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volterran-wine · 2 years

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Accursed Fate || Caius X S/O

z Requested by Anonymous: "I adore your blog so much! You’re my new favorite writer 💜. I’ve had this idea in my head for a long time, and I’m honestly really excited to finally be able to share it with someone! I totally understand if you don’t want to or don’t feel comfortable writing it though, don’t feel pressured! So the idea I had is this: Caius finally finds his mate, but there’s one problem; said mate turns out to be one of the few remaining werewolves. Angst and drama ensue."

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Caius has waited patiently for his soulmate to one day cross his path. What he did not expect was to come across them deep within the woods at the crack of dawn, bloodied and filthy as the sun filtered through the trees. His heart breaks, for he knows what kind of bite that marks their flesh…

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1211 words

!𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬! This one is heavy angst, definitely check the tags for this one;

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: ... Anyone who has read certain headcanons of mine know how this is going to play out.

𝐄𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐲, 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲

Caius was born to hunt, conquer and kill.

Or, at the very least that is what he wanted his enemies and most of the vampiric populace to believe. How it pleased him to know his name was spoken in hushed whispers among most vampires that feared The Volturi. His infamous lust for violence had kept him and his family safe for hundreds of years. But no tale was as gruesome as the one he had spun about The Children of The Moon; how he had drove them to near extinction hundreds of years ago. It was not entirely true however; werewolves would appear every now and then. A stray wolf would infect a handful of humans and him and his men would go out to exterminate them.

This was the only reason that Caius found himself deep within the woods on the borders between Romania and Hungary, his clothes a little worse for wear but still in relatively pristine condition. He had brought with him a couple of their newest recruits, teaching them how to easily trap, injure and kill their natural born enemies. With a deep sigh Caius looked over his last kill of the night, a large and pale beast that had attempted to rob him of his head; a foolish endeavour. He had intended to join the rest of his party when the wind suddenly shifted, a particular smell reaching him and igniting his hunting instincts once more.

The corner of his mouth lifted into a vicious smirk, this would be an easy kill; Caius thought. Luckily for his prey he did not discriminate, no wolf was too small or wounded for him to seek it out. He picked up his pace, gracefully weaving in between the trees as he concentrated on the tracks ahead of him. Even from a distance he could smell just how injured the werewolf was, the scent of its sour blood perforated the air as Caius neared his final prey for the evening. On the other side of the woods he could hear how his hunting party had begun disposing of their own kills. He would have to be swift if he were to join them.

And there, just about thirty feet ahead of him he could see the large shape of a werewolf leaning against some trees, panting and injured. The moment it became aware of its would be killer the beast let out a pitiful wail and began dragging itself towards safety, and Caius felt as if the wind was knocked out of him all of a sudden.

He did not understand why, but his instincts screamed at him to not hurt this Child of the Moon as it crawled away from him; dragging itself against the forest floor and coating the foliage with its foul smelling blood. Why? Why could he not put the beast out of its misery already? He wanted to go home and reward his guard for a successful hunt, as well as spend time with his family.

He watched as their bones began to crack and contort, and it must have been painful for the wolf began whimpering like an injured dog as it slowly reverted to its human disguise. Pathetic, Caius thought as he stalked them; knocking away tree branches and rocks that laid in his way. He could feel the sun at his back, peaking across the horizon and sending beams of golden light through the birch forest. He had had enough, the beast was now vulnerable and he would kill it as he had done so many wolves before it.

With the last of their strength his now human prey looked back at him, fear and confusion swimming in their eyes; and Caius froze.

It was as if the world fell away from beneath his feet, the earth itself wishing to swallow him whole before he could reach the Child of The Moon. Now he understood why he could not harm this ... person. They had been intended for him once upon a time, and the fates themselves were screaming from within the shade; do not harm them. Dread filled Caius like never before as he watched them, crawling in the nude — desperate to get away from him.

He had failed.

Again.

And now he had to right his wrongs.

Caius fell to his knees before them, leaves crunching beneath his weight as he shifted closer. His fine Volturi cloak was now coated in both dirt and blood alike, most likely ruined forever. With trembling hands he reached out to cradle their face, turning their head gently so they were facing him properly.

Their eyes shut tightly in order to not look at him, turning violently to get out of his grip but failing to do so as they screamed in agony. A searing pain settled in his chest, as if someone had stabbed him with a red hot poker. Perhaps it was the mate-pull that desperately tried to solidify a bond between them, or more likely; guilt. "Please... look at me" his voice was raspy and luckily his plea did not fall upon deaf ears, for his would have been mate opened their eyes cautiously; peering at him. Tears had begun gathering, and soon enough they would spill over.

For a while Caius let his eyes wander over their body; a gash in their shoulder was deep enough to show bones and oozed with puss, a wound kept bleeding profusely near their abdomen and multiple of their bones were fixed at unnatural angles. Though the sun had began to rise they were shaking, teeth clattering as their lips began taking on an unnatural shade. Caius swallowed down the venom that had gathered in his mouth on pure instinct.

They had beautiful eyes though, he could see beyond the exhaustion and imagined how fierce of an individual they must have been — not just anyone could be his mate after all. For a second Caius let himself imagine what they would have looked like if they were a deep red. But those were dreams that would never be, fate had not been on his side after all. Caius had laws to follow.

"I will spend the rest of my life making up for not finding you earlier."

His grip shifted ever so slightly, it could easily have been mistaken for a loving caress; the way his hand now sat firmly beneath their jaw. His thumb stroking their cheek reassuringly as his other hand grasped on to their matted hair at back of their head. Caius took a deep breath, attempting to filter out the stench of his enemies and finding their sweet perfume underneath.

"Forgive me,— "

A vicious crack and yelp was all that was heard before the forest was still once again, the only noise the birch trees that had softly began swaying as the wind picked up.

────

On the outskirts of the woods a village lay, quiet and unaware of the carnage that had befallen the lands so close to their home.

When the sun was at its highest point the townsfolk would talk of how they had heard a wounded beast wailing. How its sorrowful cries pierced through the peaceful morrow, lost and alone in the world.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞; If Caius ever breaks into my home in order to enact his revenge I will frame my followers.

#Caius Volturi #Caius Volturi Imagine #Caius Volturi x Reader #Twilight #Twilight Renaissance #When will this man know peace?#TW Blood #TW Death #TW Bodyhorror

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mxgicthot · 1 year

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Glory and gore

In which Erden fights in the arena.

cw : violence and mentions of blood

Word count : 900

The most dangerous thing about Erden was beneath his easy grin and playful demeanour held the strength and skill of a lethal killer. That was probably the scariest thing, to hide his deadliness behind an arrogant smirk as he enticed the crowd into a frenzy, seeming to take the possibility of death like it was a joke, not at all serious.

"Go," the guard said finally as the doors were pushed open.

Erden stepped through them and the doors shut behind him. He stood just inside the small tunnel around the doors. He took a deep breath, and stepped out into the open to an eruption of noise. The crowd went wild. Shouts of his name echoed around, mixed with cheering and boos. Making his way over the now blood-soaked sand, soaking up the crowd to the middle of the arena. He faced the covered podium where the Count and others of importance witnessed the games. He thumped his hand to his chest three times, then held up both his swords high and let loose a primal roar, much to the crowd's delight.

On the other side of the arena another door opened, and he got his first look at his opponent. The crowd chanted, clapping and cheering as his opponent made his way across the sand.

Side by side the gladiators faced the podium and bowed their heads in submission, then turned to face each other. The count stood up to do the introductions and the crowd fell silent. Erden stared into the eyes of his opponent, nothing but intensity and focus stared back. He heard the word, "fight," followed by an explosion of noise from the crowd. The games had begun.

Erden used no shield, instead wielding two swords with vicious force, blocking and swinging at the other gladiator. His laughs filled the arena, a playful sound of reckless abandon and sheer…enjoyment. He was enjoying the battle, relishing in every blocked thrust and parried swing as his swords sliced through the air and anything else that got in the way.

He laughed, running towards a corner, up the wall and onto the roof of the lowest level where the masses stood under it before jumping off, bringing his swords crossed down onto the other gladiator's neck behind him. The other gladiator threw off his helmet and turned to face Erden, angered at the cut on his neck.

Erden raised his swords into the air, cheering with the crowd. A woman's enthusiastic screaming sounded above it all, before she pulled the top of her dress down, exposing her breasts to him. He laughed, grinning widely as he pointed his sword at her in amusement, liking women fawning over him, lusting after him.

That distraction merited him a cut on the arm from the other gladiator and he was thrown back by his shield a few steps. His lack of seriousness and easy distractibility was an advantage for his opponent. He was going to need it judging from the almost lazy way Erden fought, like this was as easy as breathing for him.

He backed away, shoving one sword into the sand to inspect his cut arm and the swell of red liquid. For the first time this whole fight, he showed something other than lightheartedness and enjoyment; irritation. For a second, his eyes ran over the crowd in front of him.

A sea of rough movement, of jumping and clapping and thrusting arms, with faces alive with activity, with excitement and shouting. His eyes dropped back down to his opponent, plunging the other sword into the sand.

Confusion spread through the crowd as they looked at each for indication of what he was doing, why he was laying down his swords, his only weapons. Erden started walking towards the other gladiator calmly, but with an expression of vengeance. He ducked below a swing, getting beneath his defences, before punching him in the face.

Erden rained blows down upon him, proving he could take out his opponent without sharp metal and with only his bare hands. Unadulterated strength, knocking the other large man back with the punches until he was on the ground. He yelled at the crowd, pumping his fists and they went crazy for his exhibition of skill.

He grabbed one, blocking a blow before rolling and grabbing the other, spinning around, blocking the downward swing before stabbing his other sword clean through the gladiators' gut, his mouth open in a yell which just pushed the crowd on.

The other gladiator got up and Erden dived out of the way of his sword, rolling before springing up near his own swords still poking out of the ground.

It was amazing how he worked them, beckoning them to side with him, support him, cheer for him.

The other gladiator fell to the sand, blood spilling out, but still he attempted to drive his own sword through Erden. He blocked before thrusting his sword through the other man's back and he yelled in pain.

The crowd turned to shouts of 'Kill him! Fucking kill him!'

Erden let out a roar for the crowd before crossing his blades at the man's throat before slashing and spilling the man's life blood into the sand.

Another man dead in these games and the crowd was wild in their screams as Erden walked the space of the arena, his victory.

