

"The difference is whether you wanna be a part of the solution. Or the problem. Because that's what it comes down to." Vander sighed. "Sevika, I'm grateful you stepped in. But the Drop's not a chopping block. You don't get to decide who leaves with what body parts."

"Unless you keep your house in order, they'll do this again," Sevika shot back. "They're already running roughshod over half of Entresol."

"I'm not startin’ a gang war."

"You've got the numbers. They'd be too scared to try again."

"We're not soldiers. This isn't a battleground."

"He'd say otherwise."

Vander's features went rigid. "That time's passed. For all of us."

Sevika stared at him for a long moment. Then she'd stalked out. Vi had been ready to go after her. Vander laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. "Let her be."

"But—"

"I'm not asking, kiddo."

Vi's belly churned: anger, confusion. She'd only been fifteen. But she'd sensed she was on the verge of forbidden territory. Things unsaid between Vander and Sevika. Memories—names—better off forgotten.

"What happened?" she asked at length. "Who's 'he'?"

"The past." Vander eyes were distant. "We all have one."

"She's not wrong, you know. We gotta keep a tighter fist on things."

"Not the way she wants to."

"But what if the gangs get stronger? What if they push into the Lanes?"

Vander looked at her with something like reproach. "That's not why we do this." He took a breath. "When the world tells you no, what do you do?"

"Say yes back. Show 'em they're wrong."

"Right. You do that by being better than them. You do it with decency. Not hate."

Vi shook her head. "What if it's not enough?"

"It's not." Vander smiled ruefully. "Which is why we gotta keep at it."

"But—"

"Vi." Gently, he gripped her chin. "The world will tell you no. Over and over. It'll try to break you. Make you hard and cruel. But the best thing you can do is find a reason to keep saying yes. Even when things look hopeless. There's more strength in that than you know."

Vi’s eyes refocus.

Her gloved hands are securely fastened. The laces are wound tight.  So is the grief.

She seethes, "How could you do it?"

Sevika quirks a brow.

"How could you turn on Vander? Leave the Lanes to that monster?"

Sevika's face hardens with restrained impatience. "We've been over this already. Vander betrayed the Lanes too many ways. He was weak. We were all weak under him. What use is loyalty without power?"

Vi seizes Sevika's mechanical hand. "This is power?"

Sevika jerks Vi's hand off. "This is the cost for a bigger reward. Our freedom."

"Yeah?" Vi takes in the suffocating dimensions of the prep room. "Is that why you're down here instead of at Silco's party tonight? Enjoying your freedom?"

Sevika shakes her head. "I'd take the filth down here to what's at that party any day."

#arcane #arcane league of legends #forward but never forget/xoxo #forward (never forget)/xoxo #arcane silco #silco #arcane vander #vander #arcane vi #vi #arcane violet

[norel-ravenclaw]

The Haunted Mansion

Ikepri AU - Part 1

Fandom: Ikemen Prince (otome game)

Featured characters: All 13 plus allusions to unknown new trio

Genre: Paranormal Tragic Romance

Rating: 14+

Word count: Part 1 - 3400

Description: Ikepri Haunted Mansion AU - The regional princes have had an awful time getting servants to stay at their grand manor. A young woman takes the job and quickly discovers why no one else applied. Despite the strange occurrences, she finds home and even love among them. But tragedy seeks to cut short the possibility of a happy ending. Be warned, this is a story for those who like a twisted sort of satisfaction.

WARNINGS: | lots of violent death, killing, and suicide (nothing too explicitly gory) | mxw | polyamory | yandere | toxic relationships | angst | dark goth vibes | seriously, only read this in a good headspace |

..............................................................

An axe swung, and an axe dropped.

A staircase, and a duel he never wanted to be fought.

A lantern dropped onto wood that had rotted.

A poisoned bottle, long forgotten.

A window, and a grave for two.

A chandelier, and a dagger for two.

A noose taken down before being used again.

...

This is the woeful tale of the haunted mansion.

..............................................................

Once upon a time, there was a grand, old castle.

This place was built ages ago on the outskirts of a small town, at the edge of the hills where nothing else could be built.

Here, at the edge of town, the once small cemetery grew larger over the centuries, eventually encroaching on the property of this magnificent estate. And so, one knows they are nearing the place when they start seeing tombstones. Once you enter Crypt Avenue, you've just about arrived.

Ancient legends tell of the great Lords of this château. A warmonger, a cold prince, a powerful soothsayer, and a terrifying genius. Each met with mysterious and violent ends.

With the passing of the last of the Von Obsidian heirs, the estate went up for sale. It was purchased by the wealthiest young lord of the region, one Mssr. Rhodolite. Its management was eventually passed to his second son, one Chavalier Michel.

He was a tactical genius and a warrior. And he claimed the entire region for himself, uniting it under his rule. He became a prince, and the grounds were soaked with blood.

167 of the deaths were particularly brutal, so the rumours went. Assassins and politicians that never left the grounds of the palace, men and women alike. The size of the cemetery grew.

But the years had warped all of the rumours such that no one knew for certain what had transpired.

Either way, the place left a haunting feeling in all who entered it. As it did with a lovely young woman named Emma.

The woman came to apply as a maid, responding to an ad in the paper. She was the only one to reply.

When she arrived at the imposing, elegant estate, she was greeted by a strict yet equally elegant man with a pair of glasses and a snake skin coat.

"Welcome. You have come to serve the young lords of this estate? The Princes de Rhodolite are the half-blood sons of my former employer." With a bittersweet smile he said, "You could say my soul is bound to this place because of them."

He invited her into the entry hall, where she gazed in awe upon treasures of centuries past. A grand chandelier, austere paintings of extraordinary lifelike quality, chalices, and suits of armour.

The butler left to make tea, and in the silence, distant gusts of wind sounded like voices hushedly whispering in a labyrinth of halls.

Then through the silence broke a steady sound - the tap of a cane.

However, the man that emerged from around the corner had his hands full with the tea set.

Miss Emma's first impression of him was much like the feeling of meeting a friendly dog wagging its tail. He was blonde and handsome, his nearly goofy grin tempered by the sharpness in his azure eyes.

"Ah! So you've really come to join us here? I'm so happy! You're so lovely, mademoiselle! My name is Rio, and I will take care of everything you need!"

She blushed and chuckled at his eagerness. "I am excited to be here in such a beautiful place," she said with a smile.

Beaming, he guided her to a room like an indoor garden. The most beautiful of flowers bloomed all around. Little wolfsbane and and hemlock and creeping vines. They chatted over tea and the blond gentleman seemed more enamoured with every word she said.

Partway through their cups, a brunette peeked in the doorway. His smile made his golden eyes narrow charmingly.

"So someone finally applied for the job, hm? I hope you can keep all of the beasts in line around here. It won't be easy."

She marveled a little at his grace as he swept into the room, leaning his arms on a vacant chair. "Beasts, monsieur?"

"I'm Leon. My brothers and I have a bit of a reputation, let's say." He offered a smirk that did indeed invoke the image of a grinning lion.

"So I've heard. Well, I hope that my work will be able to allow you all the time to be happy," she replied shyly.

His eyes widened, and he broke out into hearty laughter. "Ya know, I have little doubt of that, miss." Ruffling her hair, he laughed again before leaving the room in just as much a whirlwind as he'd come in on.

Rio chuckled fondly. "Master Leon is a good guy. I think you'll like him."

She smiled. "I do too."

When her cup was empty, the attendant - Mr. Noir - appeared and walked her to her room. They passed countless paintings, all from different eras. All with such lifelike faces, despite the many artists and styles.

As they turned a corner, a pair of red eyes suddenly appeared in her path, drawing a scream.

"Whoops, sorry there."

Beside the burgundy-eyed man was another blond, in full disapproving pout. "Jin! Don't go scaring people like that!"

Jin smirked. "What, did I startle you too, Evie?"

The shorter blond sniffed and looked back to her. "And who is this, Sariel? Don't tell me you of all people found a paramour?"

Emma squeaked a little, flushing red. Jin and Mr. Noir's smiles turned beastly.

"Oho, you sly devil. You finally stole someone's heart rather than their soul, did you?"

The butler chuckled, answering simply, "This is Miss Emma. She will be working here from tomorrow."

"Ah, a new maid, hm? Well, if you ever get lost, or get in trouble with ghosts, or just lonely, feel free to come find me. I'll make you forget all your troubles by morning~"

"Oh hush, you deviant! Now then, you." The imperious blond stepped squarely in front of her. "I am Yves Kloss. And I expect the best quality of service. No slacking off, you understand me?"

"Y-yes, sir. I'll do my best."

And with that he nodded and marched away, his amused older brother following behind leaving a wink to the new girl.

Her mind, however was still caught up on what Jin had mentioned. About ghosts?

Mr. Noir continued on, and the air seemed to chill after leaving the boisterous men behind. The candle light seemed dimmer, the windows fewer. Her mind wandered to old stories.

Nervous by the silence and oppressive atmosphere, she asked, "Did the old lord Obsidian really kill his own family in the dining hall?"

"It has always been a lively place," was the man's enigmatic answer.

She shivered, confused and concerned by his evasive answer. "It feels like there is so much tragedy around here."

"Just so. It is said that 987 poor souls are bound to the place. Many were the victims of the first five owners - the warlord from the far east, the cold prince, the mysterious soothsayer, and the trampling beast."

Their footsteps echoed through the empty halls.

"However, the rest of the spirits on the property actually belong to townspeople from the cemetery just beyond. Ancient spells and curses drew their wandering, earth-bound spirits across the burying fields to this castle to wander and moan."

The dark haired man stopped, his violet eyes glinting. "Rumour has it that every night for centuries, a ball is held by the captive spirits in the many ballrooms and dining halls."

She stared at him, her heart pounding, thudding nearly painfully in her chest. "Haha, my what imaginative rumours."

The devilish attendant chuckled darkly. "They are most intriguing, no? Good evening, miss. Rest well."

He walked away, leaving her alone, facing the door to her room. When a voice came from her other side, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Aww, did that mean old snake scare you with his ghost stories? Come here, I'll comfort you."

Her heart racing, she looked to see a man with pale grey hair leaned casually against the wall a few doors down. He smirked, slinking closer and holding out a hand.

"I'm Nokto. You look like you need some air."

"That might be nice," she confessed, tentatively taking his hand.

He smiled a fox's grin, his ruby eyes glinting in satisfaction. Pulling her close, he hooked her arm in his.

He led her down the hall and around a few turns until they reached a broader pass through with tall windows.

"It will be so nice having a woman around. You'll take good care of us, won't you?"

Despite his airs, Miss Emma looked to him and immediately saw a man masking loneliness. And so she smiled.

"Of course I will."

Surprised by her earnest reply, his smile turned somewhat softer. Through only for a moment.

He suddenly froze in place, his entire demeanor turning to ice in an instant. "Licht..."

Following his gaze, she looked to see a man silhouetted in the window up ahead. He too had silvery grey hair; a sort of exhausted tension was etched in his posture.

Nokto dropped her hand and moved as though to block her view. "Don't you dare do anything to him, you hear me? Don't talk to him, don't ask him questions, don't try to get to know him. You'll only send him deeper into hell. If you do anything to hurt him, I'll make your life hell."

Shocked and unnerved by his sudden change and threat, she nodded and bolted to run away from him.

However, the labyrinthine halls betrayed her, and within moments, she was lost. Rounding a corner trying to go back the way she'd come, she collided with someone.

"Oh dearie me, what have we here? A fair maiden throwing herself into my bosom, hm?"

Startled, she looked up to see the gleaming golden eyes of yet another noble man. Though she could tell that his mischief was of a different sort than of the man she'd just fled.

"Never fear, missy. I'll protect you from everything that stalks these halls - brutal beasts, vengeful spirits, lurking assassins. You just let Clavis take care of you, pet~"

With every word, his grin became more like the Cheshire cat's. Offering a forced laugh, she tried to back away.

Another man's voice interrupted her plans to escape.

"You there. Maid."

She caught a glimpse of the troublemaker's expression twist before looking back. A handsome man with an imposing aura glared at her from behind a desk in an elegant office. He stood, moving swiftly to the doorway with a hand on the sword at his hip.

"You will not humour their mischief," the blond ordered menacingly. "If you dare get in my way or keep us from our duties, I will not hesitate to remove your traitorous self from this estate."

Her heart pounded in her chest. "I-I wouldn't dream of-"

A flash of silver was her only warning of the sword coming to rest at her throat. "See that you don't. Our responsibility to this region far outweighs the importance of a careless simpleton's life."

Dizzy with fear and confusion, the woman's patience finally snapped. "Now see here! I can understand that you don't want a silly girl running around flirting and causing problems. But you have to right to assume who I am or to threaten my life! I came here to serve you, and that is what I am going to do. Good night!"

With this bold declaration, she turned on her heel and marching down the hall. She did not see the stunned expression on the face of the man called the Brutal Beast, but she did hear the raucous laughter of his younger brother.

As she hurried away, the sound became distorted and echoey the further away she got.

Heart racing, hopelessly lost, confused and discouraged, she stopped in the middle of yet another hall. The portrait of a trio of haughty looking women seemed to mock her, Clavis' distant laughter nearly seeming to come from it.

A quiet voice finally cut through the shadows encircling her heart.

"Hey, you alright?"

She turned around to see a tall man with red hair and sympathetic green eyes.

"Was Chev being an ass?"

Unsure of how to reply, she remained silent, and he chuckled sardonically. "That's a yes. I guess all of them were, huh?"

He slowly approached her, as though she were a frightened wild rabbit. Smiling, he placing a large hand on the top of her head.

"It's okay, I'll protect you. Come on, I'll help ya calm down, okay?"