#It's been a while since I've written abt my bastard man #Here's something short :3 #oc : Erden

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psychterminal · 2 years

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Marillion - Grendel. 1983. live

l y r i x :::

Midnight suns bid moors farewell, retreats from charging dusk Mountain echo, curfews bell, signal ending tasks They place their faith in oaken doors, cower in candlelight The panic seeps through bloodstained floors as Grendel stalks the night

Earth rim walker seeks his meals Prepare the funeral pyres The shaper's songs no longer heal the fear Within their eyes, their eyes

Wooden figures, pagan gods, stare blindly cross the sea Appeal for help from ocean fogs, for saviour born of dreams They know their lives are forfeit now, priestly head they bow in shame They cannot face the trembling crowd that flinch in Grendel's name

Earth rim walker seeks his meals Prepare the funeral pyres The shaper's songs no longer heal the fear Within their eyes, their eyes

As Grendel leaves his mossy home beneath the stagnant mere Along the forest path he roams to Hrothgar's hall so clear He knows that victory is secured, his charm will testify His claws will drip with mortal blood as moonbeams haunt the sky

Earth rim walker seeks his meals Prepare the funeral pyres The shaper's songs no longer heal the fear Within their eyes, their eyes

Silken membranes span his path, fingerprints in dew Denizens of twilight lands humbly beg him through Mother nature's bastard child shunned by leaf and stream An alien in an alien land seeks solace within dreams The shaper's lies his poisoned tongue malign with mocking harp Beguiling queen her innocence offends his icy heart

Hounds freeze in silence bewitched by the reptile spell Sulphurous essence pervades round the grassy dell Heorot awaits him like lamb to the butcher's knife Stellular heavens ignore even children's cries

Screams are his music, lightning his guide Raping the darkness, death by his side

Chants rise in terror, free round the oaken beams Flickering firelight portraying the grisly scene Warriors advance, prepare for the nightmare foe Futile their sacrifice as even their hearts must know

Heroes delusion, with feet in the grave Lurker at the threshold, he cares not for the brave, he cares not for the brave

So you thought that your bolts and your locks would keep me out You should have known better after all this time You're gonna pay in blood for all your vicious slander With your ugly pale skins and your putrid blue eyes Why should I feel pity when you kill your own and feel no shame God's on my side, sure as hell, I'm gonna take no blame I'm gonna take no blame, I'm gonna take no blame

So you say you believe in all of Mother Nature's laws You lust for gold with your sharpened knives Oh when your hoards are gathered and your enemies left to rot You pray with your bloodstained hands at the feet of your pagan gods

Then you try to place the killer's blade in my hand You call for justice and distort the truth Well I've had enough of all your pretty pretty speeches Receive your punishment, Expose your throats to my righteous claws And let the blood flow, and let the blood flow, flow, flow, flow.

#marillion #fish #live #grendel #video #progrock #1983 #art #lyrics

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wandering-travesty · 3 years

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Call Me By Your Name

You weren’t sleezy. That was just a word idiots used to try and pull you down to their level. Yes, your hair was slicked back. Yes, your eyeshadow was dark as the night. Yes, your suit jacket barely covered your chest. Yes, your nails were painted black and sharp as daggers. But, no, you weren’t sleezy. You were dressed for your job. What was your job? Well, that was a bit more complicated….

“I need you to get close to him.” Erwin said coolly, stubble covered chin resting on his strong hands.

“I’m sorry?” You asked, genuinely hoping you had too much wax lodged in your ear canals.

“You heard him.” You met the glare of the midget standing behind your boss.

“Okay, smartass, I did. But you can’t be serious, boss! He’s beyond dangerous. Shouldn’t someone like,” you gestured in Levi’s direction, “one of the Ackermans take care of this? I’m not discounting myself or anything, but fucking with a Yeager is basically a suicide mission.” You were actually shocked Erwin asked you to do something so important. More so, dangerous. You weren’t exaggerating when you said it was a death sentence. You’d lost enough comrades to know that.

“Listen, he’s the key to taking down the Marlian Syndicate.” You knew that, but still, this seemed out of left field. “The Ackermans are strong, yes, but they lack a certain…”

“They’re not ready to whore themselves out. Just say that, Smith.” You understood now. The Ackermans were cold blooded killers ready to strike at any moment. However, they were awkward and completely inept at things like lust and heated and frankly revolting rendezvous. That was how he wanted you to get information for him.

Erwin wanted you to fuck the leader of the Marlian Syndicate.

“I wouldn’t use that wording exactly, but your assumption is correct.” Levi couldn’t seem to meet your gaze, but Erwin continued to stare straight into your soul. He was the leader of La Peste Eldienne (The Eldian Plague) for a reason. Strong, debonair, charming, and slightly insane. He could down a beer in one swig, sip a martini all night long, or abstain from alcohol completely. Whatever he needed to do, he did. He murdered, sent the idiotic young and the hopeless old to their deaths just the same, and could absolutely wine and dine a stranger until their clothes practically flew off their body if it was for the cause. You needed to be like that. Especially at a time like this.

“I’ll do it. And I’ll do it well.” You assured your boss and his partner. Yeah, this would be easy. You could go low as the scum you were about to completely fuck over. You had been climbing up the ranks as of late, so this would be easy as pie.

Before going on your little date: you made a mental note of the main players you would have to deal with. The list you had went something like this:

Porco Galliard: Complete idiot. All brawn, no brain. Basically a bouncer with a fancier jacket and a higher salary. No worries about him doing anything funny.

Pieck Finger: The sweet little thing they kept around for good reason. Part of you wished you had to deal with her instead. She was witty and had a surprising amount of control over the shipments of cocaine and ammunition that went on about the city. Her pretty face and calm demeanor hid her true genius. She was one of the more concerning figures at tonight’s gig, but also one of the one’s more willing to hear you out before killing you.

Colt Grice: Basically a smarter but weaker version of Galliard. He was really only part of the Syndicate to learn from the best and become a great mafioso one day. You had high hopes for him, despite yourself.

Bertholdt Hoover: A freakishly tall mix of the last three members of the gang. So sweaty and shaky he wasn’t allowed to handle guns under any circumstance. That told you all you needed to know about his threat level.

Annie Leonhardt: Tiny, quiet ball of rage and skill. Could murder you in an instant, but would only do so if ordered. Not a concern unless someone else found you out, or you didn’t like being glared at all night.

Reiner Braun: His personality changed with the passing minutes. Could be calm and almost kind, or could snap your neck like a twig in his giant ass hand. He was a wildcard, and a dangerous one. Though he was obsessed with following orders and being the perfect little soldier boy, so you didn’t need to worry about him if no one told him to start shooting.

Yelena: Even more freakishly tall than Hoover. Also freakishly obsessed with the gang leader and his “master plan”, whatever the hell that was. Maybe you would find out tonight. Anyways, she would only do anything if you threatened the boss in any way. If you did your job right, that wouldn’t be an issue.

Eren Yeager: Easily the most brash and idiotic member of the gang. His problem was that he was trigger happy. In this business, trigger happy meant dozens of dead innocents piled up on the club floor in an instant. You had to be careful around him. Unlike most of the others, he would kill you without thinking.

And the top dog. The man of the hour. The man you had to seduce:

Zeke Yeager: Think Erwin but with more wit and charm. Not to mention more of a sadistic mindset. His favorite game was cat and mouse, seeing how long it took before he had a good excuse to have someone drawn and quartered. His expertise was slow torture that the victim didn’t even really know was happening before the barrel of the gun was already pointed to their temple. And you had to fuck him so stupid he leaked confidential information.

The only other issue with Zeke was his habit of sleeping around. Yes, he was a tramp by most standards. A harlot with exotic tastes. You had heard stories of him seducing women and men alike, and god only knew what they did once he succeeded. What that meant for you was he would be hard to impress.

So, you were here to beat him at his own game. And if you were found out, his younger brother would most likely shoot you on the spot. That was, if one of the others did it first. Or even worse, Zeke decided to be a tried and true asshole and torture you to death. The options were endless, and you hated them all.

So there you sat, ass perched on a bar stool, sipping on a gin rickey and waiting for your opportunity. The room smelled strongly of tobacco, rum, and cinnamon. At least you would die surrounded by what you loved, you thought, laughing grimly to yourself. Men and women danced to slow songs you faintly recognized. The air buzzed with haughty laughter and upper class small talk. You barely had any idea how to interact with high society shitheads as high and mighty as the ones Yeager surrounded himself with. You weren’t often sent out to jobs like this. You were like Levi, born in the slums and never taught how to properly behave. You knew what you had to, much like your knowledge of the goings on of La Peste Eldienne. You knew your gang traded drugs, ammunition, and whatever else was a hot commodity at the time, but nothing other than that. You were actually quite glad to know nothing, since that made you a pretty unimportant person to rival gangs. Not as many death threats and kidnapping attempts came your way, unlike the ones Erwin, Hange, and Levi got every day. You were quickly pulled out of your thoughts on the gang hierarchy.

“Excuse me, miss. The boss wants to chat with ya’ real quick.” A man with greasy hair and green, catlike eyes softly gripped your shoulder. Considering what you knew of Galliard, you figured that grip wouldn’t be soft for much longer if you didn’t do as he suggested.

“Oh, alright. Did he happen to mention why?” You were genuinely curious. Porco didn’t offer you any solid answer, but there was a reasonable explanation.

Zeke wanted to get his rocks off. Parties could be interesting, with the right people, of course. The right people hadn’t happened to show up that night. You, on the other hand, seemed interesting. To be frank, you were gorgeous. Even from a distance, he could tell there was something behind your eyes that spelled trouble. He loved people like you. Vicious, cunning, witty, all hidden behind an uninterested and bored demeanor. Those were the people he wanted around him. The best examples were Pieck, and surprisingly, Levi. They seemed to be completely different people than the ones hiding behind their eyes, and Zeke loved to see how long it took to break them down. Well, he was a bit kinder to Pieck, but you and Ackerman got the rough treatment.

“Zeke, what the hell’re you doin’?” Eren pulled him out of his rather disgusting thoughts of…things better left unsaid.

“I’m going to talk to a woman, Eren. What does it seem like I’m doing?” Zeke had a sharp tongue and quick wit, which he didn’t spare even his brother from.

“I get that, but why that one? She seems…shady t’me. I wouldn’t let ‘er get too close, y’know?”

“Eren, please be rational.” Zeke held a palm out in front of Eren, as if to physically stop his train of thought. “You and Yelena will shoot at the first sign of danger, so inviting this lovely woman to join us for a harmless chat isn’t a danger in the slightest.” Zeke reassured his brother, neglecting to tell him his true intentions. He was sure that would just make him more upset and skittish, which was dangerous for everyone there.

“’Kay, boss. Got the dame ya’ asked for.” Porco trudged to the brothers’ secluded table with you in tow. He had kept one hand on your shoulder and the other right above your ass. The two main reasons being: one, he didn’t want someone so seemingly important to escape his grip, and two, you had a nice ass.

“Ah, thank you Galliard…you can let her go now.” He gave Porco a knowing smirk. He let you go immediately and walked away, cheeks slightly reddened. Zeke didn’t want someone else touching his new toy.

“I’m sorry if this comes off as rude, but did you need something from me? That man made me leave my gin at the bar and I would like to finish it at some point.” Oh, Zeke was going to love you. You weren’t flighty or scared in the slightest. He knew you had seen some serious shit. Not to mention how you cared more about your alcohol than a dangerous mafia boss and his younger brother ordering you over to their table. You were attractive and relatable. What a catch.

“My apologies, Galliard tends to be a bit, how do you say, brutish. Feel free to order something new and sit down with us.” He gave you a smile that told you it wasn’t a suggestion. This guy was already just as bad as everyone had told you. He hailed a waiter over to the table. You knew that wasn’t some kind gesture, rather a show of how much power he had over everyone there. His long, thick fingers and suave smile also showed you how easily swayed you could be by dashing looks and raw power.

He held himself like a king but talked like a philosopher. At the same time, he was down to earth yet still slightly condescending. You never knew where you stood with him, and he liked it that way. His flaxen hair was parted down the middle, and unlike most of the men there along with yourself with their hair hardened with pomade, it was fluffy and moved as he gestured wildly when he spoke. He tended to talk with his hands, once again drawing attention to just how attractive they were. His face was indescribably beautiful. His eyes were like stormy oceans cascading with passion and intrigue. His lips looked soft and plush with a wonderful roseate hue. His beard was well groomed and framed his sharp jaw perfectly. His gold rimmed glasses had a habit of hiding his eyes when thrown into direct light, which often happened with how he talked with his whole body. The way he constantly made direct eye contact with you had you lost in a daze of desire and fear. Was this all some sick ploy to get you to slip up and get everyone you loved killed along with yourself? Or was he seriously that interested in you?

Eren was quiet most of the time, unless Zeke spoke to him. He didn’t like you. You were too similar to Zeke for his tastes.

“Say, Eren, could you pass me a smoke?”

“Oh, so you do have vices. See, you never ordered a drink for yourself, so I assumed you were a man above pleasures of the flesh.” You flashed a toothy grin at him, signaling that it was just playful banter. You two were both rather good at that.

“My dear, the more you get to know me, the better you will understand just how enthralled with earthly pleasures I am.” He winked, and it sent you to the moon with want. How could a man be so gorgeous, charming, dangerous, and sadistic all at the same time? And why did you have to deal with it? You needed him out of his right mind, but it seemed like that could never happen. Whether it came from alcohol, drugs, or sex. You planned to use a mixture of all three. As you continued your playful jabs and taunts at each other, you found your opportunity to seal the deal. One sniff of the white stuff and he was putty in your hands.

“Now you know, Mr. Yeager, gin isn’t my only vice.” You kept your usual sly tone.

“Oh really? That is quite the interesting thing to say.” He matched your energy perfectly. This was too good.

“Have you ever happened to try, well, what do they call it these days? Well, I tend to call it blow. Snow, stardust, snort, sugar, crack, whichever you prefer, I suppose.” Oh, how brave of you to mention your own trade to your top competitor.

“Why, yes, I have indeed partook in snorting blow. Is there any reason as to why you’re asking me that right now, darling?” You wished he would stop with the pet names. Or rather, you wished you would stop loving them so much. It felt dirty to enjoy your enemy’s company to this extent.

“Well, I was wondering if you might like to sneak off and try some of my personal mix.” You leaned in close, covering the side of you mouth with your hand. Eren wasn’t a bad kid or anything, but he’d mess with your plan, and you couldn’t have that. Especially not with his slippery ass trigger finger.

“Your own personal mix, eh? Don’t tell me you’re involved in the trade, now.” He leaned in just shy of touching your lips. “That wouldn’t be very good for either of us, sweetheart.” That’s it, you were fucking this man if it was part of your plan or not. The entire thing could go south, and you’d still want this man’s dick in your mouth. You didn’t really care anymore. He was too hot to handle, and you were this close to cracking under the pressure. Zeke was right, you were fun to play with.

“Not at all, I just happen to know the right people.” You grinned at him, knowing you technically weren’t lying. It was your own little inside joke, or so you thought.

The next thing you knew you were in Zeke’s penthouse, smashed up against the wall with a hand around your neck. By all accounts, this is what you wanted, but it was also quite the opposite.

“Dearest, I find it insulting that you think I would fall for that pitiful act.” He had you figured out from the moment you walked in. Zeke Yeager never forgot a pretty face. He’d wanted to have you naked in his bed for months, and here you were, all helpless and needy. You were adorable, thinking you could get whatever you wanted from him.

“Smith was a fool to send anyone, let alone a little minx like you.” You hated how good being insulted by this bitch felt. How did he make it so that your panties got wetter every time he called you a different synonym for whore? It was so awful and so amazing.

“I’m the slut, yet you’re the one actively trying to fuck me? Do I have that right?” You quipped the best you could from under the pressure of his strong hand.

“Alright then, we’re both sluts. But the difference between us is that I admit it, yet you pretend to be this perfect little princess in order to fuck powerful men like me.” His grip on your neck tightened as if to add injury to insult.

“Don’t insult me,” you had to catch your breath between each word, “I fuck men ten times more powerful than you.” But, god was it worth it. You figured he might slap you or otherwise reprimand you, but no, the bastard just smiled wide. What a fucking asshole.

“Maybe to you.” He widened his cheshire grin. “Maybe you think Erwin’s more powerful. That he has a bigger cock and sucking it will get you further in life.” He pushed you further into the wall. “Or maybe letting Ackerman smack your ass will earn you some cash. Or having Zacharius sniff around your cunt instead of your neck will rise you up the ranks, hmm?” You just grimaced at him, knowing none of it was true. “Or maybe,” he let out a chuckle, “letting Zoe do whatever the hell they’re into will get you more coke and gin.” He was mocking you, ruthlessly, with no signs of stopping, and without letting you get a word in. You were starting to see black spots in your line of vision.

“Well, fucking with me will get you much more, angel.” He finally let your neck go, letting you fall to the ground, left to look up at the devil in front of you.

“You fucking suck.” You glared at him, not necessarily trying to hide how much you were enjoying this. As it happened, you weren’t some innocent angel. No, you weren’t a sadistic maniac like Zeke, but you knew what you wanted, and it wasn’t necessarily vanilla. As if reading your earlier thoughts, he bent down to your place on the floor.

He slapped you, and it wasn’t gentle.

“You’re a sloppy whore on your best days, now get up and strip.” Well if worst came to worst, you could say that you got him where you wanted him…just not exactly how you wanted him, or with a guarantee you would get what you wanted out of him. Honestly, you felt kind of flattered by his attention and apparent need to fuck you.

“God, do I have to do everything for you, sweetheart?” Apparently you had been standing around catching your breath too long for his liking. He had made quick work of his own jacket, shirt, and dress pants, leaving him in a black pair of boxers. You hated admitting how magnificent he looked. He was muscular, but not in the same way someone like Reiner or Erwin was. Every single limb on him was lengthy and wiry, thus the bruise marks forming on your neck. While on the subject of length, from what you could see, it applied to his cock as much as it did his other appendages. If it looked that good through the black fabric, you couldn’t even dream of what it would look like out in the open, slapping against his defined v-line and abs.

You hadn’t even noticed him getting closer to you, completely forgetting about his earlier demand turned complaint.

“Not only are you a harlot, you’re a useless one, as well.” He came close enough for you to smell the hints of smoke, pine, and black tea that wafted off of him. He started playing with the collar of your shirt. “But damn if you aren’t a pretty one…” He said that more to himself than you, clearly not being comfortable complimenting you. He saw you as a toy, a pawn in his game of chess he was playing with the rest of the world.

You decided that would be your last deep thought as he began to undress you. Nimbly moving his fingers down each button of your dress shirt, until it came completely undone and bore your chest to him. You were by no means flat, which seemed to entertain the man in front of you.

“I knew you’d be the perfect slut for me.” He groped your breasts through your bra, hands greedy with the clear goal of making you yearn for him. “Perfect tits, soft skin, pretty face, nice ass, strong will. Yeah, you’ll be fun to break.” He gave you one of his signature smirks, making you want to crush his windpipe and deepthroat his dick at the same time.

You shrugged your top off your shoulders and let him snake his arms around your chest to undo your bra and expose your tits to the cool air of the room. He didn’t waste time kissing your filthy mouth, and instead skipped straight to your sensitive neck. He slowly dragged his soft lips down your throat, kissing his way over to both sides and under your jaw. He licked and sucked at any area that made you gasp or let out some embarrassing little noise you tried to desperately to hide. He hated how you hid, he needed you to need him, to want him at a level beyond human comprehension. He wanted to destroy you, do break you down to your most animalistic and pitiful form. You were strong, that was for damn sure, but he wanted to fix that.

He took all this into account as he began nipping at the tops of your breasts. He moved from one to the other with no clear pattern. He dragged his tongue down to your right nipple, only touching the tip of his tongue to it, making you shiver in anticipation and let out a small whine. Yes, that was the progress he wanted to see from you. He swirled his tongue around it, slowly making his way to the center, harshly sucking it into his mouth. He pulled his sinful mouth away from you, leaving a trail of saliva connecting him to you. He quickly made his way to your other nipple, doing the same and driving you just as wild.

“You know, it wouldn’t hurt you to make more noise, darling.” He teased, sounding genuinely annoyed with you.

“Well, maybe if you did a better job, I would be louder.” You had discovered your talent of keeping up with his smart mouth, and you used it to your advantage. You wanted to rile him up; to get a rise out of him. As previously stated, you didn’t want a vanilla little love making session, you wanted to fuck.