Tired and ready to surrender, she simply nodded, following him to his room. The long journey and emotions caught up with her fully, and she ignored all protocol to sit on the edge of his bizarrely diagonal bed. He plopped down beside her and heaving a sigh.

"Say, I'm Luke."

"I'm Emma."

"Come 'ere. You can lean on my shoulder if ya like." She did instantly, and he chuckled. "You're gonna be fine. You'll see. I get the feeling you belong here."

...

The first birdsong of the dawn cut through the silence enough to rouse her. Miss Emma stirred slightly, nearly succumbing to sleep again as she awoke in the most comfortable and safe coziness she'd ever felt.

But the sight of a shock of red hair and sensation of strong arms around her finished the job.

With a gasp, she tried to sneak out of his embrace, but the movement woke him.

"Mm? Oh, hi. You okay?" he asked groggily.

Still trying to get her bearings, she blinked. Concerned, he propped himself on an elbow.

"Don't worry, I would never hurt you."

His gentle reassurance sent her heart racing. "What? Oh, I didn't mean... Didn't think that... No, I-I'm sorry. I just didn't mean to fall asleep."

He smiled, the pale rays of dawn painting the moment like a sepia watercolour. "You're not scared of me? Good. 'Cus it was really nice to hold you. Like a soft teddy bear."

And now, the last of sleep fled her. "R-right. Well. I should get going. I can't be late for Mssr. Noir."

Jumping up, she rushed to the door, suddenly pausing. "Thanks for taking care of me last night."

"No problem," he smiled.

And she rushed to find her room. Miraculously, she did. When she opened the door to see her new quarters, the first rays of dawn lit it such that the place did not seem so dark and imposing. Ah yes, this could the be start of something wonderful, she was at last convinced.

She donned her maid uniform and reported to Mr. Noir. The drills of her training began at once.

As she served the lords their breakfast (with the exception of Prince Chevalier, who rarely deigned to rise before ten am) the devil-like gaze of her master kept her back rigid, every move of her hands scrutinized.

Seeing her tension, Leon threw her a subtle wink, which gave her the boost needed to endure the first day of grueling training.

She followed Mr. Noir around through his duties. Waxing the floors, washing the linens and silks, cleaning the endless windows, dusting and dusting and dusting and dusting.

When it was time for supper to be prepared, she stood politely to the side while Mr. Noir approached two of the cooks.

What she was not prepared for was for him to pull a whip from under his coat, cracking it just shy of their backs. Their scream of shock was accompanied by hers.

She clapped her hands over her mouth, watching in horrified fascination as her master faced them down.

"Supper preparation was to have begun fifteen minutes ago," said the smiling devil.

"Ah! Y-yes, Monsieur! We're terribly sorry!"

"We lost track of the hour. It won't happen again!"

They swallowed hard as he caressed the long leather line. "See that it doesn't. Or I'll have you cleaning crypts rather than dishes."

Terrified, the men bowed several times as they hurried towards the kitchens.

Mr. Noir glanced back towards Miss Emma, his violet eyes glinting with dangerous mirth. He slowly approached her, still toying with the whip in his hands. She froze, holding his gaze nervously as he brought the handle to tilt up her chin.

"You needn't look so frightened," he teased. "Simply remember that I favour obedience, hm?"

She nodded a little frantically, and he chuckled. "Good girl~"

And so she dutifully fulfilled her responsibilities until the clock's hands teased towards twelve.

Exhausted and overwhelmed, she plodded through the halls towards her quarters. But, through the haze of her tired mind, a strange sound reached her consciousness.

The faintest echoes of voices and music drew her from her thoughts.

Stopping in her tracks, she listened, and determined that yes, she most definitely heard a party happening. Not recalling any news of this, she moved towards the sound in curiosity.

Traversing the winding halls, at last, the grand doors of one of the small ballrooms came into view. By then, she could hear the melody of a familiar old song and smell the feast the many partygoers were enjoying.

Just as she reached for the doorknob, the tap of a cane made her look over her shoulder.

When a voice came from her other side, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Now what is a little rabbit doing wandering my mansion so late?"

Into the hall stepped a handsome young man with one blood red eye and an eyepatch over the other.

His smile was alluring, too intense, yet intriguing.

Seeing her alarm, he grinned. "Aww, did that mean old snake scare you with his ghost stories? You look frightened out of your mind."

Remembering her manners, she hastily curtsied to him. "So you are the owner of the manor? You must be the eldest son then. It is a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur."

His expression shifted into something unreadable as he stepped closer. Almost too close.

"Welcome, little bunny. I'm ever so pleased you made it. Come, let me show you around your new home."

She nodded and started behind him, entirely forgetting the party she had come to investigate due to the absolute silence.

The steady tap of his cane resounded through the halls as he guided a short tour of the wing. At last they reached a balcony at the end of the hall.

He led her to the railing to lean against it. Smiling all the while, he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

"I look forward to getting to know you better. As a token of goodwill from your new master, allow me to share with you my secret."

She held her breath in surprise as he removed his eyepatch. A beautiful blue added to his eclectic look. "Now that you know my secret, you can never leave~ Welcome home, my dear."

The sight of his gleaming blue eye began to swirl in her vision with the blood red. Gripping the railing in alarm, Emma suddenly felt her knees give out, just registering him catching her.

He smiled down at her as she passed out in his arms.

His step was lively as he carried her to her back to her room, laying her on the bed. He kissed her brow. "You belong to me now, little rabbit."

Smiling broadly, he left the room, locking it behind him.

The trampling beast was satisfied at long last.

To be continued.

#haunted mansion au #ikemen prince #norel writes #ikepri #chevalier michel #sariel noir #jin grandet #Keith Howell #rio Ortiz #leon dompteur #yves kloss #licht klein #nokto klein #luke randolph #clavis lelouch #silvio ricci #gilbert von obsidian #ikepri Emma #the haunted mansion #ghost story

[broflovski-brah]

I wanna request something.

Kyle from south Park comforting tiny y/n after a nightmare

Of course, friend!!

Giant!Kyle x Tiny!Reader- Nightmares.

(Note: All characters are aged up to sixteen or so. They are high school students)

I wasn’t sure if you wanted platonic or romantic so you choose lol

TW: nightmares, yelling, arguing

As a tiny, life could be hard.

Oftentimes you were busy just trying not to be trod upon or accidentally crushed by one of the giants around you, seeing as they were each at least 100 feet tall. It was scary, being almost twenty times smaller than them. But the one exception was Kyle.

Now Kyle was known to be one of the angrier giants of the bunch, often losing his temper if he were pushed hard enough, but he never acted out violently. He only really beat up one person in his lifetime, and it had been for a good reason.

Through all in all, Kyle was a real sweetheart. He could be oblivious at times, yes; but he was never cruel or mean to you. For you, he was all bark, no bite. Especially since you were so small.

After you had been found in South Park, kept as one of the ‘school pets’ for a bit. And though you were never treated like an animal, Kyle still felt it wasn’t right to keep you in some glass cage to be observed and looked at in such ways. So…he saved you. And while he’s, when he did it was terrifying to see a gloved hand the size of your own body and then some reaching in and grabbing you, he was nothing but soft and gentle.

After a while, you and Kyle began growing closer to each other, despite you being twenty or so times smaller than them. You celebrated Hanukkah with the Broflovskis as well, and any other holiday you celebrate in the winter and even then some. They were pretty tolerant of your religion. Eventually, Kyle began to carry you around everywhere he went. Mainly out of fear that you would get lost (not that he would admit that; he usually claimed you would ‘mess up his room while he was gone’) but also because he was afraid of what his friends would do. So, you two were attached at the hip. This included while you were sleeping.

You slept on his nightstand in a small matchbox bed he had made for you. It had a small piece of linen cloth as a blanket and even a tiny mattess made from a memory foam piece that he had cut out from one of the fidgets he owned (stress from school really got to him sometimes). There was a tiny pillow made of cotton as well. After Kyle had tucked you in, (as you begged hun to do) he hesitated before placing a kiss to your forehead. His lips were the size of your entire upper body, so it was tough. Afterwards, you just blushed a bit, flattered with the kiss. He backed up and soon went to bed. His glasses were right on the stand next to you. It was funny, seeing how big they were compared to you…not that you minded.

Eventually, Kyle began to snore gently. His breathing was labored with the hands of sleep as his huge chest rose up and down as he slept…his hand was outstretched as he turned in his sleep…and it all hit you just how…big…he was. He could crush you with one wrong move. That scared the shit out of you. But surely, he wouldn’t hurt you. Not intentionally, at least.

Right?

So, with that you drifted to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ You awoke the next morning with a start, hearing Kyle’s door slam. You jolted up out of bed as he came into his room. He was fuming. Now this wasn’t unlike Kyle; he had some anger issues, even if he was mellowing out in his teenage years, he was known for his emotional outbursts. His face was almost as red as his hair as he threw his trapper hat down in a fit of rage. You felt your body calm up as you slowly got out of bed. You looked up at Kyle. He had blood dripping from his nose and a few cuts on his cheeks. He looked awful.

“Kyle..? Ky? Is everything okay?”

Your tone was shaking. Hell, you were shaking. You hated seeing Kyle this worked up. Kyle turned his rage onto you.

“Is everything okay?”

His tone was short, and almost eerily gentle. Like a snake lulling it’s prey into it’s opened jaws. He slammed his huge fist onto the nightstand, his eyes nearly glowing with rage. His fist was nearly the size of you, and the sheer force of which he slammed it down sent you toppling over. You scrambled back to not be squished before looking up at him in terror. He rose to his full height, looming above you. His gaze was dark as he scowled

“YOU RUINED MY LIFE!”

He snapped, his breathing heavy and his lips curled into a sneer. You flinched back as Kyle continued to look at you as if you had killed Ike.

“Me..?Um…I didn’t…I…I err…” You stammered. Kyle just grew more irate.

“All you do say in and day out is ruin everything! I never wanted a pathetic brat like you!” he snapped, practically snarling. You tried running off, but he was much faster. You could feel the heavy booming of his steps as he made his way over to you.

“You RAN OFF AND I DELIBERATELY TOLD YOU NOT TO!” He screamed, fury in his voice as it ripped up his throat and tore it red raw.

“And now I had to save your sorry ass from fucking Cartman himself because you couldn’t stay here for FIVE GODDAMN MINUTES!” He angrily punched the nightstand again. You tried to speak.

“Kyle! I…I didn’t…I don’t…” You continued stammering.

Kyle looked down with an almost evil look. “Just get out of my life!” he snapped. He picked you up in his fist and you screamed and wailed in terror…and then you woke up.

You weren’t awaken by a huge fist squeezing your insides out, you weren’t woken up by the ginger snapping and screaming…you were awoken by a gentle shaking of your body. You only saw his finger…his finger that was about twice your size…and you jumped back, panic filling your expression. Your heart dropped to your stomach.

Kyle saw this reaction and immediately was confused. He quickly put two and two together though. You were crying in your sleep, twitching and muttering…and now you were afraid. He realized you were probably just having a nightmare.

He withdrew his finger, instead, sitting up in bed. He yawned, which only allowed you to see his teeth…his teeth which could aw easily kill you…and you flinched back again. Kyle saw this and put his fist over his mouth to hide it while he yawned. He rubbed his eyes blearily and reached for his glasses before putting them on. His hair was a mess of red curls, tangled and poofy looking. It looked soft.

Kyle looked at you with concerned green eyes.

“Woah, dude…are you okay?”

Genuine concern laced his voice. He wasn’t really good at showing comfort or concern. He was an awkward boy, but when he had to be, he knew just what to do. He held his hand out for you, his pale skin was slightly lit by the dim, silvery moonlight. His eyes were gentle and he had a small, somewhat encouraging smile resting on his lips. He looked almost like he was inviting you to cuddle…

And so, with your fear subsiding for the moment, you hesitantly reached for Kyle’s hand. You soon reached out and grabbed his finger. He reached out and gently cupped you in his hands; a stark difference from the nightmare-Kyle who practically just squeezed your insides until they came out. You nearly cried from relief as Kyle sat up and turned on his lamp. His eyes were droopy and he lofted one hand to his mouth to yawn into, not wanting to scare you anymore. He crossed his legs and tilted his head.

“What happened?”

His tone was soft and caring. Nightmares were something he could usually help with when it came to comfort. After all, Ike still had reoccurring nightmares about dead celebrities. He was good with helping others, just he could be awkward at times.

You looked up with wide (E/C) eyes and fiddled with your hair. You looked down.

“I…I um…had a night…a nightmare…” you stammered.

Kyle looked at you with sympathy.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

His voice was husky and deep from just having woken up, but it was a bit endearing. He waited for you to speak, and you did.

“I…I ran wway…from…uh…from you…Cartman found me…”

Kyle rolled his eyes a bit at the name ‘Cartman’ before nodding for you to continue.

“And…and I…you came home…you were pissed and angry and you…you hurt…”

You were working yourself up again. Kyle’s heart was torn in half as he gazed at you with sad eyes.

“Hey…hey, I would never hurt you, Y/N.” He said, his tone caring and genuine. It was true. While he did have a hard time controlling his emotions sometimes, he wouldn’t hurt you.

You looked up at him, still wary. He saw this and gently stroked your back with the tip of his index finger.

“Would some cuddling help, N/N?” he asked, looking genuinely worried and like he wanted to help. After a moment of thought, you nodded. With a smile, Kyle turned off the light.

“It’s settled then.”

He pulled his hat off his bed’s side and placed you inside of it. He gave your head a gentle kiss, a kiss which covered your face and torso entirely. His lips were soft and warm, and honestly reminded you of home. You were at home with him. He rested you against his chest, his heart pounding strongly, working to keep his body healthy. You felt the strong pulsing like a drum under your time form, the only barrier between you and the drum in his chest was his green, fluffy hat and his t-shirt. Before going to bef, he whispered one last thing.

“I love you, Y/N…”

And you both fell asleep to the rhythm of his heart and breathing, knowing everything was okay. You were at peace, and you could finally rest knowing you were safe here.

You were home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ah, sorry for that cheesy ending! I hope this is what you wanted. Sorry for the long wait, been awful busy; i’ll get back on track with the rest of all your requests soon!

#g/t #south park g/t #kyle broflovski #kyle #broflovski #south park #south park fanfic #south park x reader #giant #tiny #angst #comfort #fluff #fluff/angst #angst/fluff #hurt/comfort #kyle broflovski x reader

[sanfangirl-cynicalromantic]

Hiccstrid Drabble | Crime Scene

Prompt: I accidentally kicked a rock too hard and it broke the window and you saw it

Astrid stomped outside. The pristine grass crunched her boots. She tipped her head back in hopes of catching a breeze to cool her off, but the air was just stagnant and hot.

Ugh. The slime-mecketing song of a rat-faced half troll never failed to get on her nerves. Fate had decided to be cruel today; Fishlegs, who was Astrid’s usual deskmate in all her classes because he was one of the few boys that never dared to hit on her (i.e. Snotlout) was absent, which had left aforementioned Snotlout to sidle up and take the seat next to her. She had been subject to his disgusting pick up lines for nearly the whole class, and Astrid had been trying to hold in her temper, but she had known she was only a moment away from snapping.

So, she had excused herself to go to the bathroom, and gleefully didn’t return. She never would have skipped class any other time, but this situation called for drastic measures, and it wasn’t as if she had been learning anything.

She howled her frustration to the sky, trusting the music class next to her to mask the sound.

“Argh!!! That awful, no-good, bulge eyed, hairy chested-” she kicked around her ferociously, uprooting the grass around her. She delivered a particularly hard kick to a fist sized rock before she could stop herself, and to her horror, it flew straight towards one of the windows.

“No!” she gasped in panicked terror, just as she saw the missile collide with the glass and shatter it.

No screams erupted from the room, so she supposed it was empty, but the fact brought her little comfort. She stood there, hands pressed to her mouth.

A rustle sounded behind her, and she whirled around to come face to face with another student rising from behind the cluster of bushes. She screeched and reflexively shoved him back down.

“Ow!” the nasally voice cried as the twigs pricked him unceremoniously. “What the- What’re you - why?” he scowled under thick reddish brown bangs.

“You shouldn't sneak up on people like that,” Astrid snapped reproachfully, her version of an apology.

“Alright, geez! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, but you pushed me! You don’t just go around pushing people, y’know! Or breaking windows, for that matter.”

Astrid paled. “You saw that?” she asked tentatively.

“Yup,” he popped the ‘p.’ “and even if I hadn’t, you standing there all guilty by a broken window would’ve been pretty obvious.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, as if it had been his window she had just broken. “I don’t - can you - What do I do?” She wrung her hands. She wasn’t good with controlling her temper, but she had never caused damage before.

He looked surprised for a second like he couldn’t believe she was asking for his advice - to be honest, she didn’t know why she was either - before he quickly regained his composure.

“First rule of crime-doing, flee the scene,” he advised, a dry note in his tone. Astrid couldn’t tell if he was serious or not. He grabbed her hand and began pulling her into a run. Astrid followed, despite the fact that she normally would have punched anyone who ever tried to hold her hand.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Somewhere to hide, he responded, cutting across a lawn and tugging her behind another school building.

“Do you do this a lot?” she questioned. He turned to look at her, and she realized with a start that this boy was actually taller than her, and he had big green eyes.

“What? The hiding, or the breaking windows?” he snarked. She didn’t reply, still taking in his eyes, slightly large nose, and the wrinkled school uniform. His tie was undone and he had grass stains on his collar, which matched his bright eyes that she kept looking at. “I’m Hiccup, by the way,” he dropped her hand and extended it to her to shake.

“Astrid.”

#Hiccstrid Drabbles #my drabbles #my writing #hiccstrid #httyd modern au #httyd drabbles #Modern Hiccstrid #Astrid hofferson #Hiccup Haddock #httyd #how to train your dragon

[sagemonsters]

Bargain with the Leshy

Summary: Aiden Finch is a journeyman witch, newly arrived in the Forest of Silence to complete his compendium of magical plants and their uses. However, the most elusive plant he wants to examine only grows in a leshy’s secluded home, and said leshy isn’t in the mood to entertain visitors. How much (and what exactly) is Aiden willing to give in exchange for completing his herbal?

Relationship: cis male human (he/him) x cis male leshy (he/him)

Rating: E for explicit

Word Count: 4,900

Content Tags & Warnings: mild alcohol consumption (no drunkenness), heats/ruts, use of aphrodisiacs, size difference

Chapter 1 of 1

Common Witchwort, also known as Eastern Hagweed and Old Mother’s Fingers, is a deciduous shrub that grows in the undergrowth of temperate forests, especially those composed primarily of beech. Its range includes the Kingdom of Beldane, the Eastern Marches, and the northern half of the Principality of Orthoc. Its long, narrow, waxy leaves terminate in sharp points, and are covered with…

“Rowenna?” Aiden called from the cottage’s study. ��What is it when leaves have little… you know, those little cuts in them?”

“A reason to buy my home-brewed insecticide,” the farm-witch called back. Something clattered loudly in the kitchen where she worked, and was followed by a bout of impassioned swearing.

Aiden huffed. “No, no, I mean… like, when they grow that way. Crenelations?”

“That’s city walls. No! It’s fenestrations.”

“Thanks!” Aiden called back, and returned to his writing—or tried to, anyway.

“Are you going to remember to wash the dishes tonight?” Rowenna asked.

“Yes! I promise!”

“You said that last night.”

Aiden winced guiltily at the page in front of him, then made a face as a fat drop of ink dripped from the nib of his dip pen and splattered onto the paper, obscuring a quarter of the paragraph he had just written on the latest entry to his herbal.

That’s enough for today, he thought, and then wiped the pen clean of ink before stoppering the inkwell. Aiden got up and stretched, then went to help Rowenna salvage dinner.

The farm-witch’s glare softened as Aiden rolled up his sleeves and started peeling the potatoes and carrots for tonight’s beef stew. She poured him a glass of red wine to match the one sitting beside her on the cutting board, and Aiden sipped it from time to time as the pile of peelings grew in the bowl beside the sink. 

“How’s the book coming along?” she asked.

“Slowly,” Aiden answered. “I still need to find the eastern variant of the salacious white-leafed osier.”

Rowenna snorted. “That sure was a string of words.”

“Please don’t ask me to try and pronounce the scientific name; I’m already doing my best.”

The farm-witch snickered, then took the peeled carrots and potatoes and dumped them into the heavy stock pot alongside the onions, herbs, and browned pieces of beef. She added the beef broth and a good bit of the wine, then covered the pot with its lid, slid it into the oven with a soft grunt of exertion, and set the timer for four hours.

“And now, we wait,” she announced.

“So, I take it you haven’t heard of the salacious white-leafed osier?” Aiden asked.

Rowenna rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “I mean, I read Gray Anise’s journals when I inherited this cottage from her. She was a true botanist-witch, unlike me, and I remember reading a bunch of funny long names in them. Wait a… what does ‘salacious’ mean?”

Aiden pushed his glasses up his nose. “Inciting sexual desire,” he answered. “There’s a legend about this particular osier—or willow, if you prefer a layman’s terms—that if you chew the leaves immediately prior to intercourse then you’re guaranteed to have twin children.”

Rowenna, a farm-witch who preferred the babies she dealt with to be fuzzy quadrupeds, wrinkled her nose. A moment later, however, the expression cleared. “Oh!” she exclaimed, and snapped her fingers. “I think I read something about a similar legend in the journals.”

Aiden’s gaze sharpened upon her. “May I read them?” he asked. “I know I’m only visiting and don’t have a right to your predecessor’s knowledge—“

Rowenna waved a permissive hand. “All fifteen volumes are in the attic. Go! You’ve got plenty of time before dinner.”

Aiden thumped up the stairs to the trapdoor leading to the attic. Four and a half hours later he emerged, covered in dust and bits of cobweb but smiling from ear to ear. “I found it!” he announced. “It grows here! Here, in the Forest of Silence! I need to go and get a specimen as soon as possible…” He started moving toward the coat rack in the foyer.

“Oh no you don’t!” Rowenna said. “This is my cottage, and as your host I demand that you eat dinner with me like a civilized witch before you go traipsing through the woods. It’s already dusk, anyway; you should wait until tomorrow.”

Aiden shook his head. “Can’t,” he said, but nevertheless allowed his feet to bring him back to the kitchen. He sat down at the table, and Rowenna put a bowl of stew and a spoon in front of him. “I need to test this legend to see if it’s true or not, and old Anise’s journals say that the leaves are most potent at night beneath the full moon.”

“Moon’s a waning gibbous tonight, Aiden,” Rowenna pointed out, and mopped up some of her own stew with the heel from a loaf of homemade bread. 

Aiden did the same with the other heel, but clearly didn’t taste what he put into his mouth; his mind was elsewhere. “I’m not waiting an entire month," he said. “If gibbous is as good as it gets, then so be it. I need to go tonight.”

Rowenna sighed. “Where in the forest are you planning to go, anyway? It’s gonna be hard to find a single tree out there.”

“Anise wrote that there was a grove of salacious white-leafed osiers along the shore of Starfall Lake. So, I’ll go there,” Aiden said between spoonfuls of stew.

Rowenna froze. “I… I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because the leshy lives near that lake,” Rowenna said, and put down her spoon.

“Is it dangerous?” Aiden asked.

“He,” Rowenna corrected. “He’s not dangerous unless he wants to be, but he’s very… well, callous, I guess you could say. He guards the Forest of Silence from threats. Anise knew him, and he came to visit the cottage once to pay his respects and welcome me as the new witch in this neck of his woods, but… look, Anise always said that leshen in the springtime should be avoided, and it’s May now.”

“Did she say why they were to be avoided?” Aiden pressed.

“No,” Rowenna admitted. “But—”

“I’ll take my chances,” Aiden said, and got up to wash his empty bowl in the sink. “Thank you for dinner, Rowenna. I’ll come back before dawn.”

“I sure hope you do,” the farm-witch muttered, and drank the last mouthful of wine straight from the bottle as Aiden left through the front door.

⬤

This far north, the wind that clattered the newly-leafed branches against each other overhead still carried the barest echo of winter’s bite. Aiden wore his coat and carried a lantern (and had a spare flask of oil in his rucksack, along with his watercolors, field notebook, pencils, witch-knife, a piece of apple cake, and other necessary oddments) whose flame more nibbled at the edges of the night than truly pushed back the darkness.

The botanist-witch startled when his familiar, the short-eared owl who had adopted the name Irk, alighted on the leather pad that Aiden wore over his left shoulder.

“Still chasing leaves and flowers rather than rats and squirrels?” the owl asked.

“Yes,” Aiden answered, and ducked under a branch.

“I was listening outside the window,” Irk continued. “I can guide you to Starfall Lake, but there is a leshy there and I don’t know if he wants visitors right now.”

“I’m not going to barge into his home without observing the proper courtesies, don’t worry.”

“From the air, the leshy seemed… unsettled by something. I don’t know if the proper courtesies will be enough,” Irk warned, and then took off.

With the owl’s guidance, Aiden traversed the darkness of the Forest of Silence. He encountered no wolves or bears newly woken from hibernation, although he did startle a doe and her two fawns from sleep in a clearing along the way. His feet ached by the time he reached the area close to Starfall Lake, and here he slowed—but not out of weariness. Instead, the botanist-witch reached out his hand and touched the trunk of an ancient maple.

This place was rife with wild magic; if Aiden hadn’t been told of the leshy’s presence beforehand, he would have suspected that a dryad or a spriggan resided nearby. However, the rituals for a witch to seek permission to enter an immortal forest-being’s home turf were largely the same across species: Aiden knelt on the dew-damp ground, set his lantern down beside him, and got out the piece of apple cake in its little basket from his rucksack. He placed the offering in front of him and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

The lantern flame guttered low after what could have been minutes or hours. Aiden reached for the flask of oil to refill it before it went out entirely.

“You won’t be needing that,” a voice rasped. It didn’t sound human, although it wasn’t Irk’s voice by any stretch of the imagination. Aiden turned and watched as a shape detached itself from a clump of shadow and approached.

“Good evening,” Aiden whispered to the leshy.

If he had been standing up straight, the leshy would have been at least seven feet tall, with a rack of antlers adding another foot and a half to that height. As it was, even while crouching his presence was intimidating. His face was bare, white bone, and in the uncertain lamplight Aiden couldn’t tell if it was a mask or his actual body. Either way, that bone terminated in a wolf-like muzzle full of fangs. The rest of the leshy reminded Aiden of someone who had embraced lupine lycanthropy, although minus the tail of the hybrid form: bulging muscles, clawed hands, dark gray fur, and only a ragged leather loincloth for clothing.

“What brings you to my home during the spring rut?” the leshy demanded.

Aiden blinked. Several thoughts went through his mind very quickly, such as but ruts happen in the autumn and oh THIS is what Rowenna meant about not visiting leshen in the springtime and finally am I in danger? His eyes darted to the leshy’s leather loincloth, where the shadows of the night and the leshy’s own hunched-over form did good work of concealing a massive erection; Aiden would never have noticed it if he hadn’t thought to look a second time.

“Spring is a difficult time for me, witch,” the leshy rasped. He must have seen Aiden looking, and Aiden dragged his eyes away with a guilty start. “There are no other leshen for a hundred leagues in any direction, and no resident of the forest wants to satisfy my needs. Speak your business and go before my patience runs dry.”