“Alright then, if you’re so keen on keeping quiet,” he put his rough hands on your bare shoulders, pushing you back onto the ground, this time on your knees, “how about I stuff that mouth?” You hated how good he was at turning you on.

He pulled his dick out right in front of your face, letting it lay on his toned abs, just as you had envisioned it. It was easily 10 inches long, 5 inches thick, with a slight upturn that could drive you insane if it hit the right spots, which it would. It was flushed pink and dripping pre-cum; it was pretty.

“Well, are you just going to gawk at it or are you going to make yourself useful, slut?” The sweet pet names were out the window, swiftly replaced with the most debasing insults he could think of. To avoid any more of his smart ass remarks, you took his thick cock in your hands. You slowly stroked it, taking in exactly how big it was. You moved your plush lips closer, giving it a few small kitten licks to test the waters. You kissed the head and gave longer licks up the side, earning a grunt or two from the man above you. As you began to swirl your tongue around his tip, his strong hand came down and pushed on the back of your head. It wasn’t gentle, forcing you to take him down your throat. Considering his size, it was no shock that you choked on it at first, but he kept his hand on your hair, forcing you to stay on him.

“That’s it, sweetheart, keep that dirty mouth on fat cock.” Tears starting pooling in your eyes as you struggled to breath around his length. “Aww, are you actually crying?” He cooed, taking sick pleasure in mocking you. “How pathetic of you, darling.” His words send shockwaves of shame and pleasure down to your core. You abhorred how badly you needed him inside of you. As he let out a low moan, he pulled you off his cock, tugging your hair just enough to make you even wetter.

“Alright, angel. I’m not a big fan of blowjobs, so we’ll leave it at that.” You coughed a little as he bent down to your heaving form.

“Really? That’s a shock.” That was your genuine reaction. You were far too fucked out to be a smart ass at this point.

“Yeah, you’re not the first to make that observation.” Much to your surprise, he picked you up bridal style, barely breaking a sweat in the process of getting you to his bedroom. Though the lights were on, you couldn’t take in many details, your cock drunk state making it difficult to process anything other than the warm, bare skin of the monster you tried so hard to vanquish.

“Now, lets get these cute little panties off, hmm?” You had forgotten him taking off your pants in the heat of the moment. His menacing figure loomed overtop of you, slowly sinking down to your thighs. He placed licks and kisses all over them, leaving a few bite marks along with them. You moaned louder than before, feeling too blissed out to care about your pride. You felt large, tepid fingers hooking themselves between your legs and into your panties. He pulled them to the side, wanting to really take you in. Despite his lust for power and dominance, he much preferred giving head to receiving it, especially when it came to women and their soft, tender pussies. You were no exception to this rule.

“Goddamn you’re fucking wet.” You looked up at you, making you lean your head back to avoid his gaze. “You must like me more than you care to admit, sweetie.” Just after saying this, he ran one long finger up your dripping slit, coating his fingertip in your slick. He looked at it shimmering in the low light of the room, grinning before taking it into his mouth and tasting what your cunt had to offer.

“You taste like heaven. Surprising, considering what a nasty girl you are.” Unlike you, he could keep that smartass act up for hours on end, no matter how lost in your sex he was. He landed a chaste kiss to your throbbing heat before flattening his tongue to lick a fat stripe up the middle. He began to devour you, making the lewdest noises you had ever heard in the process. You felt amazing, and disgusting, and just about every other emotion you had ever felt in your life. He was a god at eating your pussy, feeling no remorse in having his lips and beard dripping with your juices. To hell with the burn marks he left on your thighs and the burning sense of guilt you had for moaning so loud and creaming all over the face of your greatest enemy. Shame and guilt were for foolish children with no place in the world, Zeke wanted to enjoy every last second of destroying you.

As he continued to lick and suck at your most sensitive spots, you began to feel your stomach tighten, signaling your closeness. Zeke noticed as well, taking note of your erupting moans and groans and tugs at his silky hair. He moaned on your clit, the vibrations sending you over the edge. You came all over his face, arching your back of the soft sheets and making you scream his name. He kept his lips attached to your clit as you came down from your high, keeping you ensnared in his trap of bliss.

“God, you moan like a fucking whore, you know that?” The way he insulted you felt disgustingly good, especially coming from such a obnoxiously handsome man.

“And you eat pussy like a god.” The veil of hatred came off in one foul swoop. You couldn’t hold back how you truly felt about Zeke Yeager. You were in love with the way he treated you, and spoke to you, and ate you, and soon enough, fucked you. He was so damn good, and you just hated to love and loved to hate him.

“Oh, do I now?” He let out a low chuckle, taking pride in how helpless and stupid he had made you. “Does that make me your god, pet?” It wasn’t a real question. He knew the answer, and he loved that answer: yes.

“Now, how about I partake in some earthly pleasures and fuck your brains out, sweetheart?” He questioned, moving his arms up to rest on both sides of your head. His face was right above yours, lips hovering over your breathless, panting ones.

“Yes, please.” Your eyebrows scrunched together as you grew impatient and needy as all hell. Zeke had a sinister idea. God was a nice term, but he could think of a better one.

“How about you beg daddy for it?” He was such a disgusting pervert, and he relished in it. You mustered all the strength you could in order to speak.

“Please fuck my pussy, daddy.” That was all he needed to push himself inside your tight heat. Your walls clenched as he thrusted balls deep inside of you, not caring if you needed to adjust or not. Luckily, you didn’t, despite his size.

“Fuck yes, angel. You’re so goddamn tight.” He thrusted into you with reckless abandon, using you more than making love to you, which is exactly what you both wanted. Your walls clenched and throbbed as he brought you to orgasm once again.

“Cumming all over my cock, sweetheart? Such a dirty whore.” He teased, continuing his motions, hitting your g-spot over and over again without much issue. His dick was perfect, reaching every inch of you that made you scream out in pleasure and overstimulated bliss. All of this for a few bags of cocaine and bullets. You weren’t even thinking of that as he pounded into you, getting rougher and sloppier than before. He was getting close to his own high just as you were about to reach your third. No one had ever made you feel like this. You never wanted to let him go. Fuck everyone you cared about, this was too damn good to throw away.

“Where do you want my cum, slut?” He asked seconds before climaxing.

“Wherever you want it, daddy.” That was exactly what he wanted to hear. You had been molded into the perfect toy for him, even if it was just for the moment. He had debased and perverted you, like putty in his hands. You thought you could just waltz in there and take what you wanted from him. But no, instead you were writhing around on his bed with his fat cock filling up your pussy while you screamed for your daddy. You were filthy, slutty perfection. He quickly pulled out of you and shot his cum on your stomach and chest. Noticing you were still squirming around, he pushed his thumb to your clit and rubbed circles as two of his fingers entered you and hit your sweet spot.

“Come on, slutty girl, cum for daddy.” This time felt different than the others. You were completely out of your mind with pleasure and lust, and he was hitting just the right spots. You came around his fingers, squirting your juices and ruining his sheets. As if he could sense it, he had moved his face down just in time for it to reach his mouth, coating yet another layer of your cum on his beard. He licked his lips, savoring you taste and the blissed out, fuck drunk look on your face. He wished he could keep you like this forever. No, he would make sure to keep you like this forever. You were going to be his for the rest of time, no matter what it took. Even if he had to play the long game and pretend you had a choice in the matter.

“Well, sweetheart, I’m afraid you have to go home empty handed. I’m sure those tarts will just pat you on the head and congratulate you for trying your best. That’s why they’ll never surpass me, and that’s why you will come crawling back to me.” You couldn’t respond, too disappointed and drained to say a word.

“I have a shower that I recommend you use.” He looked down at you, your eyes hazy and barely focused on him. You were completely exposed to him. You looked beautiful. “In an act of civility, I’ll let you sleep here tonight. On a different bed, of course, considering the damage you’ve done.” You laughed at that, and he followed suite.

“You know Zeke, for a monster, you’re not too bad.” You looked at him, admiration clear in your eyes.

“You’re not too unbearable either.”

#aot smut #snk smut #zeke yeager smut #zeke jeager x reader #zeke yeager x reader #zeke jeager smut #tw: drug use #tw: alcohol

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shegatsby · 4 years

Text

Masterlist

Requests Are Open!

Feyd Rautha requests; feyd rautha x fremen reader!!! perhaps soulmate situation where feyd has dreams about reader and is UTTERLY OBSESSED: Oneshot

Love Thy Enemy (Feyd Rautha xAtreidesReader) ;

Summary; Y/N Atreides had always been a stranger to the entire galaxy, her bed wasn’t her bed, her home wasn’t her home due to the fact that she was sent to accompany and be sisters with Irulan. She had limited access to her actual family and over the years they grew distant. She thought she would be like Reverend Mother, alone, yet powerful, and soon she would realize that there was no need of being alone when a wild creature had his eyes on her for a long time.

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four

Hannibal Requests;

Sweet Serial Killer Taking Care of You Shard of Blood Thanksgiving Dinner

Honesty Losing Him Their Secret Whisper of Evi Polar Opposites

Mistletoe Hannibal x Will Request Oneshot; First Kiss

Anxiety Attack Audacity Audacity part 2

Hannibal x Reader x Will; A New Beginning

Hannibal x Reader Request; Chapter One Chapter Two(final)

Hannibal x Will x Reader; Tangled In Between

Mrs. Lecter Hannibal x Will x Reader Request; Allergy

Jealous Kiss Princess Crisis of Lust

Oneshot; Hannibal just found out he have the first symptoms of parkinson’s disease, like his hand are beginning to shake and freak out and try everything he could the hide it

Oneshot; Hannibal x reader when Mason Verger gets too close to their young daughter and Hannibal immediately goes into protective dad mode and his daughter immediately doesn’t like Mason.

Oneshot; Reader is Abel Gideon’s daughter & was in medical school but dropped out after the whole “dad killing her entire family” thing. The FBI questions her when they think her dad is the Chesapeake Ripper & she is just shy.

Oneshot ; How Hannibal would react to and tend to a S/O who age regresses? Not super young but like regresses to 10 or 12 to destress or cope.

Oneshot; Hannibal comes home and sees that the reader is missing. He thinks she's ran away, she broke up with him but didn't tell him, she's been kidnapped, etc. He searches the whole house and just when's about to give up or start a major freakout, he finds the reader. And it turns out that the reader had just fell off their bed when she was alseep and happened to roll under the bed and stayed alseep.