Aiden licked his suddenly dry lips. “I’m a witch—a guest of Rowenna’s—and I’ve come searching for a particular tree: the salacious white-leafed osier.”

The leshy scratched his jaw. “The willows with white leaves?” he asked. “Why? Are you impotent?”

Aiden felt his face heat in a blush. “No! I’m a botanist. I’m writing a book about every single magical plant species in the world, and some of the fungi.”

“Interesting,” the leshy said, although he didn’t sound particularly interested at all, and took the slice of apple cake from its basket. It was ridiculously tiny in his massive, clawed hand. He opened his fang-filled mouth—and that was definitely his actual body, not a mere mask of bone—and ate it in one bite.

“May I take some leaves from your willows?” Aiden asked, desperately trying not to glance at the loincloth again. He had never met a leshy before, but none of his past reading about the species had indicated they were mind-readers—which was very fortunate given the thoughts he now struggled to repress.

“What are you planning to do with them?” the leshy asked in return, dragging Aiden’s mind back to the task at hand. He circled around Aiden like a predator considering a trapped and wounded elk, his eyes glowing bloody red in the hollows of his bone-face.

Aiden shrugged with desperate nonchalance. “There’s a bit of folklore about how, if one chews the leaves of the salacious white-leafed osier prior to intercourse, then a pregnancy of twins is guaranteed—so, I’m going to chew some and find out how much of it is true.”

The leshy’s bone-face was unreadable as he passed in front of Aiden. “Why would you do that if you’re here alone? Can you become pregnant?” He leaned closer to the botanist-witch, his eyes burning like coals. “Don’t tempt me by saying you’re searching for a partner for this… experiment of yours.”

Aiden blushed again, and dug his nails into his palms to fight back a shiver of anticipation he knew would never—could never—be satisfied. He hoped the motion went unnoticed. “No, but there’s bound to be some kind of effect, and I want to find out what it is.”

“I see,” the leshy said. He backed off, and there was a pause where he carved deep grooves in the soft earth with his clawed hands in what might have been annoyance or frustration with his condition. “The white leaves of that willow are a powerful aphrodisiac if they’re fresh—and the moon is almost full now, too. You’d be humping every other rock and tree on your way home if you did this, witch.”

Aiden nodded. “How long does the effect last?”

“That varies depending on the moon phase, time of day, and of course the body of the person chewing the leaves,” the leshy pointed out.

Aiden thought for a moment, and his heart started to beat harder in his chest as the realization sank in: “I’m going to have to try it myself, then.”

The leshy gave a full-body shudder at that statement, then growled. “No,” he said. “I forbid it. Come back when the spring is over and I won’t be so tormented by watching you stumble through the forest like a sex-crazed March hare.”

“I can’t come back next season,” Aiden said. He pushed his glasses up his nose and tried not to glare at the leshy in the feeble, guttering lantern-light. “I only have another week with Rowenna before I need to leave the Forest of Silence to find and document all of the fungi in the southern half of the Dragonspine Mountains. I need to study the salacious white-leafed osier and its magical properties as soon as possible—i.e. now.”

The leshy’s eyes burned a brighter, angrier scarlet, and he lunged forward and snapped his massive jaws mere inches from Aiden’s throat. The human flinched.

“Don’t test me, witch,” the leshy snarled. “My patience is finite—especially during this time of year. Leave now.”

“What if I helped you with your rut?” Aiden blurted.

The leshy froze.

“You said the leaves are a powerful aphrodisiac,” Aiden continued quickly. “I’ll try them, and we can… make love, I suppose.”

“It’s not ‘making love’ during the rut, witch,” the leshy said. “It’s just fucking, pure and simple. You don’t know what you’re bargaining for.”

“I know you wouldn’t deliberately hurt me, and I need to know about this tree in order to complete my herbal. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

The lantern flame went out.

Aiden’s breath hitched as the leshy’s eyes burned with an entirely different kind of frustration than before. Those eyes were the only light he could see in the forest around him.

“What makes you so sure I wouldn’t hurt you?” the leshy asked, his voice a low rasp in the darkness. The eyes moved as he resumed pacing around the human, and Aiden followed them with his own gaze.

“Just a feeling,” Aiden whispered, but it sounded silly even in his own ears. “Let me relight the lan—”

“No,” the leshy said. “If you truly want to get fucked tonight, then we won’t do it under human terms. This is my home, witch; I make the rules. Get up.”

Aiden stood.

The eyes came closer, and a clawed hand fastened around his arm and led him through the darkness. The waning gibbous moon overhead didn’t provide as much light as Aiden had hoped; filtered through the trees as it was, the moonlight mostly just highlighted different pools of shifting shadow. Eventually, though, Aiden heard the lapping of tiny wavelets against a pebbled shore: they had reached Starfall Lake.

“The willow is in front of you,” the leshy rasped, his breath hot against Aiden’s ear. He must have been behind the witch.

Aiden reached out, and his hand encountered a slender, drooping withy covered with long, narrow leaves that had a not-quite-fleshy texture to them—like sage leaves, almost, but a little more succulent. A faint, vaguely minty smell lingered in the air here; Aiden wondered if it came from the plant.

Clawed hands settled on his shoulders. “Lost your courage?” the leshy asked.

“No,” Aiden replied, and stripped a handful of leaves from the withy. He squeezed them in his hands, bruising the foliage, and the minty smell intensified—so, the scent definitely came from the leaves. He brought one leaf to his mouth as the clawed hands reached around and began undoing the buttons of his coat. The first leaf was bursting with juice and made his tongue tingle as he chewed, and he shrugged the coat off his shoulders and let it fall to the ground at his feet.

“It will be more potent if you swallow it,” the leshy said.

“Is that a hint?” Aiden asked.

“Perhaps.”

Aiden swallowed the first leaf and started chewing the second. He shivered as the wind knifed through his shirt, and let out a small, surprised noise as the leshy pressed up against his back. The creature’s skin and rough fur were hot against Aiden’s own body, and he felt the insistent press of the leshy’s heavy, throbbing arousal against his lower back.

“Before we go any farther,” Aiden said around the leaf in his mouth, “is there a name I can call you?”

The leshy thought for a moment, rubbing his clawed hands up and down Aiden’s arms. “Marek,” he said eventually. “I killed a man named Marek once, when he came to my forest wanting to cut down far more trees than he needed. His name is mine now, as are his bones.”

Aiden jerked his head in a nod and swallowed the second leaf. “Marek,” he murmured, tasting the syllables. “Sounds good. I like it.”

The leshy huffed. “You don’t need to like it,” he grumbled, but he sounded pleased anyway.

Aiden chewed and ate a third leaf. He didn’t feel any immediate changes in his body or thoughts, but that meant little; the aphrodisiac probably needed time to take effect. For now, he leaned back against the leshy—Marek, apparently—and started unbuttoning his shirt.

“I’m surprised you’re being affected so quickly,” Marek mused, and took Aiden’s chin in his hand to tip his head back for the oddest kiss that Aiden had ever experienced. The leshy’s tongue was large, long, and flexible, and Aiden moaned in appreciation as Marek fucked it in and out of Aiden’s mouth. The smooth and slick length of the tongue delved deeper, so that Aiden was all but deepthroating it. He lapped his own tongue along the underside and bobbed his head, tasting a faint sourness, and felt Marek’s other hand curl possessively over his hip.

Aiden was breathing hard by the time they broke apart, his lips swollen and slick and his blood rushing to his quickening arousal. “It hasn’t affected me yet,” the botanist-witch insisted. “I just wanted to do this ever since I saw your cock.”

Marek chuckled—a low, dark sound that made Aiden shiver—and said: “You seemed far too proper to use that word, witch.”

“I say what I want,” Aiden retorted, and the shirt joined the pile of fabric that the coat had started. He kicked off his boots, and was about to start on the fly of his pants when he remembered to say: “Oh! My name’s Aiden, by the way.”

“I will remember it,” Marek promised. “Now, show me what you want.”

Aiden sank to his knees in front of the leshy, working his fly open one-handed as his other hand stroked the leshy’s cock, which was much thicker than he had expected. Aiden gave the tip a small lick, tasting warm, bitter pre-cum, and Marek had another full-body shudder in response. His own cock twitched in the confines of his briefs.

“This is what you want, witch? You want to suck the monster’s cock?”

Aiden looked up at the leshy’s burning eyes. “You did say the willow would be more potent if I swallowed,” he pointed out, and the leshy groaned.

He leaned forward and swirled his tongue around the head, then hollowed his cheeks and sucked. Marek let out a ragged breath above him, and a moment later a massive hand came to rest on top of Aiden’s hair, the claws ever so lightly scratching against his scalp. Aiden hummed in approval and cupped the leshy’s balls with both hands, lightly massaging the heated weight of them. The fur here was short and surprisingly soft, almost downy. The claws stopped their gentle pressure, and Marek’s grip on his head firmed as the leshy gave a light but insistent shove to move Aiden’s mouth down his cock.

“Don’t play games with me,” the leshy growled.

Aiden made a noise that hopefully sounded apologetic, then got to work in earnest. He relaxed his jaw, then took as much of the leshy’s cock as he could into his throat. Marek snarled in approval, his hips twitching with the barely-restrained urge to thrust. Aiden bobbed his head as he breathed carefully through his nose. The leshy’s scent was very strong here, a heady primal mix of sweat and carnivore musk that made Aiden push his briefs down his thighs. A hot, needy ache grew somewhere inside his pelvis, and if he could just slake it with a few strokes of his hand…

Marek used his clawed hind foot to pull Aiden’s hand away from his underwear. “You can cum when I fuck you, witch,” the leshy said, “but not before.”

Aiden’s whine of protest went ignored by the leshy. Still, the human liked the idea of Marek fucking him; his own cock twitched again as he imagined the long, girthy cock in his mouth stretching his hole. He clenched around nothing, suddenly feeling horrifically empty, and took the leshy a little deeper into his throat. He was almost at his limit, but surely he could take just a bit more…

The twitches of Marek’s hips grew into shallow thrusts that Aiden struggled not to choke around. The head of the leshy’s cock hit the back of his throat again and again until Aiden gagged in earnest and tried to pull back. For a few moments, Marek held his head in place, and then the leshy relented and allowed Aiden to suckle the head of his cock. The human tongued at the slit repeatedly as the leshy growled and shook above him, and Aiden used one hand to stroke the rest of Marek’s cock as his other hand fondled the leshy’s heavy balls. He wondered what Marek’s cum tasted like. He wondered if he would get to taste it. He wondered if he would get to cum himself—because he needed to, he really, really needed—

“Enough,” Marek gritted out, and Aiden pulled off of him.

Aiden sat back and wiped his mouth on his arm. “What now?” he asked, voice breathless and hoarse as he stared up at the leshy’s burning eyes in the darkness. He squirmed on the ground, desperate for friction.

“Now I fuck you properly,” Marek said. His head cocked to the side above Aiden. “If you’re ready.”

Aiden snapped his fingers, causing a fat green spark to flare from his fingertips. It dissolved into nothingness, and when the last vestiges of its glow were gone the botanist-witch nodded. “I’m clean now, yes,” he said.

Marek chuckled. “I like that you can do that so quickly,” the leshy said. “On your back; I want to watch your face while I fuck you.”

Aiden laid back on top of his coat and shirt, kicked off his pants and briefs, and splayed his legs open. “Am I that pretty to you?” he teased, smiling up at the burning red eyes above him.

“Pretty enough,” Marek answered. “Don’t get ideas.”

“I’ll try not t—” Aiden began, then cut himself off when the blunt head of the leshy’s cock pressed against his hole. He lifted himself up and tried to hook his ankles around the creature’s furry neck, but Marek was too tall. Aiden settled for bracing his feet against the leshy’s muscular chest, and then shivered at the burn of penetration that crackled up his spine like an electric charge. A clawed hand curled around his neck, the pressure gentle for now, and another held down the arm of his dominant hand to preemptively stop Aiden from reaching for himself. He frowned, but didn’t have time to dwell on the restraint.

“Enjoying yourself?” Marek asked, then made an experimental thrust. Aiden gave a shallow gasp and nodded, and the leshy growled in what might have been approval and quickened his pace. Aiden whimpered and squirmed underneath him; Marek’s cock was big, sliding along the knife’s edge of being too long and girthy for Aiden to take without a significant amount of time and lube to prepare himself, and the pleasure that sparked along his nerves was a hair's breadth away from pain.

Marek bent over Aiden, and that long tongue licked along the angle of the witch’s jaw. Aiden shuddered as the leshy’s thrusting grew more insistent, and the hand at his throat was replaced by the damp pressure of a mouth that was full of fangs.

“Please,” Aiden whispered as he let his head fall back, baring his throat even further.

Marek pulled away long enough for a question: “Please what?”

“More,” Aiden gasped. “Harder.”

The leshy chuckled. “Looks like the willow has taken effect,” he said, and Aiden could only nod as those teeth returned to his throat. The hot, aching pressure inside Aiden was building toward its crescendo, and Aiden could do nothing to stop it or help it along while in the leshy’s grasp. Marek bit down, gently enough not to break the thin skin over the human’s throat but hard enough that Aiden let out an involuntary hiss of instinctive fear.

Marek pulled away again. “Careful, Aiden,” he crooned in mock-concern, “You wouldn’t want my teeth to slip…”

“N-no,” Aiden managed. “That would be… bad…”

“It would be,” Marek agreed, and licked the spot he had bitten. The gesture was neither apology nor comfort. Aiden whimpered again and bucked his hips against the leshy’s cock, trying to move in time with Marek’s thrusts.

“You’re very flexible,” the leshy observed, and then his voice lowered to a growl. “Maybe I should keep you here for my own use every spring—keep you drugged and needy with white-leaf willow so that you can’t think of anything but having my cock inside you.”

Aiden could only moan loudly in agreement. Marek changed the angle of his thrusts, and his cock hit a spot inside Aiden that made the human’s back lift into a dramatic arch. Delicious fire engulfed Aiden’s nerves, burning away any and all thought except the exquisite pleasure rushing through him—but it wasn’t quite enough. The leshy laughed again as Aiden whined insistently underneath him, and then he acquiesced to the human’s wordless demand and fucked him at a grueling pace.

Maybe it was the willow, or maybe that Aiden hadn’t had sex in almost a year as he had worked obsessively on his herbal, but he was already getting close. The human’s cock smeared beads of pre-cum against his inner thigh from where it brushed against the skin there, hot and aching with need. Aiden reached for it without thinking, and the leshy immediately and remorselessly pinned his hand to the ground. 

“I—I need—” Aiden tried to protest.

Sharp claws trailed lightly down the column of the human’s exposed throat. “You’ll need what I tell you to need,” the leshy whispered, voice rough and panting. His burning eyes seemed to fill Aiden’s entire world in the darkness beside the lake. “And right now I need you to cum for me. You’ll tighten up around me so good when you cum. Be good for me, Aiden.”

The leshy’s voice tipped the witch over the edge. Aiden keened as his orgasm rushed through him like a wildfire through a dry meadow, an inferno that engulfed him in sizzling pleasure centered on his spurting cock. 

Above him, Marek snarled in approval, and the leshy’s thrusts grew frantic and harsh. His claws dug into Aiden’s arm, and he leaned down to grip the human’s neck in his jaws, his teeth leaving indents in the soft flesh there. Aiden clung to him, his fingers tangling in the leshy’s fur and pressing hard into the muscled hide beneath. He writhed as Marek pressed himself as deep as he could inside Aiden and spent himself.

It took Aiden a small eternity to come back to himself. The willow still affected him: his erection hadn’t fully abated, and he caught himself sighing in regret as Marek pulled out of him and left him empty. 

“Miss me already?” the leshy asked.

“Somewhat,” Aiden admitted. “That was… really good.”

“Oh, we’re not done yet,” Marek said. “This is the spring rut; I’ll be ready to fuck you again in… eh, ten minutes or so.”

Aiden sat up, his arousal momentarily forgotten. “Ten minutes?” he demanded.

Marek chuckled. “Yes,” he said. “Maybe a little less. Why? Is Rowenna expecting you back before dawn?”

Aiden opened his mouth, then shut it again.

“I’m afraid you’ll just have to disappoint her,” the leshy said. “Now, come here.”

Did you enjoy this piece of writing? Please consider buying me a coffee so that I can have a warm drink while I write.

#monster lover #monster romance #monster smut #leshy x human #monster x human #monster boyfriend #original fiction #original characters #terato #smut writing #pwp #sage's portfolio

[anchovies-4-dinner]

A Matter of Trust | Yan! Kazuha

What if: Kazuha's trust is not so easily regained

Words: 5.2k

Warnings: Tomo breadcrumbs

A/N: Merry Christmas guys 🥳, will probably re edit

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

From the day you were born the world pitied you.

Caregivers and suitors alike found you a hassle. Your parents cushioned you as if you were glass. Unable to see the beauties of the world this child grew restless in their plight and resorted to creating their own escape; instruments of various size and features littered their room, more like trinkets than the intended purpose.

‘Till their fingers bled and voice drained hoarse their melodies sang of their longing for something greater. Finally, their pleas were answered.

An unordinary winter night filled with notes, each played to perfection despite the frigid temperature. Thanks to the bumbling thermal mass in front you felt like you were sitting next to a fire.

Occasionally the ringing of mora would elicit a grateful smile and a nod, but what was the correct response for an animal purring against you?

A hiss cut the air before cold hands brushed your thigh to drag away the creature but you simply chuckled, “Let it stay, I don’t mind having a companion for a while. If you spare me some mora I could even play you a tune in the meantime.”

“Well, if you insist.” A confident voice replied before whispering to someone else, “Hey do you have any mora?”

“You blew it all at the market, friend. I’m afraid we’ve only half a penny to our name until we arrive back.”

It was quiet for a while and you almost forgot their presence until one of them (the noticeably taller one) slid down the wall you were leaning against to sit. The shorter followed suit. You were used to some hanging around for a respite from daily life but none had struck up a conversation before now.

“So… How long have you been blind?”

Of all topics… His companion rightfully smacked the daylights out of Tall and profusely apologised to which you shook your head, “It’s quite alright, but if you must know I was just born like this. No hilichurl or slime I’m afraid. And what about you, how did you get your vision?”

“Hah? I thought you were blind.” Tall’s vision wasn’t activated but you could feel its pulsing heat. On the other hand Short’s vision was felt more like summer air.

“Visions are pretty versatile. I had to make do with what I got.”

“Which is?”

You quelled a cheeky grin, “Did you ever wonder how I kept warm in this weather?”

He coughed, “Well, to answer your first question it was no easy feat. You see, I was out when-”

“He begged for it.” This time Short was the one getting grabbed and manhandled. Despite this he continued, “Every day and night- he even tried sending offerings to our Archon!”

“You gremlin!” Short let out a pained laugh at his friend’s humiliation, “As if yours is any better, all you had to do was think about your sword!”

The cat hissed when it was jostled and bit its owner to which Tall yelped. You could feel eyes on your little group yet you couldn’t help but laugh at their tomfoolery, not like you weren’t used to the former anyway.

When they finally settled Tall cleared his throat, “I suppose you have a more interesting story then? Not unlike ours.”

You practically felt the glare Tall sent his friend. “Not really, I was just cold when performing.”

“What…”

“Poor Tomo. I guess you just prayed to the wrong Archon.” Short didn’t sound sympathetic at all, “But how rude of us, we didn’t introduce ourselves at all.”

Tall went ignored - ’Don’t try acting like a gentleman now!’ - as you felt Short practically climb over him, “I’m Kazuha and he’s Tomo. That’s his cat, Cat.”

“… Just Cat?”

“A bit uncreative, I know.”

“Well I’m (Y/n). Nice to meet you three.” You smiled and held out a hand for him to shake, only for your knuckles to be kissed instead.

“Alright!” Kazuha was ripped away and you heard the crunch of snow, “I get you find them attractive! Get to the point already!”

Kazuha’s body temperature rose considerably and he grunted from being pushed, “If it’s ok with you, we were wondering if you would be interested in travelling with us? We understand if you don’t want to.”

The man waited with bated breath as you deliberated over his words. Kazuha… you’ve heard of the fall of his clan and his status of a wanderer. Obviously you should decline his offer because you hardly knew him (not to mention Tomo the Total Stranger), but going back to your golden cage?

You leaned forward. The two leaned closer.

“I’d love to, but they’re watching.”

That would’ve been enough to deter anyone, but Kazuha was a special kind of determined. “Not to worry. We’re experienced in escape.”

“That doesn’t sound shady at all”

The two stood up and you followed suit, trembling hands gripping your Gottan in anticipation. You felt Cat leave your side to duck into Tomo’s clothes. A warm hand shyly took your hand and you squeezed back:

“Let’s get out of here.”

You started walking with Kazuha while Tomo hung back slightly. Shuffling through the crowd made you slightly nervous but the ex-Lord’s constant temperature grounded you. Tomo’s on the other hand simmered and spiked when he suddenly urged you both forward.

Despite the overwhelming mass of bodies, you barely managed to track the familiar heat of your bodyguards your parents assigned to you. Weaving through the dense mob proved an arduous task, especially seeing as it was a festival, but Kazuha’s vision - anemo, you presumed - helped to make a quick path.

After ducking into alleys and turning corners you felt cold air slap your face as you emerged from the streets. Shouts sounded from behind but were drowned by the roar of wind; you gasped when you were abruptly swept off your feet, clutching Kazuha and your Gottan for dear life.

“Hold on tight.”

That was all the warning you got before a wave of lightness took over your form. Hair whipped your face. Tomo whooped. Kazuha chuckled. You laughed.

It was reckless. Impulsive. And you loved it.

…

“So, you find me attractive?”

The fire burned hot, but Kazuha burned hotter. “Is that weird? Considering this is the first time we’ve officially met.”

“I’d be lying if I said it was. I’ve heard a lot of you during those banquets and what not, I admit I’m no different than those who fawn over you.”

You were both in a cave surrounding a fire. Tomo went out to catch some fish and to ’give you love birds some space’. How thoughtful.

“Had I known, our situation would be very different from now.”

A grin wormed its way up as you thumbed the strap of your Gottan, “I doubt my parents would allow our marriage anyhow; even the Almighty Shogun wouldn’t be good enough for me apparently.”

“I can see why.” You felt the flame lick your face though you were a good few feet away. Increased sensitivity would do that to you. “Will you miss them?”

“Gods no. All they do is coddle me to death.” That was that. Any attempts to prod into your family was shut down.

It was slightly uncomfortable sleeping on the cold hard floor but Cat provided a lot of comfort, much to the chagrin of Tomo; the latter was now knocked out cold despite his complaints.

Unbeknownst to you Kazuha stared at your figure. A soft smiled graced his lips.

…

“Cat, what are you doing? Have you forgotten who your true owner is?!”

“Meow.”

Tittering of birds complimented your melody as you all sat on the beach; the snow had long since melted and summer was in full bloom. Despite this Cat still clung to you or Kazuha, never Tomo. What a devious animal. Unfortunately her method seemed to be doing wonders as Tomo no later offered his morsel of fish for just one stroke of fur.

Speaking of Kazuha he was lounging on the rock you were leaning against, occasionally chipping in with his own tune via leaf. Someday you’ll buy him a proper flute.

The peace was interrupted when you felt warm hands brush your hair. “A storm is brewing. It would be wise to find shelter soon.”

“In how many minutes? I’m really enjoying my tan right now.” Tomo sighed and cracked his bones.

“Unless you fancy being struck by lightning, I would advise against staying for more than, let’s say, a minute.”

“Alright, alright, I’m up.”

It didn’t take long for you to find shelter in a hotel, and just as Kazuha predicted the weather turned for the worse.

You sighed, “Such a lovely day isn’t it. How long do you think it’ll last this time? I say two hours, and Kazuha don’t say anything.”

“Hold on, let me telepathically tune in to Baal’s thoughts.” Tomo made a show of straining his non-existent power which was the equivalent to someone crapping themselves, “Hnnng a day.”

“Really?”

“I think someone with electro has a better chance of predicting a storm wouldn’t you say?”

“Last time I checked I was the one to-” Kazuha was cut off by his friend shifting on his bed and waving his hand carelessly.

“Blah blah blah. Come back to me when you got your money ready 'cause I’m not forecasting for free ya know.”

It was funny at first, until it wasn’t.

“It really did last all day…”

Even Kazuha couldn’t predict that. You all crowded around the window showcasing the absolute carnage; you on the other hand could only feel the heavy vibrations.

“You know, it’s been stormy these past few weeks. What’s up with that?” You asked Kazuha.

“Don’t ask me, ask Mr weather forecaster.” Kazuha redirected to Tomo.

“Hmm, yes.” Tomo concluded intelligently. “Kazuha, do that lizard thing again.”

“I’m not poking my tongue out the window Tomo.”

Their squabble was interrupted by a knock on the door. Upon opening Kazuha picked up what seemed to be a newspaper. You felt his blood turn cold as he read aloud:

“NEW: Vision Hunt Decree and Sakoku Decree have been enacted…”

…

How long has it been since you felt the sun? Every time you emerged with your disguise it felt no different from staying inside. It was the same stifling atmosphere with everyone on edge from the Tenryou Commission marching the streets; the new laws were barked and ingrained into everyone’s skull everyday.

Public vision confiscations were held often. More and more wanted posters piled up on the local dashboard, yet both you and Tomo wanted to stay.

“Why-” Kazuha trembled, “What is there left for us?”

“Leave if you have to Kazuha. In fact, we’d prefer it if you escaped far from here.” You shrugged on your disguise as did Tomo, “We’ve already agreed to work with the resistance. Do as you like.”

You regretted your cold tone but you deigned to correct yourself, nerves jittery from the prospect of war. For the longest time Kazuha didn’t speak; his temperature stayed constant, though it just served to unsettle you even more.

Tomo was uncharacteristically quiet as well, stepping towards his friend to hand over the struggling Cat to the safer option. Kazuha refused.

“You guys…” Kazuha’s voice was wet yet resolute, “Where are we going?”

…

Unlike Tomo and Kazuha who were sent to Watatsumi Island you were stationed in Inazuma City; your job was to communicate with other resistance members through your mask of a street musician.

Kazuha was understandably perturbed over this decision and you had to settle for a few visits per week from him, and in the case he couldn’t Tomo came in his steed. You never directly interacted to avoid suspicion.

Despite this you could always immediately sense him; his calming presence was difficult to ignore after all.

No one suspected you. Missions were completed without fault. Kazuha grew too comfortable.

“(Y/n) (L/n), you are hereby under arrest for possessing a vision. Surrender peacefully and the Shogun may show her mercy.”

Somehow you knew this day would come. You clutched your gottan as the soldiers approached, perhaps too relaxed at facing a blind vision holder. Their mistake.

With a sudden strum a flood of fire enveloped the men as you hurriedly made your getaway. The escape route had been drilled into you by none other than your lover and you made good use of it, aided by subtle pyro marks left for guidance - until you reached a dead end. How could that be? No one ever uses this route…

It didn’t take long for your enemies to catch up helped by bystanders who were too afraid to lie. Still you fought valiantly, playing the agreed distress notes. All you had to do was last until reinforcements arrived.