Pedro Pascal One Shots;

Pedro Pascal x Reader; Bullet in The Heart

Pedro Pascal x Reader; Neck Kisses

Pedro Pascal x Reader; Parenthood

Pedro Pascal x Reader; Quarantine Life

Pedro Pascal x Reader; Bookworm

Pedro Pascal Fanfics;

Dangerous Game (Finished) Hannibal x reader

Hannibal X Female Reader

Genre: Romance, Slow burn, SMUT.

Summary: Y/N Hobbs an opera singer and also the eldest adopted daughter of The Minnesto Shrike, and her entire life changes after what happened. She will be the object of affection of a certain psychopath, whether she likes it or not.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11

Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 (final)

Tom Hiddleston Fanfics;

One shot; Mob Tom

Fire on Ice (Finished)

Summary; Tom Hiddleston is a vicious mob boss who is looking for his father’s killer, his reputation is depending on it and he won’t give up until he finds that man, and you my sweet little Y/N is the weirdest and the best thing that happened to him all his life.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Final Chapter

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blursed-ninjago-ideas · 2 years

Note

Giant vampire lady au some ideas that are more horror related than anything

Skylor really do be a devil child and I’m here for it

Just using the innocent guise of being a child to hug the other elemental masters and steal some of their powers

Seriously how could most people not resist that little angel and her little braided ponytail?

Morro called her a mosquito due to this behavior even pre-vampire turning

It takes Wu a while to realize how manipulative and vicious Skylor is behind the other adults backs

In Wu’s eyes she’s too much like Misako and even if she’s his brother’s child she’s got to go.

Lloyd is Wu’s favorite of the two demon spawn Misako has

It helps that Lloyd’s far more human acting and reminds him of Morro pre running away.

I mean Skylor is bragging about being turned eventually like her mother and ruling her own little fiefdom through force or diplomacy.

She’s also being raised by a blood sucking vampire who’s morals are very skewed combine that with Garmadon still being under the influence of the venom and you get a budding potential killer

Expanding her mother’s already terrifying vision of a vampire run portion of Ninjago where no others may intervene or threaten her.

Think a buffer state and living pen of humans constantly available for food like Carmilla’s master plan in castlevania.

I mean Misako’s still making Wine out of servants who displease her and keeping them captive in a dungeon laden with torture devices alongside the odd slayer.

Garmadon’s just gotten too used to blocking out the screams and despite hating it finds it soothing like a white noise (wether it’s due to the venom or Oni blood being more active due to the captive’s blood he’s been drinking)

I mean marriage is about compromise right? Misako definitely hasn’t given him a cursed wedding band that partially makes him feel affection for her.

She has given him a cursed wedding band but it actually builds off his own natural emotions of affection, love, and lust towards her

Wu’s constant murder/slaying attempts are a mood too.

Morro joined in on the slaying attempts when he was younger but Misako humored him.

He was destined to lose against her husband after all and humoring now would be a small consolation for him.

“Oh I’ve been struck down by such a brave ninja”

Seriously Wu has tried everything sealing spells, garlic, holy water from a sacred spring, holy oil set on fire, silver weapons, stakes, and just pure younger sibling jealousy.

Garmadon helped out initially with Wu’s slaying attempts but realized it just made Misako more in love with him and increased his own love towards her

Garmadon and Wu try to kill Misako, it fails, her and Garmadon start making out.

Wu: "GROSS! GROSS! I DIDN'T MEAN TO HELP YOU FLIRT!!"

-Ivy

#Mod Ivy #ninjago #lego ninjago #blursed ninjago aus

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flipfloppsychic · 2 years

Text

A one armed man couldn't cast.

He has heard it many times and will undoubtedly hear many times more. Ironically, he considers that more of a curse than his missing appendage.

He had always been obsessed with magic. From the smallest cantrip to the most unholy of arts, he wanted to learn them all.

Fate, however, is often cruel.

After years of study, his dreams were cut short, in but the time it took for the man's axe to slice through his thin flesh, severing his arm at the shoulder.

He'd be lying if he said it didn't stop him. For a while, he thought his dreams dead, as he slept and dreamt of blood tinted nightmares. But he kept on living, and one day those nightmares gave way to something else.

One day, he dreamt of power.

Magical abilities come from the spark of an individuals soul, and it was combined and shaped with complex signs and sigils, making casting a difficult art to learn, and nearly impossible without an arm. Nearly.

In his dreams, he was pushed along by the soft urges of his own soul. At a fundamental level, his being needed to use magic. Luckily, though his body was unwilling, his spirit could not be denied.

He dreamed of power yet still.

His dreams continued to be his playground, as he had realized what most had not, that there is more to casting than just complex gestures and ancient chants. Casting comes not from the physical form, but from the deep internal conflict within one's self. Something he happened to have an abundance of.

But there was something missing from his being: discipline. He needed a way of focusing himself, not only through concentration, but in a more physical way. He needed something to channel his soul through.

And so he searched.

He looked as far as he could in his small city, pouring over parts in scrap shops, as even the struggling magic emporiums would send him away once they saw his arm, or lack of one.

He soon realized that nothing in the town would be suitable. If he would acquire the perfect focus, he would need to create it himself.

And so the now young man was apprenticed under the towns bladesmith. And there he worked for a number of years, despite his lack of natural ability, for the bladesmith appreciated his drive to get prowess at the art.

Soon he grew stagnant.

After the few years working in the shop, the young man almost forgot his dreams of learning the arcane, as for the first time in his life, he was finally happy. He grew to love his slightly chubby master, even becoming friends and drinking partners once the long days in the forge were over.

Of course, however, fate is often cruel.

One day, during the early hours of the morning, the young man found a gruesome spectacle awaiting him in the forge. His masters body lay prone on the ground and was covered in a thick crimson liquid, still seeping from where the axe lay implanted in his chest.

Yet again, his dreams lay dead in front of him.

The man then gave his master a proper burial in the forest near town, and set upon his previous goal with a fiery calm beneath his eyes. His hands still sodden with dirt, he began working the now blood-soaked steel into a blade. Before long, the man had created his finest weapon. Brandishing his new blade, a short sword with a single sharpened edge and a simple, but elegant, handle, the man looked for his masters killer.

He was prepared to do anything to avenge his fallen brother.

And so he did just that. He turned to the darkest of magics that his soul could project out, and he trained himself to finally be able to cast limited, but effective, spells through channeling his power through his new blade.

But he didn't stop there.

Through his studies, he managed to recreate a crude method of enchantment, and used it to create his signature identifier. The thing that every story gets right, the menacing wooden mask, depicting a vicious demon with charcoal eyes.

But he didn't stop there.

His lust for magical power grew with his anger, his anger at everything that had happened in his life. His anger at those who sought to prey upon the weakness of their peers.

His dark practices started to garner attention from those who were smart enough to pay attention. Unfortunately, they were not smart enough to see that they could not stop his ambition.

They came one morning, and they carried handcuffs and sharpened blades. It would not be enough.

That was the first time he had killed, and they would not be the last souls to be cut down by that infernal blade, and their blood would not be the last to stain his mask.

He used the corpses of those good men for something intensely evil. He wanted to become more than human, although some say his current form is less than one. So for the first time in this man's life, he cast a prayer.

And something answered.

With a simple sacrifice of flesh and tears, the man was no longer. He had become something else. Something twisted and contorted by a dark blessing. He had become vengeance.

It did not take long for it to find a man who had once robbed a blacksmith for spare change in the middle of the night. Nor did it take long for it to find a man who had once chopped off a young boys arm for trying to steal a loaf of bread.

#writeblr #fiction #reading #writing #writers on tumblr #tw: death #black magic

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blaydiud · 2 years

Text

𝖋𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖔𝖒 𝖑𝖔𝖊𝖜𝖑𝖘 - audovera.

(tw: description of mild violence/injury/death)

He knew both sides of the coin by heart and soul.

To be a child, injured and left to die, sitting down after just losing nearly all of his family in a single swoop, their blood dyeing his clothes, their last words and moments burned into his memory as they echo still to this day. There is no time to rest and process what happened because he has a duty to fulfill as Crown Prince, but all that he loved was ripped to shreds.

To be the killer, brandishing a lance whose silver was now almost completely dyed in varying shades of red. Fresh, newly splattered blood, darker crimson from victims from a while ago, and near brown from those of the day before. Looking down and spotting a heart-shaped locket in the hand of a soldier he just eviscerated, the locket holding a curl of blond hair that belonged to a young child. He had a duty to fulfill, ripping families apart for its sake.

It was a clear contrast of priorities. Agarthans are a major threat and continuously kill and maim for their own disgusting gain, but at the same time the whimpers of pain and fear ‘Errol’ made were not too different from a regular, scared, human child. For a split second, the prince had seen himself in ‘Errol’s’ place. Fatally injured, alone in a burning field filled by nothing but the dead and dying, hiding under his decapitated father’s cape as a last bout of comfort. Afraid, alone, in pain. Waiting for death but fearing it just the same.

And then the desire, the lust for killing. For a split moment, everything went blank and he enjoyed every instance he felt Areadbhar rip through flesh. With every splatter of blood, Dimitri felt more alive. Because that was the truth- that battle, although short, made Dimitri feel the most alive in years. He felt his heart pounding, his muscles on fire because of his crest, his arms keeping a tight grip on Areadbhar as it became more and more wild. When he saw ‘Errol’, he saw a prey. A toy, a weak thing that he could crush satisfyingly easily.

And then, a dying child.

He had to kill them, because they hurt innocent people. But they…kind of are people too, aren’t they? ‘Errol’ was only another addition to his ghosts now.

You dare to sympathize with the enemy? Do you perhaps long for treason?

No such thing, because Faerghus does not forgive.

The prince remembers the rite he performed when he was a young boy of only 10 years of age. Deep in the gardens of Palace Fhirdiad, inside a hidden crypt, he was handed the legendary swords Halde Thrúd and Audovera, and asked to pledge for the Goddess and King Loog. That he would be a good king, and hold Halde Thrúd with his dominant hand. The maiden of mercy and elegance, a parent’s stern but still loving scold. On his other hand was Audovera, the flamberge of cruelty. Unforgiving, vicious, the sign of a leader that rules by fear first and foremost, the promise of capital punishment. Halde Thrúd was to be wielded as a king’s priority, while Audovera was to be the last resort.

He wonders now, if despite his promises, he had secretly lied to the Goddess that day. That perhaps his hold on Halde Thrúd was firm, but his grip on Audovera was stronger. If perhaps his pledge was insincere all along.

He remembers holding on to Areadbhar and pointing it at the child, and wonders if the Goddess would’ve frowned at him if on that day, 7 years ago, he had held up Audovera tall and proud instead.

Because Faerghus does not forgive, but the Goddess does not either.

And despite the reflection on the blade being of a child crying for help, Dimitri might not as well.

#[ ah this takes me back… ] (drabbles)#toafantomloews2022 #flmerceus2022 #[[ the errol thing unlocked a new glitch on dimitri ]]

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chelsfic · 4 years

Note

Donald PiercexTracker! thots... Donnie shows some young upstart contract merc why his Reavers get it done when the dude fucks up trying to cuff some recent capture who gets loose and almost kills one of his guys. Tracker! watches from the truck, super scared and turned on, when all is said and done she watches Donald drive then begs him to please let her suck him off before he has to put her back. So he let's her try and choke herself on his cock standing in the garage and she says thank you

Hoooooooo boyyyyyyyyy!!! You’ve awoken a deep fire within me, anon. I must know you, surely? You must be one of only a handful of Donnie lovers among my followers.

Anywhooooooo, here’s my response to this very compelling concept!

Warnings: blow job, praise kink, punishment, dirty talk, stockholm syndrome, dom/sub

Worship

“Wait,” the word falls unbidden from your lips, piercing the silence of the empty parking garage.

Donnie pauses securing the manacles to your wrists. He lets out a weary sigh. He’s exhausted, sweaty and there’s a still-bleeding cut at his hairline that will probably need stitches.

“Not in the mood for this today, baby,” he grumbles, locking your wrists together and giving a tug to get you moving. You let your heels dig into the concrete and he turns on you with a lethal glare. “Are you fuckin’ serious? You wanna be manhandled, is that it?”

He crowds you against the side of the tactical van, his massive frame looming over you. You can practically feel the aggravation beating down on you with the intensity of his blue-eyed stare. But rather than cringe from him you’re drawn in by the sharp scent of his masculine sweat, the obscene streak of blood across his face, his heaving chest and muscles trembling with leftover adrenaline.

Earlier, when that mutant had freed himself and nearly killed one of Donnie’s new recruits, you’d quaked in fear from behind the bars of your little cage. You watched with your heart in your throat as your man took down a mutant twice his size, throttling him with his cybernetic hand. The thought of that hand, capable of such vicious cruelties, wrapped around your throat...cupping your face...tracing over your skin...it had done things to you. You spent the drive back to base clenching your thighs together in a feeble attempt to quell the aching heat pooling in your pelvis.

The idea of going back to that little cell without touching Donald is unacceptable. All you want is to feel the power of his body bearing down on you, inside you, taking and controlling every part of you. You don’t know how or when things changed. When had you grown so addicted to Donnie’s approval? When had you begun to crave his touch, his voice, his body, like a desperate whore? When had you started thinking of him as a beloved master--a demi-god deserving of your worship? All you want to do right now is fall on your knees and offer yourself to him in sacrifice to the raging, passionate violence of his soul.

But how can you put all that into words?

“Donnie,” you whine, letting your head fall forward against the hard plane of his chest. “Please.”

“What is it, Darlin’?” he questions, his voice pitched low as he senses the desperate arousal driving you. “What d’you need?”

But you can’t say the words. You decide to show him instead, going down on your knees in front of him and nuzzling your face wantonly into the crotch of his denim pants. You look up to see a knowing smirk spread over his lips. He drags his hand through his sweat dampened hair and looks back at you with appraisal. What does he see? A mewling, desperate supplicant on her knees before her god.

“So, that’s what you want, baby?” he teases, his eyes clouding over with lust at the sight of you mouthing his growing erection through the fabric of his pants. “You think you can throw a tantrum to get what you want? Think you can act like a spoiled little brat and get rewarded with my dick?”

“ ‘M sorry, Donnie,” you mumble, lost in the haze of your desire and not caring how pitiful a picture you must make, kneeling on the dirty ground and practically drooling on his crotch. “Please, let me suck it, Donnie. Please, I’ll be a good girl.”

You reach your bound hands up to his waist, intending to undo his belt buckle but quicker than you can imagine his robotic hand grabs the manacles and shoves your hands away.

“No hands,” he warns you, his gravelly voice goes straight through you and your cunt feels heavy with arousal. You nod your head rapidly, watching as he slowly undoes the belt, opens the top button of his pants and unzips his fly with an obscene sound that seems to echo through the silent garage. What if someone sees you? You’re not exactly hidden. Anyone could walk through and see you squirming on your knees begging your handler to shove his cock in your mouth. Would you even care at this point?

He finally pulls it out, letting his thick, heavy shaft smack against your cheek as he frees himself. He rubs it across your face, letting the bead of precum paint your lips.

“This is what you wanted, baby? Were you thinkin’ of this all day? Hoping I’d let you suck me off if you were a good enough little mutie for the team today?”

“Yes! Donnie I think about it all the time…,” you whine, leaning forward to nuzzle your face against the straining erection. Donnie reaches down with his robotic hand and pushes you away, holding you in place as he teases your desperate lips with the head of his dick.

“Good girl,” he praises and the warmth of his words flows through you. “But you weren’t as efficient as you could have been today, baby. The team was tired by the time we finally tracked that fucker down. When the team’s tired, mistakes get made. Sometimes mistakes cost lives. So, I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson, baby. Gonna have to fuck that pretty mouth and make you choke on it. Is that what you want?”

Holy shit. You’re still straining against his hold on your head, but you look up to lock eyes with him and nod your consent. God, you want this. You want to let this man take you apart and put you back together again.

“Open your mouth,” he instructs, his voice rumbling down into a breathy whisper.

He presses the head of his cock past your lips and you moan at the weight of him on your tongue, drool already spilling from the corners of your mouth. He isn’t gentle or slow. Not this time. He’s burnt out and exhausted and barely managing to stay up on his feet. He doesn’t have it in him to be nice. His hands cup the back of your head and he pushes and pushes until you feel him hit the back of your throat and your nose is buried in the nest of curls at the base of his cock. Your throat immediately rebels against the invasion, choking on the impossible length of him. His fingers tighten in your hair.

“Shhh shh shh,” he tuts, jutting his hips against your face to punish your throat even more. “I want you to breathe, baby. Through your nose. There you go, my good girl.”

Saliva is pouring from your stretched lips and tears prick at your eyes but you try to do as he says. Taking long, shaky inhales through your nostrils as he starts to pulse his hips, ruthlessly thrusting his huge cock into your mouth.

“This is what you want, isn’t it? What all mutants want. To serve their betters. I knew it the first time I saw you, baby. Hidin’ in that warehouse like a scared bunny rabbit. I knew you’d come ‘round to seein’ where you belong. On your knees...my little pet...mutie...Jesus fuck!” His words are absolutely filthy and downright degrading, but you don’t care. You fist your bound hands into the fabric of his pants and frantically clench your thighs against the wetness between your legs. Donnie likes to talk like this when he has you in bed--or...out of bed--but when it comes down to it, he’s the only person in this place who makes you feel like more than “mutie.”

He dissolves into incoherent moans and keening cries as his pace turns ragged and chaotic. When he comes his cock is so far down your throat you have no choice but to swallow his semen. He pulls out, panting and quivering with the power of the orgasm, and falls to his knees beside you. His arms go around you, wrapping you up in his strong embrace.

He lays his cheek against the crown of your head and shuts his eyes, catching his breath. You nuzzle your face into his chest once more, tucking your bound hands between your bodies and sighing with contentment.

“Thank you,” the words are a prayer, an offering to this man who holds your whole life, your whole soul in his killer’s hands. He hums in acknowledgement, flexing his arms around you to communicate all the things he’ll never say.

Too soon he’s getting to his feet and pulling you up with him. You’re mentally bracing for the return to the stark prison cell when he tugs you across the parking garage towards his own sleek sports car.

“C’mon baby,” he says, tucking you under his arm like you’re a couple out on a date instead of a prisoner and her jailer. “I’m takin’ you home tonight.”

Tags:

@nothing-but-a-comedy @ionlyjoinedforboydholbrook @theplumsoldier @meri47 @lackofhonor @sabinemorans

#donald pierce #donald pierce x reader #boyd holbrook #smut #chelsfic #ask #tracker!verse #boyd holbrook imagine #marvel #logan

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mpxzane · 3 years

Photo

“We all have dark thoughts dear, some of us are just not as good at hiding it as others.”

tw: death, abuse, violence, drugs

Broken;

“You called me a monster, you wanted a monster. And now… you’ve got one… aren’t I generous?”

As a young god, he was clumsy, messy, unorganized but - he did his best with the task he was given as his people’s god of death. He was lanky, awkward, ill-prepared for the large task of tending to the souls that he was graciously given the responsibility or ruling over. Others in his pantheon were by his side as he found his way, comforted him and helped him along so that he could be the great ruler of the underworld that he was born to be. However, nothing and no one could have taught him or told him how to juggle the struggle of his duties with falling in love. Nothing could have prepared him for the mess his own heart had gotten him into.

He was naïve, easily controlled by his emotions, and quick to fall in love. Another young goddess, also naïve and new to the world of feelings, relationships, and just anything outside of their duties as gods - caught the young god of death’s eye. Slowly the two came together, careful and unsure as they had never felt this way before, nor did they know they were even capable of feeling something so strongly for another. It was a crawling speed at which they finally collide but when they did… the feeling was as if two stars had just collided with one another. Sparks, flashing lights, racing hearts, love, and passion came in droves. Overwhelming the two young gods with things they had never experienced before, only seen others experience it or seen the mortals they watch over fall in love.

Perhaps the passion was too much, the love was too strong, the friendship not strong enough… because no matter what they felt in the beginning it all fell apart in an explosion in the end.