The mixture of flames and bodies proved overwhelming, yet your fingers played and played and played 'till they bled and each strum felt like dragging a razor across your flesh. Retched stench of burned skin made you gag. You couldn’t even curl your fist, let alone feel your hand.

Eventually your show came to an end when Sara herself came as the swift victor; within one strike you were downed and taken for judgement.

In the end no one came to save you.

…

Tomo stared at his mess of a friend who collapsed on the floor. His calloused hand squeezed Kazuha’s shoulder.

“Kazuha, we’ll save them. Promise.”

He knew what he had to do.

…

After the public affair you were locked in a plush room. Stripped of hopes and ambitions

you lay blank in your bed, a couple occasionally intruding to vent their suppressed feelings and chide you for your 'stupid and mindless rebellion’.

Being tied and stripped of your most crucial sense hollowed you. Perhaps this was what encouraged to confess their deepest betrayal:

“Silly child. Have your adventures not taught you to be so naive? Those 'allies’ of yours are not so much different from nobles, one glimpse of gold and they’re already stabbing your back.”

No matter how harsh the fire inside you burned you couldn’t find it in yourself to refute.

You didn’t know how long it was until bloodcurdling screams erupted in the middle of the night. Heavy footsteps approached your room; the door lock clicked and the wash of familiar perfume urged you to rise from bed. She didn’t get very far when the door was knocked off its hinges.

All was quiet.

Warm liquid pooled beneath your feet as you were abruptly embraced. A man spilled apologies into your clothes which grew stickier, the smell of metal making your nose crinkle. Shouting interrupted your moment and you were once again whisked off into the summer night air.

After a good round of jostling you were brought to a complete halt. The man sucked in a breath before continuing - no later did you hear the rolling of waves and the man desperately shout:

“E-Excuse me!”

After an exchange of words you were shakily handed off to someone else with a bit of difficulty (the man’s hands seemed to be gripping your skin too tightly) before his footsteps faded again. The person huffed and set you down on a bed somewhere unstable.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we? Didn’t think I’d meet you like this but I guess fate has a funny way of doing things eh?”

At your lack of response she awkwardly returned to plop something soft into your lap; at this moment the room door creaked open.

“Kazuha…”

“… I’ll explain later. Thanks for taking us in.”

The woman left with a soft click of the door. The bed dipped as 'Kazuha’ hesitantly undressed you to your last layers (which were thankfully clean). It wasn’t until he was wiping away the blood that the silence was broken:

“Tomo is dead.”

Something small inside you broke. You know you should be doing something but all you could muster was a nod. At this the gentle hands twitched.

“Tomo… that fool couldn’t have picked a worse distraction could he? I guess he was finally done hiding.” The man coughed a pathetic laugh. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not protecting you like I should have, the both of you.”

Washing was completely abandoned in favour of gripping your arms - his right was alarmingly tender.

'Kazuha’s’ voice trembled, “You’re the only one I have left. Tell me you won’t leave me and follow his fate.”

You remained silent. Hot droplets ran down your cheeks; they weren’t your own.

“(Y/n), say something. Anything.”

“… Who are you?”

…

The most of your days were spent bed ridden. If you were to leave your room for a minute 'Kazuha’ would vomit, cry, and beg for you to return. All in that order.

The creaking of wood all around you was stifling, not to mention the frequent lurching which would prompt you to vomit too. Those were the only moments the man would allow you to get a breath of fresh air. It was no different from being in that plush room.

Unless 'Kazuha’ was ripped away from you he would sit and recite melancholy haikus or play a tune on some leaf he managed to catch. Their melodies felt nostalgic but were nothing more than by gone memories, so you gave no acknowledgements.

One day the man returned with a wooden instrument. Your calloused fingers fiddled with the familiar texture of its strings - a Gottan, he called it. Although a bit lofty, from pure muscle memory you assumed the correct position (at least what you thought was correct going by his hopeful words) only for all that tension to fall flat upon your first strum.

Quiet filled the cabin again, accompanied by the discordance of your 'performance’.

When everything would inevitably fall silent, and even rambunctious laughter from your neighbours died down, 'Kazuha’ would lay beside you to press his ear against your chest; the steady rhythm of your heart calmed his jitters and lulled him to a deep sleep. Though his now bandaged arms would still cling on to you as if you would disappear too.

Despite his constant presence your world was still cold.

…

Inazuma’s most historical war occurred right outside your room - and you were asleep for the entirety of it. Only when the familiar heat of your vision was fervently pressed against your palm did you awake.

“The war is over. We’re free (Y/n).”

You’d engulfed the man- Kazuha in a bone crushing hug, tears spilling for your fallen friend and hope for a new future. Though the owner gone his cold vision pressed against your warm bodies as if reciprocating the embrace.

…

“I’ll play you a tune. Free of charge.”

Sand cradled your form as you recreated the bittersweet tune Tomo would often whistle with your gottan, adopted from one of the taverns you visited. When your wavering voice failed Kazuha filled in admittedly less adequately. Cat, recently retrieved from the safety of Watatsumi Island, nestled beside Tomo’s sword.

It wasn’t a perfect goodbye, but it was the best he could hope for.

…

Sailing became your new norm. After thanking Captain Beidou profusely for her generosity you practically pledged your services, settling into your role as a performer and minor combatant.

Within the privacy of your cabin, you’d trace Kazuha’s scarred hand - mangled by Tomo’s pure ambitions - with the plump of your lips. In turn he would kiss your knuckles down to the tips of your fingers, before finally pressing them to his forehead in reverence.

The first night after the war was tough. Even though you were both safe he still clung on tight to you. You didn’t mind before, but now that you regained your heat sensitivity it began to feel suffocating.

…

It didn’t take long until you grew homesick; not once did you set foot in Inazuma no matter how much you pleaded. Despite his calm disposition you would feel his temperature rise with every suggestion, leading to numerous arguments even the crew turned a blind eye to.

A rift grew between the couple. Kazuha must’ve sensed this as he finally relented on the approach to Christmas; as Inazuma’s borders were reopened there were bound to be foreigners introducing the festive spirit.

Docking couldn’t have come sooner as you basically jogged out the Alcor - or would’ve if Kazuha hadn’t kept such a tight hold on your arm. Ever the gentleman.

Usually, Cat would trot up ahead but even the creature didn’t feel like leaving the couple behind. Her claws dug uncomfortably into your clothes; it seemed she couldn’t rid of her habit of nestling deep into her owner.

As you approached the festival the shuffling mass became more and more daunting. Not to mention the added fire fixtures to warm the visitors, it was nothing short of diving into a hot soup of piranhas. Nevertheless, you weren’t one to waste an occasion and resorted to sticking by the walls.

Though it took some time you acclimated to the mood and began enjoying yourself. Music and chatter filled the air (and suddenly you were back to the hopeful street musician who knew only of Inazuma. Strangely you found yourself longing to go back to those times).

After buying a few snacks you finally built up the courage to participate in a few activities; a snowman competition (you’d accidentally melted the entire body), gingerbread house decorating (though Kazuha complimented yours profusely you had a feeling it was subpar), and finally karaoke. At least for the last one you managed to smash the competition, never mind the potential bias from your condition.

Eventually your social battery ran low and you had to retreat to a corner, your lover hot on your heels as always. You’d hoped the jolly atmosphere would wear down his guard but unfortunately not.

“You know you can relax, right? It’s not like a bomb is suddenly going to drop on us.” You sighed as you sat down on a bench.

Your back was bumped from behind and you restrained an eye roll when Kazuha tightly gripped your shoulder, no doubt casting a glare at the one behind.

“One can never know. The world is full of surprises, it’s better to be safe than sorry.” The man squished beside you, eliciting a complaint from Cat as she was semi crushed, “You of all people should know that.”

The fur ball tolerated your squeeze of her paw as you mulled over his words, the once happy atmosphere turning sour. “For every kind person there’ll always be someone 'bad’. It’s just how it is and I’ve learnt to live with it.”

“But that doesn’t mean you should be so careless; you’ve seen how far they’re willing to go and yet to see their limit. I understand Tomo, but you?”

Your face crinkled, “I’m fully capable of defending myself.”

“I know that.”

“I’m also an adult.”

“I know that.”

“Then what are you trying to say?”

Kazuha sighed (and suddenly you were the little child vexing their parents again). “Come. I want to take you somewhere.”

This time he led you not by your side but by a loose tug of your wrist. Every brush of a stranger’s shoulder you anticipated, but it did nothing to help soothe the uneasiness from being smothered and spat out the crowd. Without the human furnaces the elements crept up and you were forced to huddle closer to your lover.

As the voices died down you realised with every turn and step where you were headed. After all, it was hard to forget the path you took every time when sneaking out.

He finally stopped. His rough, bandaged hand guided yours to the sign. From the bumps of the carved letters, it read:

'Residence of the (L/n) Clan’

Even after all this time your home hadn’t been reclaimed?

“There was a ghost story circulating of the fall of your family from a single swordsman. I guess one-man-slaughters are becoming something of a bad omen nowadays.” His chuckle felt misplaced, “How much do you remember?”

“Only the part where we entered the Alcor. Some things are a bit hazy but that’s the most of what I can remember.” It was then your brain kicked into gear and you balked at his nonchalance, “Hold on, my family?”

He hesitated, “Vengeance usually isn’t my cup of tea, but what you parents did was unforgivable. You understand, don’t you?”

Despite everything you couldn’t quell the sharp anger and sorrow; yes, they were shitty, but as much as you hated to admit they really did love you in their own frustrating, horrifically irrational way.

“I… need some time alone.”

It was like a mask cracking; an irritated 'tsk’ broke you out of your thoughts, “You shouldn’t dwell on such troublesome things anymore, they’re not worth your time.”

“What’s gotten into you? No one can just simply move on after having their family removed!” Confusion was evident in your tone, “It’s not like you’ve done so either. Just look at your behaviour in the past year!”

“Unlike you I’m trying to ensure our future by learning from my mistakes. I’ve been patient all this time in hopes you’ll see things from my view, but it seems you aren’t open to that either.”

Cat shuffled as you turned to fully face Kazuha, “But I have, I do see things your way and I just don’t agree with how you’re doing it. We could try for a middle ground but you’re just too stubborn!”

“The last time we went for a middle ground you went and got yourself captured.”

“See! You haven’t moved on-”

“Which is why you can’t expect me to ease up after living with what was practically a corpse. Do you know what happens when someone loses their vision (Y/n)?”

“They temporarily lose their memory? But that only happened to some people, and I guess some changes to behaviour…” You’d heard much about your dull state one too many times.

“And do you know what it felt like?” You swallowed as Kazuha’s temperature rose at a frighteningly steady speed, “To wake up not knowing which day would be your last. To not know what was going on in your head, if you had any thoughts at all. To watch your body deteriorate without being able to do anything. I don’t- will not let that happen again.”

“… Even so you can’t just decide for me. I came with you as an escape from my life, not to be scolded on what’s best for me-” You broke out in sweat as his hot hand grabbed your shoulder.

“I don’t trust you.”

(And suddenly you were the glass child who lost their autonomy)

“I think we should take a break.” Your skin prickled when you felt Kazuha’s eyes sharpen, “I just want some time to think things over. Without you attached to my hip all the time.”

You know that last part stung when even Cat huddled further inside your clothes. You elaborated, “I know you wouldn’t trade exploring the world for anything, and I want to stay in Inazuma. My home. The next time you return let’s play a tune together, yeah? And we’ll figure it out from there.”

Kazuha simply led you back to the festival. You tried enjoying the activities despite the confrontation, but the atmosphere was too awkward. It didn’t help that you were constantly surrounded by so many people; you were always clinging to the walls but now you felt like you’d get heatstroke soon. That thought was certainly not helping.

Ready to be escorted back to the hotel, your hand clutched your lover’s arm-

“Uh, do I know you?”

That was most certainly not Kazuha. You backed up and muttered an apology only to bump into another, “Watch where you’re going!”

At this point anxiety overtook you and you tried shoving past for the familiar, cool texture of wood but you had no idea what direction you were facing. Cursing your lover, your head began to spin from ducking and turning so much it felt like it would physically detach. Cat wasn’t present either, had she run off while you weren’t looking?

Just when you were ready to off yourself a familiar rough hand escorted you to the wall - the safe area. Now given the chance to breathe you hit the man’s chest:

“You asshole, what was that for? You know how I get in crowds yet you pull that shit on me anyway, I can’t believe you!”

Kazuha didn’t respond, though his scorching presence made his feelings clear. Despite having the integrity to lead you back to the hotel he didn’t join you in bed.

…

“Ah, my friend, this sake couldn’t be stronger.”

The sword stood stiff. Kazuha sighed, tightly clutching the throat of the bottle he bought on his way. His red eyes drifted to the white vision staring back at him. Then at his own reflection in the blade of the sword.

At that moment, he knew what he had to do.

…

“What do you mean 'no longer available?’”

“Sorry, but last night there was an incident which cost you your inheritance…”

Your fingers curled on the wooden desk. Your lover hesitated before asking, “What incident?”

The rustling of passed paper pierced the stuffy office as Kazuha read it. No sooner did he excuse you both from the office.

Your home was reduced to ashes. Your fingers no longer traced grooves, but what little remained of the sign. The eye watering smell of burnt material flooded your senses and a wave of nausea made you stumble as you were ushered away by a police officer. A storm of panic swept your mind as your plans you stayed up all night for were ruined. You could only trudge aimlessly through the streets with Kazuha trailing behind.

“There’s nothing left for you here.”

“I could always go back to my old 'job’. Perhaps these people would appreciate some foreign music.”

“A most unstable occupation.”

“There must be some places hiring.”

“Even so…” The last part was left unsaid, yet the implication was clear.

You stopped abruptly and faced the man, “I’m not going on the Alcor, I’ve already told Captain Beidou so you can’t just drag me on.”