She made him love himself in a way he never had before because she loved every part of him. The clumsiness, the awkwardness, the lankiness, the unbearable smell he had no control over– and he loved all there was to love about her. From the love she had for her pantheon, the love she had for the mortals she was tasked with caring for, her graciousness, her smile, her eyes, her lips– he loved all of her just as she loved him. Yet, it wasn’t enough in the end. Although he chose her over his duties over, and over, and over again… she couldn’t do the same for him. He understood that the mortals in her care were important to her but, he wanted to be just as important to her… he just wanted to be equal to them in her eyes rather than less than.

Yet, she still chose them over him. To the point of leaving him forever… forever choosing her love for mortals over the love she shared with him.

He couldn’t understand it, was he too much? Was he not enough? Was he too much of the monster she used to say he was? In anger she had called him a disgusting monster… if she saw him as a disgusting monster then that is what he would become… just for her.

Nothing could have prepared him for falling love… but more than that, nothing could have prepared him for getting his heart broken into shards of broken glass. Shards he used to chisel out who he would become.

Ruler;

“When an owl screeches, someone nearby will die. If you hear a hoot, take a deep breath and count to ten.”

The soft jingle of bells follows Cizin as he walks the cold and quiet night streets of the Earth. The dark surrounding him as he lumbers along the cobblestone pathways. His wide owl eyes awaiting the one who shall join him in his trip back to Mitnal. His gaunt, decaying body dragging along the streets, the shuffle and jingle of the bells in his feather a haunting thing for anyone to witness. A literal manifestation of people’s worst nightmares. He was created from their worst fears. The fears of those terrified of death. His faithful and equally terrifying companion Muan flies overhead, helping the Lord of Death and Ruler of Mitnal decide who will be joining him tonight. His ominous size and daunting symbolism as his wings are spread in the air, terrifying anyone who hears his screeches.

With every daunting step of his boney feet along the pathways, he passes the doors of unsuspecting mortals. Each one doing all they can to keep the horrifying Cizin at bay. Some keep him placated without even realizing, the sounds of wailing women bringing him joy. As each impact of fist to cheek is felt as a vibration in his chest, her fear and torment feed every urge in his bones. Other doors hide crying children, being reprimanded by strict parents, their anguish and misery filling him with warmth as he passes by them. Nightmares wrack others, leaving them to roll around in restless sleep, the torment of their own minds wreaking havoc on their psyche was enough to make him sigh in contentment. He continues along the streets, bones and bells alerting anyone close enough to his presence.

It’s the quiet homes that pull at his ears, the silence leaving a hunger in the pit of his stomach. He isn’t happy knowing someone behind a quiet door isn’t experiencing some form of misery. This brings him into the homes of sleeping families, a wave of a hand and eyes glowing red bring nightmares and horrifying ideas into the minds of innocents.

Night after night, he would come to the surface to bring chaos to the minds of mortals. Collecting souls to follow him to Mitnal and accepting the offerings given to him by his loyal followers. There was something missing though, something he couldn’t quite place. He was bored. Bored of his work in Mitnal and on Earth. Mortals were becoming more and more comfortable with chaos and pain as they wrecked it on themselves and those around them just as much as he did. It wasn’t filling to hear a battered woman cry or children to weep in the night. The vibrations of their agony no longer fill him with happiness and placating his hunger. He needed something new.

This brought him to the home of a vile human being. His favorite kind. A vicious man as horrible as him. One who made it his purpose in life to steal from the poor, vulnerable, and innocent. A killer who paid no mind to the innocent men, women, and children who’s souls he sent The Lord every evening. Cizin did not fear him, nor was he happy to be taking over his life. This disgusting man made his job as a god so much easier, for this mortal was not restricted to the streets at night or to the confines of a decaying body. He’d seen other gods use mortals as their vessels, to blend in with the disgusting rats they so loved. He didn’t understand it at first but, he was bored and boredom brought experimentation. The Lord reached out to the mortal he respected as he slept and laid a skeletal hand on his slowly rising and falling chest.

A flash of light and Cizin had made his choice.

This should be fun…

Humanity;

“Between two evils, I always pick the one I never tried before.”

When Ah Puch imagined humanity, he imagined those he saw in the dead of night, the souls he would take from the earth and leave to be tormented forever in Mitnal. The mortals he saw were the ones who wailed and screamed to keep him away, those who rightfully feared him and hated him. Those who worshipped him with all of their being and were shunned by their peers. What he did not imagine were those he would see in the light of day. The kind that were soft and sweet, forgiving, smart, and patient. He hated them, perhaps he was even jealous of them. Jealous of the love they give and also receive in return. Ah Puch spent centuries believing that he was happiest when he was feared and hated but, being surrounded by the rats he grew to hate… he realized why the one he loved chose them over him… which only made him hate them even more.

However, the god could appreciate them at the same time, for this side of humanity was what made the demons he influenced all the more powerful. Evil and filthy mortals that feed off the innocent ones, taking their fear and naivety and using it to make themselves more powerful. To Ah Puch mortals are nothing more than disposable rats, rats he can influence to do his bidding with no care if they die for him or not. Wanting nothing more than to cause chaos and torment their kinder counterparts. These easily manipulated rats are what helped Ah Puch find power. As he played the wealthy businessman and con artist, they were slinking around the back alleys of the cities he called home, taking control over the communities around him with threats and fear tactics. His worker rats made him stronger as he found power among stupid mortals that fell for anything that came out of his mouth. While his rats did his dirty work, he was able to charm his way into the lives and minds of some of the most powerful groups in the world. Surrounding himself with other people’s greed, lust, and their desire for misery and chaos, their destructive natures and skewed morals only made his work as a god of death and chaos that much easier.

It was also quite fun for him to watch their souls slowly turn to ash in the pits of Mitnal for the crimes he convinced them to commit.

If he’d known mortals were this easily manipulated and molded to his will, he’d have taken a vessel much sooner than he had. He found the rats were so easily turned self destructive, this discovery would become the easiest way he would fill the hunger for misery in his stomach. The pit that constantly needs to be filled with anguish, pain, and chaos. Torture at his own hands was few and far between as he had to keep up the mask with the more elite mortals. However, the hands of his minions were free to be covered in blood in his name, yet murder and torture just wasn’t doing it for him anymore. He needed a new method. Instead of hunting for himself or having his minions find an innocent face for him to torment, he found that simply supplying weak-minded mortals with inhibitors was just the thing he needed to placate his hunger. It was so easy for them to fall under the control of the inhibitors he and his minions would supply him, too weak to fight their own weak, mortal ways of becoming addicted to what he gave them.

Ah Puch started with alcohol, cocaine, and tobacco. Some of the easiest addictions he found that mortals would cling to if offered at just the right moment in their pathetic lives. Sex and love were next, discovering that to the weak minded people on his streets were just as susceptible to who addictions as any hard physical drugs. The new era mortals gave him so many more things to use against them, things that would bring them to their knees and right into his pocket. The amount of drugs and inhibition reducing pass times just increased with the creation of technology and the snowball of toxic relationships, just fueled him in new ways he never thought possible. At this point he barely had to put any work in at all… the idiot mortals were practically giving their corrupted souls to him on a silver platter. Nothing quite beats having some poor, weak minded mortal in his bed - high as a kite and confessing their undying love to him as their god, only to have a complete mental breakdown days or even hours later… This new era took him to a new level of chaotic euphoria.

With his hunger so easily filled thanks to humanity’s own downfall, he needed something to take up his time. These ventures only helped him get richer and richer so, by the end of the 1970’s he took up collecting. Collecting all different things mortals found disgusting or “evil”. He admired them. Admired these objects and all the stories and history they carry. There was something about the energy in his collection that comforted him. Knowing that all these objects that were considered “junk” or terrified mortals were safe with him, and knowing that even objects could hold evil and chaos like him brought him a level of what he could only describe as feeling like he was truly home.

Business;

“Power does not corrupt. Fear corrupts… perhaps the fear of a loss of power.”

When European historians discovered the original stories of him and his pantheon, well the stories of the original Cizin, the skeletal god who walked the earth only at night. They gave him a new name, “God A” among what they were classifying as the alphabetical Mayan deities. Out of spite, he gave himself a new name. Zane. The final letter of the English alphabet inspiring his new spiteful expression of self. It was around this time he learned of the creation of a new, enchanted island. An island made just for gods and their half-blooded children. A bizarre concept to him, to imagine gods and goddesses of all pantheons loving together with their half-mortal children. He thought about at least visiting to see what all the fanfare was about, but the thought of running into his own half-blooded children caused him to hesitate. He had a few that he could remember but, none of them were worth any of his time. He had better things to worry about than a few mistakes that happened to be his children. As if any of them would actually want anything to do with him anyways, no child wants a psychotic monster as a father. Zane couldn’t imagine even if he did care (which he doesn’t) that his children would care to meet or learn about the monster their god parent was. So, he ignored them and let them go about their lives, whatever that may be.

Finally, he decided to feed his curiosity of this island he kept hearing about among the gods in the early 1990s. He moved into a dusty apartment above a dirty, old store in an obscure alley of the Red Light district he decided to lovingly name - Sombra Muerte. That store would easily become one of his favorite accomplishments. He chose not to promote his shop, word of mouth was enough for him and the quieter his store was the better in his opinion. There is a reason he used to leave dealing with customers and clients in the hands of his assistants and minions, he could be charming when he needed to - schmoozing had become quite a talent of his - however he could only handle but so much before he was tired of it. Customers came and went of the years and he did his best to keep the regulars happy and new customers in the mood to return. The front of the back alley curiosities shop was dark, brooding, gothic, evil, and odd. A perfect home for his collection. The basement of said shop held an even darker secret that the Lord of Death kept well. His empire of schemes was still going strong, being run out of the same place that masqueraded as an oddities shop. It took him over three centuries to build up his empire to encompass almost the entire mortal world, he wasn’t going to leave it in the hands of anyone else just so he could prance around in a city full of other gods.

With drugs, schemes, sex, and oddities taking up his time and filling that pit in his stomach, he rarely visits Mitnal anymore. Finding it more fulfilling to wreak havoc and create chaos among gods and half-bloods and it was much more fun than dealing with ratty little mortals all the time.

Since learning of the power of torment and torture that humans are able to withstand and still live. He took on a new job, one catering to those only of a specific nature. Discovering there are times when he can torture and torment without having to kill and still feel fulfilled. Then, watching the poor humans - well half-humans - become addicted to this pain and pleasure slowly lose themselves was all the more enjoyable for him. With drugs, sex and oddities taking his time and fulfilling his nature, he rarely visits Mitnal anymore. Finding that wreaking havoc among gods and half-bloods to be much more fun than playing with ratty, little mortals.