“What a coincidence, I told her the same thing.”

“Then what are you getting at?” Uncertainty boiled your stomach as Cat’s whiskers scratched your skin, “Are you staying as well?”

How naive of you. Kazuha merely enveloped you in a hug, “Like you said, I won’t trade exploring the world for anything. If you’d like, we can still visit Inazuma-”

So that’s what he was playing at. Wrinkling your nose in disgust you shoved him away and scoffed, “Ugh, I can’t believe you! I said no so stop badgering me already!”

Upon leaving he made no move to stop you. Good, perhaps he finally got the message-

Vision confiscation affects everyone differently. Kazuha was fortunate enough that your reaction was a compliant state; you didn’t even make it out of his view until the effect settled in.

Ensuring that your vision was kept out of your reach he gently steered you to the boat he’d prepared beforehand. The man couldn’t even look at your face, but as soon as you reached Liyue he would give it back. Promise.

Your vision seared his skin. Unfortunately, Kazuha’s nerves had long been numbed since the war.

(And suddenly you were back where you started)

#yandere Genshin #yandere Kazuha #blind reader #yandere

[darxk]

iris - i don't want the world to see me

tw/cw: blood, cuts, emotionally pressuring thoughts, breakdown

a/n i definitely vented to some degree in this

___________________________________________________________

as you watched the blood trickle down your fingertips, you couldn’t help but wonder how you ended up like this. how you ended up with a torn apart room and bloody hands.

the game was a 6 of clubs. you felt like screaming. how much more can you take? how many people did you have to please in order to survive? you wanted so badly to snap the neck of one of the players for verbally berating you. “you’re so weak and limp! i heard that you couldn’t even protect your teammates last round! what makes you think i’d play with you?” . you winced every word the man spat. he didn’t stop until kuina gave him a piece of her mind

after the vile man had left, kuina turned to you, “are you ok?!” you nod. her face hardens, “why didn’t you do anything?”

you had been at a loss for words. the man had been a key player and you couldn’t do anything. you didn’t want to seem too hardheaded to anyone.

you had been able to complete the game and took the cars back to the beach where kuina rambled on about some random thing. you had bid her goodbye and quickly hurried to your room, brushing past a man in a hoodie.

as soon as you collapsed in your room, a string of curses escaped your throat. “why the fuck am i even crying?!” you laughed hysterically, “i’m just being stupid.”

“stop crying, it’s unsightly!”

“how shameless… to think you would act out like this.”

“how selfish.”

the memory was a slap to the cheek. you remembered that day, the neighbours had kicked a ball to your face, and you went to seek comforting words from your family but that was the only thing they said were those harsh words. you had quickly learned that getting mad at anyone was useless, that it wouldn’t benefit you. you just wanted someone to see you for you, not the world you would misunderstand your whole being. but when you had found someone, he was cold and dishonest… not the best person but you took what you got. and you probably took too much. because that’s what you do, you take, and you take without ever giving.

today was the tipping of the scale, you were at the height of emotional capacity, sick of bottling everything up. you grabbed the nearby glasses and threw them at the wall. you were being petty and having a meltdown, but nobody could see you, so you didn’t give a fuck.

you threw anything fragile at the walls or anything sturdy, lamps, cosmetics, anything. when you had run out of those you picked up the larger shards and threw those. they of course sliced your hands, crimson liquid flowing from the cuts.

so that was how you got here, curled up on the bed, bloody, numb and an emotional wreck that was surrounded by glass shards of various sizes.

“this is a mess,” a deep voice sounded from the doorway. you didn’t even have to turn to face the intruder to identify the owner of the voice.

“go away, chishiya. i’m not in the mood for your games,” you huffed.

chishiya ignored you and walked around the wreck, observing and chuckling at the mess, “i could hear your temper tantrum from down the hall. never knew you could be this emotional, it doesn’t suit you.”

you were beyond embarrassed. if he could hear you, that would mean some of the other members of the beach did as well

you opted to ignore his snide remarks and buried your face deeper into your legs. “hey. stop hiding,” you could feel his presence looming above you beside the bed.

you grabbed a glass shard, wincing as it left gashes on your palm, and pointed the tip of it to him, “what would you know about hiding? you’re just your bitchy self, day and night.”

chishiya sighed as he took the glass out of your hand, exploiting the fact you were too weak and numb to put up a fight. he clicked open a box which he seemed to have brought in. he took you by the hands and examined your body and quickly got to work, dabbing the disinfectant on the cuts which left you hissing and wincing, even shying away from his grasp until he held you in place.

after disinfecting your wounds, he gently wrapped strips of bandages over your legs and arms.

“done,” he puts away the kit and quickly cleared the glass from the floor and the bed into a pile, “you should get some sleep.”

as he is about to walk out, you grab onto the sleeve of his hoodie, your eyes growing more sore and heavier by the second, “please don’t go… shuntaro…”

he chuckles and sits next to you as you begin to lie and drift to sleep. he places a tender kiss on your forehead as he assumes a lying position by your side, your pinkies just touching.

as he watches you breathe steady breaths, he notices you vulnerable you are in your sleep. none of those facades or false emotions, just genuine fatigue. as he shifts his body to hug yours, he begins to drift off to sleep while thinking, you deserve so much better, before sleep claimed his senses.

#chishiya alice in borderland #chishiya x y/n #chishiya x you #chishiya imagine #chishiya fanfic #chishiya fic #alice in borderland #alice in boderland x reader #drabble #oneshot #one shot #angst with fluff #angst with a happy ending #chishiya shuntaro #aib chishiya #shuntaro chishiya x reader #shuntaro chishiya

[furreservation24]

I like scp, I'm even responsible for 682 in ask. This is a small reference from there. Translation:

(1)

SCP-682 - Hard-to-Destroy Reptile Height; 2.5+ meters Weight; 400+ kilograms Humanoid like body with an elongated torso, well-developed chest and shoulders, and legs that are short relative to the rest of the body. Reptile moves faster on all fours and in water. Keep distance from people and rarely makes contact, On questions about his (or past of some other speciement) past Responds reluctantly or does not answer at all. Communicates important information only when he thinks it is necessary, but because of boredom he often does not mind chatting. To allied people is biased and skeptical, rarely makes concessions and is willing to follow the instructions of only those in whom he sees leadership (in his opinion) qualities. The Lizard himself is incredibly proud and willful. He will try to kill anyone who dares to shake these qualities in any way he can. He communicates more willingly with those he trusts, but he can still be rude and aggressive even when showing affection. Very patient and thoughtful. He does not hide the fact that he acts in his own interests and claims that coincidences with people's goals are just coincidences.

-Has a high intelligence; -Rather lazy and apathetic; -Can eat anything; -His body is toxic and carries many infections; -Doesn't remember names and makes up nicknames instead; -Sometimes nicknames become basis for offensive jokes, or already offensive jokes; -Easily loses his temper; -Sometimes reads with glasses due to farsightedness; -Knows most human languages, including dead languages and those used in other dimensions; -Has defended 15 doctorates; -Fears SCP-2935; -Thinks he and SCP-076-2 are alike; -One of his wounds never regenerates; -Considers it incredibly foolish to trust SCP-073; -Keep gifts; -He is very tactile and loves to have his neck, stomach, and back scratched, but only allows this to happen to a few and is very embarrassed by his small weakness; -Those whom he sympathizes, often does gentle bite (although people do not do without bruises and small cuts); -He is a hermaphrodite; -He has a vital need to destroy something or bring suffering to avoid stress, because it takes a lot of energy to contain anger; -He is actually afraid of people; -As a Deva 682 is still a very young individual and translating his age into human terms, you could say he is still a teenager; -DON'T CALL HIM TARASQUE; -Hates the Scarlet King far more than anyone else; -Doubts (fears?) that he change something before he is killed for good.

(2)

Likes: Water; Swimming: Spoiled and/or unhealthy food; Destroy; Being alone; SCP-1762; SCP-3000; Summer; Slumbering in the sun; Hearing the wind; Sleeping by piling on top of someone; Sandy beaches; Bully someone; Biting; Tear apart;

Dislikes: People; Crowds; Washing; SCP-999; Reptiles; Scarlet King; Ask for help; His name; When called Dragon/Tarask; Showing emotion; Missing someone or something; Loneliness; Pain; Boredom; 

(3)

SCP-682 from Omega-7 Squad (Pandora's Box). A stretchy, well-woven, tight and fire-resistant fabric is used to reduce damage (to both the reptile and the suit itself) without constricting movement. Shoes are not provided for the free use of claws. Clothing is sewn individually due to the peculiarities of the body structure. Cylinders with special mixtures for inducing mutation and adapting to it (like improving regeneration or muscle growth) are attached to the belt. SCP-682 in a D-class robe. A XXXXXL size with custom tailoring is required due to 682's physical features. However, he often tears his clothes and finds them uncomfortable.

#scp foundation #scp 682 #scp-682 #my art #traditionalart

[mettleborn]

Closed starter for @therogueprincedaemon (for Daena)

Los Zetas has grown in size, power and influence since Igor’s last visit to Mexico. The Pakhan still remembers the days when the Zetas were less than 30 in number, men employed to protect high-ranking members of the Gulf cartel. Many were ex-military; intelligence specialists with wide ranging weapons expertise, well versed in paramilitary tactics, which is likely why, in 2003, the Mexican Defence Department separated out Los Zetas as the most formidable death squad to have worked for organized crime in Mexican history. Those days however, are long gone; the organisation is now well established in its own right, with hundreds of members. The Zetas no longer take orders from the Gulf Cartel or any other cartel for that matter. They operate a range of illicit businesses, though their international dealings focus mainly on money laundering, gun and drug smuggling. Their leader, a man named Diago Garcia Cortez, has been an associate of Igor’s for over a decade now, since a disagreement between the Gulf Cartel and Bratva led to Bortsov seeking out a new supplier. It is a business relationship that has been strained at several points over the years, but one that has ultimately stood the test of time…so far.

The weather in North Mexico is too arid for Igor’s tastes, and while the coastal breeze in Tamaulipas provides some relief, it is often extremely short lived. Diago’s hacienda is fitted with good quality air-conditioning, but that is of little use when your host insists on leaving all the windows wide open to let in the night air and the steady sound of the rolling tide. Sitting back down at the card table, Igor pours himself a neat glass of Vodka and lights another cigarette. As the cards are shuffled, the Pakhan reminds himself of the rules of Monte; the Mexican version of poker.

The room tonight is more sombre than usual, normally it would be filled with Los Zetas soldiers, drinking their fill, surrounded by a plethora of liquor, drugs and prostitutes. Tonight however, is a very different affair, mainly because many of Diago’s men are tending to some disturbance down in Mexico City. Only Igor, Diago and his brother Basilio are sat at the table. Nicholai is also here, but the old Russian has chosen to sit out on the balcony, keeping watch while he chain-smokes; knowing he too easily looses his temper when gambling.

“They call it a Columbian neck tie…” Diego explains, laughing, “…the tongue…it pokes through here…” Miming the movement over-enthusiastically, Diago wiggles his finger around the imaginary slit in his throat; he’s clearly had more than his fair share of Mezcal tonight.  

Nodding quietly as Diago sits back down in his seat, Igor softly leans his cigarette on the side of the ashtray. “Yes, we have similar in Russian, though it is not tongue, but rather, how-you-say, the cojones (testicles)…” Igor mimics two large balls and bursts out laughing in tandem with the other men.

“You missed my wedding.” Diago unexpectedly announces, cutting through the laughter as he begins dealing the cards.  

“He talks of cojones and all you can think about is your wife?” Basilio laughs, elbowing his brother in the ribs. “You got married, it was a lovely day, now you have blue cojones...bla, bla bla, who cares, lets play cards!”

Examining the hand he has been just been dealt, Igor soon realises that their card game won’t begin until Diago has finished talking about his new wife. The Pakhan listens carefully as Diago describes her, taking in each and every detail. What is clear from the way his associate is talking about his new, much younger, much blonder wife, Daena, is that he considers her some kind of trophy, an accolade he has been awarded for his success. Neither of the Garcia brothers are from well-established families, they were poor – brawling boys brought up in the dirt to become two of the most powerful men in Mexico. Now, it seems Diago, through his recent nuptials, has secured some kind of legitimacy beyond that power; the kind that can only be obtained by marriage into a reputable european bloodline.

Igor of course remembers Diago’s last wife, the one who met her untimely end when the Zetas received intelligence that she had been informing on the organisation to the CIA. Intelligence that in the end proved to be false, not that Diago would ever accept that truth. Bortsov can only hope his new wife fairs better.

Glancing up from his cards, Igor notices Basilio take what looks to be an urgent call, presumably relating to the current unrest in Mexico City. Standing up to leave the room, Basilio gestures for Diago to join him. Igor, in turn, quite used to the kind of interruptions that must be immediately dealt with, nods, making clear he is content to wait. As the pair leave, the Pakhan hears Diago briefly bark an order at someone in the corridor, one of the staff waiting staff he imagines - the drinks are getting low. Relaxing back into his chair, Bortsov pulls out his cell to check his calls while he waits in hope for more Vodka to arrive.

#[Igor Bortsov: let all I have lived be as if it were a dream] #Bratva verse #Daena Costello #therogueprincedaemon #Closed Starter #((Okay this got long - whoops - I spent too much time looking at Mexican cartel history ha ha!)) #((Hope you like it! Let me know if you need me to change anything at all!))

[somediyprojects]

DIY Window Floating Shelves

Project by Jessica Marquez:

Black thumb be damned, I love filling my home with plants. Prickly cactus, chubby-leaved succulents and sprawling ivy are my favorite types of greenery. Mainly because they are the easiest to care for, and I don’t have the best track record. In spite of my plant-murdering ways, I clearly see the benefits of houseplants. They are beautiful, they clean the air, and they can even improve your mood.

It seems like every other day I’m vacuuming soil and nursing a broken plant back into a tipped pot. Thanks, cats! I created these built-in clear shelves to get my plants off my windowsill and, bonus, I was able to add a lot more color and greenery into my life. These minimal shelves provide lots of direct light, so they’re great for cacti, succulents and herbs. And while they don’t block too much light, they provide a bit of privacy, too.

These shelves work great for smaller windows. This one is about 24 inches wide. I chose to use acrylic for my shelves because it’s lightweight, safer than glass (since these are not screwed in), and easy to remove to clean. You could easily substitute wood for the brackets — painted to match your window — and glass for the shelves. The acrylic does bow a bit with the weight of the plants. If you’d like to display heavier objects or if you have wider windows I’d suggest using tempered glass, which you can easily get cut to size with finished edges at a professional glass shop. —Jessica Marquez

Materials

– Measuring tape – Painter’s tape – Acrylic shelf (you can get acrylic sheets cut and brackets cut to size here) – Acrylic square rod “brackets” (These are not traditional brackets, but are easy to install and support the shelf like a traditional bracket would.) – 9/64 drill bit – Ruler – Pencil – Level – Sheet Metal Screws, size 6 x 1 1/4

Instructions

Step 1

Using a measuring tape, measure the width and depth of your window. My window was 24 5/8 x 4.5″. I wanted the shelves to fit flush into the window, so I made sure the measurement was just a hair shy of the full width. To save a bit on the cost of materials, I got 4″ deep shelves, instead of 4.5″. In total, I got four 1/4″ thick acrylic shelves cut at Canal Plastic Center along with nine 5/8″ x 4″ square acrylic rods.

Step 2

Using painter’s tape, plan the layout of your shelves. Allow for some room for your plants to grow.

Step 3

Drill two holes in support brackets. To speed up the drill process, I taped the bracket pieces side by side onto a piece of scrap wood and marked on the tape the center point where the holes would be drilled.

NOTE: If you are using acrylic brackets drill very slowly! As you’re drilling, pull the drill bit out every few seconds. The drill bit heats up as you drill and can melt the acrylic if you drill too fast without breaks. I had a craft fail with my first drill bit, which got permanently stuck in the acrylic. Glad I ordered one extra bracket piece. 

Step 4

Mark where your brackets will be installed on one side of the windowsill. With a ruler and level, mark a level line along the depth of the window sill. Measure from the bottom up using your taped window guide as a reference point. Once you have your level measurement for the first bottom shelf, you can measure up from there. Each of my shelves were 13″ apart.

Step 5

Mark the opposite side of the windowsill where the brackets will be installed. Start with the bottom shelf. Use a leveled shelf lined up with your previous marks on the opposite side of the windowsill to create a level line along the depth of the windowsill. Once you have the level mark for the bottom shelf, you can measure up from there using the same distance between shelves as you did on the opposite side. Remember to level each shelf.

Step 6

Drill in screws. It helps to screw in one side halfway, level the bracket, and screw in the other side. Then you can completely drill in both screws. Repeat this step for all of your brackets. Now you’re ready to drop in your shelves, which rest right on the brackets and decorate.

#diy #crafts #storage #home decor #x

[g0dspeeed]

A Taste

John Seed told her he was simply "curious". A hookup with her ex's sibling proves to Cappie De la Costa that there might be more to it than that.

Sexual content ahead

Cappie couldn't tell what it was that stirred her, but upon feeling something warm tickle her inner thigh, she knew the answer wasn't a complicated one. 

Her head rose from the cold, wood floor, the effort sending it swimming with the familiar aches of a hangover, all to regard a very sleepy, very naked, John Seed snoozing between her legs, his cheek rested on the soft skin of her inner thigh and breath fluttering against her sex.

"The fuck?"

Voice was raw and her throat stung, the act of swallowing monumental for Cappie. Everything hurt from her thighs, her neck, and her arms. As she laid out on her back, her bare skin was chilled by what she recognized to be the floor of his bedroom. Their clothes were scattered about the sunlit room amongst broken wine glasses, a knocked over crystal decanter beside what she guessed was a puddle of bourbon, countless cigarette butts, a lotion bottle, two dabs, condom wrappers–

Her green eyes zeroed in on the last items, the scraps of thin foil.

"No…"

"Oh, yes."

Horrified, Cappie stared down at the bright blue eyes peering up from the apex of her thighs, unaffected by his position inches from her pussy.

"Good morning," he crooned in a rasp. 

John then had the audacity to regard her crotch, eyes hooded and dreamy.

"Good morning to you, too," he whispered.

Her legs snapped shut, closing his head in a vice grip. Twisting her hips was all it would take to end John's life, to crack his neck, but Cappie had enough impulse control to override the automatic thought.

"Don't ever talk to my pussy again," she hissed.

The hold loosened and of course John responded to her warning with a grin.

"Last night teemed with riveting conversation, at least what I recall. And I can still taste you. I hope I don't forget–"

His words were cut off as Cappie made a move to rise from the floor with shaking legs.

She could feel John scrutinize her, and when her own eyes observed where his landed, Cappie flinched.

Her skin was a muddied canvas of their late night affairs. Bruises the size of fingertips speckled her wrists, hips, shoulders, and thighs, along with a smathering of suck marks all over her neck, breasts, and legs. Cappie became aware of the burning sensation at the cheeks of her ass, no doubt that the flesh there, too, would bear a gallery of–

"You're disgusted."

The words were spoken aloud with a smile, but Cappie was observant, too. In his voice lived an anger. The voice stirred with accusation in it's cadence.

So she laughed.

"Nah, ain't disgusted," she breezed. "Just shocked, I guess."

His smile faltered, and in the rare speechlessness of one John Seed, Cappie saw her own handiwork. His skin bloomed with bruises, scratches, and nips of teeth, a trail of hickeys from his neck to the border of his sparse, pubic hair. Her brows lifted at the line of purple on his right wrist.

"Kinky shit," she blurted.

"Hardly," he sniffed. "But your enthusiasm was certainly enamoring."

"Oh, enamoring? Ha! You were pretty excited yourself there, pretty boy."

John rose from the floor, his joints popping as he straightened and stretched. He chuckled at the way her cheeks warmed, at the coyness daylight brought.

Cappie De La Costa was far from his typical interest. Lean with the toned frame of an athlete that had no business for someone who drank and smoked so much, she lacked the softness John usually found himself drawn to, save for her full ass, he could admit. 

Blunt, brazen, and impulsive. An arbiter of mischief and a grater of his nerves, she repulsed him on purpose and flirted with his temper.

Never would admit it to her face, but John, too, found himself shocked at how erotic their coupling was the night before, his mind supplying images and sensations from the fun and games in rapid fire.

"Maybe I still am," chided John, his eyes drifting over her breasts and sex. Cappie could see how his pupils already started to swallow the blue.

Not to be outdone, Cappie took a step closer. Their smiles matched, devilish and wont for tasting, as her hand reached out to cup his balls and tug at his half hard cock. She relished in the small gasp that left him.

"Sure you are," challenged Cappie. "All talk–"

Fingers then dug into her scalp as John pulled her mouth to his, his trim nails tangling her hair and scraping the tender skin. The kiss hurt before she allowed him more access, his tongue urgent as a groan hummed in his throat.

Their kiss broke as Cappie moved back to the untouched bed, her thighs hitting the edge of the king sized mattress and the cool softness of the navy silk topper. John allowed no more than a foot between them, already following and making her move up the mattress in a rush, blue eyes committing to memory the way her chest rose and fell with hardened nipples, green eyes dilated, and how that signature cheeky smile spread across her plump lips. His own latched on to her throat as Cappie settled back with a sigh, enthused as she gasped when his fingers, those twitchy things, dipped to her sex and found her wet. He sucked hard on her pulse to leave a bruise atop a bruise.

Cappie writhed at his touch, at how he worked her quick and to the point without any fanfare. That's how it was the night before, she remembered, between dabbles of substance use they fucked each other into oblivion, smearing pleasure and pain like watercolors. 

Dark locks of hair were gripped in her hand to yank John away from her throat. The muscles in his face twisted at the discomfort.

"Just do it," she groaned in the shell of his ear. Her hips rolled, starving for stimulation and earning a circling of her clit with the heel of his palm. "Just, just do it–"

John silenced her with his mouth again before rasping, "Take a deep breath."

Cappie did just that as his cock shoved all the way inside her, leaving no time for adjusting. She arched at how he filled her, at the sting of his fingernails in her thighs, the heat of his own gasp.

"Fuck! " he bit out with clenched eyes.

She laughed something breathy and cupped his cheek.

"You almost lost it, didn't you?" Cappie teased, rolling into him. "Almost came like a, like a fucking teenager–"

His hips snapped, burying himself deeper, and shutting Cappie up.

"Please," mocked John while moving to seat her in his lap, lifting her so he could kneel on both knees. "Don't flatter yourself."

The annoyance in his features fell away with each thrust and the lift of her cries.

He knew what he was doing, Cappie could give John that much, and boy was he a sight. 

Locks of dark hair that were typically stylized in top dollar pomade stuck to the sheen of sweat on his forehead, if not falling over blackened, hooded eyes. The gallery of scars and tattoos glistened in the sun, flesh flush and lean muscle flexing underneath. His full lips, swollen from her own, gaped as he worshiped her, at their joining, at the way John made her breasts bounce with each harsh snap of the hips and the little curses that fell from her mouth like prayers.

And when John caught her, caught Cappie marveling at his body, at the fullness, the friction, drunk on how he made her feel, his pace slowed.

"I get it now," he breathed.

Fingers rubbed at her clit, harsh, forcing her eyes shut and her body to arch.

"I get what all the hype was about. Why Jacob neglected his part so much. You're fucking addicting."

In a last ditch effort to shut John up and to chase that delicious end that he teased so well at her core, Cappie shifted her leg to rest against his shoulder. A warm hand steaded her thigh, grip tight and massaging the thick muscle. John spread Cappie to slot himself with a sloppy kiss against her calf.

A flicker of uncertainty, a foreign thing that didn't seem to belong there, danced across the features of John's face.

Cappie smirked and pat his hip.

"Spit it out, Johnny."

Little crescents joined the bruises on her legs, a punishment for her teasing, she knew, but Cappie didn't care. Her emerald eyes held their playful light, much to John's chagrin, and didn't break the magnetism in the pull of his stare.

"You can."

The words were small and quiet.

But she said them again.

"You can," she whispered with a roll of the hips. "Just fucking fuck me ,  John, Christ."

Never until meeting John Seed did Cappie see madness spread like wildfire so fast in the mind. It overcame him the moment her words registered, in the blues of his eyes, the twitch of his lips, the pace quickening and brutal. The fire that had dulled from his uncertainty roared as his heated body crowded hers, as he folded her because holding her leg just wasn't enough, John had to kiss her, to bite her, to taste her as he buried himself deeper and deeper.

Cappie came in a cry, in writhing, and against a rough kiss. 

A hand snatched her jaw, forcing her to face him, to witness. 

In her sweaty, twitchy high Cappie grinned up at John, watching as his face twisted and his hips stuttered, becoming erratic and wild like his thoughts. He came against her throat, against her fluttering pulse, buried inside her and with a sharp 'Fuck'. John all but collapsed on Cappie, panting and running an open palm up and down her body.

Green eyes observed the elaborate woodwork of his bedroom ceiling, at the twisted iron of the overhead light. Dramatic, but Cappie didn't know why she was surprised.

John still was inside her, softening and quivering. His arms trembled, but he seemed resolved to make their coupling last.

Her tongue wet her lips before she spoke.

"Never thought you as a cuddler–"

"And I never thought you to be so quick to move on from a breakup, but alas, I don't want to let you go. Don't think I could now."

She winced at the wetness of his pulling out, at his victorious smile, and how his words both excited and wounded her tender feelings at the same time.

John laid on his side to hold her face in the palm of his hand, against the scarred cheek to loom over, to pick through her thoughts like a scavenging animal. 

"A stranger to tenderness, aren't you?" she replied. 

He laughed, but there is no humor in the echoes of his high ceilings.

"You're deflecting," cooed John.

"Mm-hm–"

"Horribly so."

"'Kay, ass, then why did you come to the Spread Eagle last night?"

John grinned, all white teeth and vibrant blue eyes.

"I was curious."

Her brow knit, but he continued on. Those devilish fingers found her hair, twirling a curl.

"Jacob just seemed so… sad and told Joseph that he was committed to our cause now more than ever before."

A lump as thick as wet sand formed in her throat, but Cappie shook off the sting of his explanation.

"He, he said that?" she asked.

John paused to think, to torture her, and cocked his head.

"In less words, but yes. And I thought it odd. So 'busy' in the last year, and suddenly so dedicated."

"You're such an asshole–"

"Fine, sure, I'm an asshole, but I had to know–"

"Know what?"

His mouth was upon hers the moment the words fell out, capturing whatever upper hand Cappie thought she had. She gasped at the prick of pain she felt from his teeth to her bottom lip.

"I had to know," he breathed, hot and rasped in the shell of her ear . "I had to know if your madness matched mine. If you're as unhinged as me, as trapped as me. And I think it does. And I meant it. Oh, did I mean it! Now that I have a taste, I don't think I could quit you. I don't want to let go."

Before Cappie could find any words to respond to that , John released her. He pinched a nipple, laughing as Cappie cried and failed to slap him.

"Come shower with me, darling," he sang. "Let me take care of you!"

The echoes of his light footfalls quieted, leaving Cappie in a stupor of a good fuck and turmoil.

"Fuck."

#oc: cappie de la costa #john seed #cappie de la costa x john seed #far cry fanfiction #far cry 5 fanfiction