Changing;

“Nothing is so painful to the mind as a great and sudden change.”

It’s been years now. He’s intertwined himself with the half-mortals for many years and he’s been dealing with mortals for even longer. As his time living on Mount Phoenix grows - Zane can feel a change in him being sparked. A change that he is not sure if he likes. Perhaps it’s the influence of the many different personalities that he comes into contact with now, maybe it’s the several children of his that have come into his life. Either way he is not happy about any of it. He’s started to go soft that last year or so and there is now and in his gut. A stinging behind his eyes and a spark in his stone cold heart that hasn’t been ignited since his heart was shattered a millennia ago. The old feeling of disgust he held around demigods was not as strong anymore and he hated himself for the slight cracks that were appearing in his obsidian encrusted heart. Zane hasn’t been anything but ruthless, controlling, deceptive, and hateful since he was broken as a young god. New emotions have begun to bubble up inside of him, he’s started to struggle with his identity. Nothing he does feels right anymore, yet, the pit of anguish and chaos in his stomach is numbing. The cravings for misery and pain are lesser now, rather than all he could think about.

After a long, much needed, trip to his home in Mitnal he has returned just as confused as he was when he left. He knew what these feelings were and deep down he was terrified of them. The last time he allowed his emotions to be as strong as mortals, he fell in love and his heart was shattered into a trillion tiny pieces. Zane was left a tattered and broken version of the god he once was and he built himself back up into the monster he became. Nothing ever the same for him after that, never having felt anything but pain since she chose the mortals he grew to hate over him. It was easier for him to allow himself to be feared rather than to allow himself to be loved and give love. He never wanted to feel that pain again… Perhaps, that is why he keeps no attachments. You can’t get hurt by love if you have none.

Zane always held the belief that he would never love his children. To him they are all nothing but disgusting half-bloods, born from the species he can’t stand. Yet, something is changing there too. It’s a hard feeling to describe, and the closet this can get to in words is guilt. He feels guilt for leaving them to be raised by pathetic rats who hate him. If he’d tried to care for them sooner, they could have been raised by some great - a god! They would have grown to be so much more than just half-bloods with no direction. Perhaps one day he could grow to love them in his own way. They are of his blood and as much as Zane hates himself and mortals… maybe the combination will open a new part of him that he hasn’t reached yet.

#tales of cizin ;; self para #;; bio #[ updated bio to fit the new and improved ah puch ]#[ made him a little more palletable and easier to find connections with ]#[ its a long one oops-- ]#[ also peep the new sexy fc ]

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notgonnarememberthis · 3 years

Text

find your way (back to me) - chapter four

Merry Christmas Eve! This chapter took an unfortunate amount of time cause of shopping for my little siblings but I finally had the night away from anything to do and was finally able to punch something out. Hope y’all have a lovely, safe Christmas! The next chapter is already written so that’ll be coming soon!

cw - religious content

Gil tries to contain his unease as the lock to the cell echoes in the halls. The pit in his stomach only seemed to grow as he makes eye contact with no other than Martin Whitly himself.

He made Malcolm the promise that he would find Jess, he intended to keep it. No matter the price. They’re nearing the 48 hour mark, only 5 hours away. Malcolm only grows more frantic, analyzing every small detail, Ainsley grows more agitated at her lack of freedom to roam at her own risk.

Their limited resources are growing thin and the media is chomping at their heels for answers to the two bodies dropped in the park. Since a “letter from the killers” was dropped on the media’s doorstep, the questions of “The Needle’s Eye” haunts his every move. Colette herself collected the letter, but even with their top analysts on the case they’re not sure. Nevertheless every piece of news imaginable had attached to the name and rolled with it. Every print, every broadcast, it’s eating at him.

In other words, he’s desperate.

“Gil!” Martin’s face cracks into an almost jovial smile. One that he witnessed firsthand the vicious nature behind. “I have to say when Mr. David said I had a visitor I wasn’t expecting you. My children haven’t gotten themselves into trouble again have they? Can’t seem to get a hold of anyone these days.” Gil bites his tongue waiting until he exhausts himself. “Where is my boy? Not keeping him from me I hope? Didn’t turn out too good the last time, hm?”

“Dr. Whitly-”

“And I haven’t seen Ainsley on broadcast in two days! I was so happy when they let her back from her sick leave,” he speaks out the side of his mouth with a sly wink. As if they’re sharing some fucking gossip over brunch. “They aren’t questioning that decision are they? Because I can still pull some strings if need be, I mean she was made for broadcasting.”

Gil clears his throat and that seems to catch his attention long enough to get off of the topic, “I’m assuming you’ve heard of the needle’s eye?”

“Oh yes, tragic. Point for creativity though” For a moment, he’s not sure whether Martin means the name or the act itself. The thought tastes like venom in his mouth.

“And you’ve heard that they’ve moved their hunting ground to New York?”

He nods but Gil can see the shift as he begins connecting the dots. He straightens taking exactly three steps closer. Any fake smile or sympathy is gone in the split of a second. “Where are my children?” He asks again, this time the question feels more like a threat. It’s almost accustory the way he bares his teeth. Still he doesn’t waver.

“Malcolm and Ainsley are at the precinct. They’re under strict watch until we catch the men responsible.” Martin relaxes, nodding. “I’m here about Jessica.”

“She didn’t fuck him too, did she?” He barks out a laugh. He runs his tongue across his top teeth with a huff. The comment is a dig and it takes all of his power not to turn it right back at the smirking man.

“Two days ago we found her car at the scene of a wreck. Her driver Alphonso died on impact and we found evidence that she was taken by two men pretending to be paramedics.” Gil delivers the case with the most professional tone he can muster with the anger building in his chest. “The license on the car that caused the wreck matched ones connected to the FBI’s case against the killers.”

He’s not sure exactly what he expected but the laughter booming from deep within startles him. The sound bounces off the walls mocking him to his core. It screams with pointed accusations, his failures to protect her yet again dig in with pointed teeth.

He’s slamming Martin against the wall before his brain catches up to his actions. Anger clenches his jaw, wanting nothing more than to pull every damn answer out of him. The sound stopped with the movement, replaced with a taunting grin that doesn’t make it to his eyes. Martin leans his head back against the concrete looking down upon him.

He played exactly into what Martin wanted.

He lets go before Mr. David can even open the door, retreating back behind the line in defeat.

He won’t help Gil, even with Jessica in harm’s way. The mere thought brings back to bloody, impulsive rage yet again but he tampers it this time. A lump forms in his throat at the thought of her somewhere; hurt, alone, terrified.

He thinks of Malcolm, eyes hollow with misplaced guilt. Driving himself into the ground until it’s too late. He thinks of Ainsley who would burn the city to the ground to find Jess if she could. He remembers his promise to them. No matter the price.

Gil turns back to Martin, who’s still grinning at him like the devil himself. “Malcolm and Ainsley need you.” He bites his cheek so hard that he can taste the blood in his mouth. It’s better than tasting his own words.

Martin’s jaw drops, for the first time he believes The Surgeon is speechless. He gapes, trying to collect his thoughts a few more times. “The Needle’s Eye, possible religious background. I believe the phrase goes: it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God. Now, I think that a little harsh but that’s beside the point.”

“And the other bodies?”

“No doubt connected to the killers, don’t let the ol’ switcheroo fool you. These men believe the rich to be the epitome of sin. Greed, lust, gluttony the whole nine yards. He’s proving a point. Making them choose who lives or dies. Them, or a perfectly innocent stranger.”

“They’re partners.”

“Clearly there’s a dominant. The one who enacts the brutal killings, and the one who disposes of the victims. The dominant wouldn’t show remorse for the innocents, they’re simply the sacrifice of his mission.” He curses internally because it makes sense. “But there’s a twist. If they choose to live, they die a brutal death. If they sacrifice themselves, the stranger dies. Judging by the news. Jessie’s making the wrong choice.”

“So she’s alive.”

“At least until she changes her answer.” Gil tries to swallow but his throat feels like the desert. Two bodies, who knows if the killer has found a third victim to capture. It’s only a matter of time before Jess makes the connection to the answer the killer wants, at the cost of her life.

The clicking lock draws both of their attention. Mr. David hovers there with a stern look on his face. “You’re needed at the precinct.”

“What happened?”

“Malcolm just punched a journalist.”

“Oh, good for him.” Martin grins. “Don’t tell Ainsley, but a lot of them can be so pushy.”

He grits his teeth following Mr. David out of the door. This will not help Bright’s case with Colette. She already struggled letting him in on the case in the first place and it’ll be a struggle keeping it that way. He ignores the calls of Martin as he walks down the hall.

“Do visit again Gil! It was lovely talking with you!”

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The flooding of sudden light makes Jessica wince, hand instinctively trying to shield herself. After god knows how long in relative darkness the brightness stings her eyes. She squints watching a figure in black stumble into view.

“This is all your fucking fault.” Her heart dips as her eyes adjust. His knuckles are bloody and his footprints he leaves are crimson. The thought sinks in all at once. The partner, the one who had just been pleading and arguing with the man about killing innocents. The one who was young and stupid and impressionable was likely dead at the hands of this evil man. “If you weren’t such a stupid bitch!”

The backhand across her face stings but the aftermath gives her the opportunity to truly see her captor, even through the mask. Her stomach does a flip as she realizes in horror that she’s all too familiar with the black uniform. One she’s had the misfortune of seeing too many times for her liking over the years. One that matches Gil’s long before he was a Lieutenant. The badges and markers are covered or removed but she recognizes it regardless.

The glint of silver catches her gaze next, the knife is clutched in the man’s hand with a death like grip. She wonders briefly if he actually intends to kill her this time. “You’ve fucked up everything.” He spits before bending over to be on her level. “So I’m going to have to improvise.” With his face this close she can smell the cheap vodka on his breath. He grips her chin between two fingers forcing her eyes to meet his. “I’ll just have to get one of your kids. Maybe they’ll make the right choice. Dear mommy or a poor stranger.”

Whatever energy she still has flares in her with her protective instincts. She rears back and smashes her forehead into his nose before he can react. His drunkenness helps the clumsy instincts. The hit makes her head spin and her side ache with a new flare of pain that spreads all the way across her chest.

It’s almost worth it to see him bleeding.

He yells both in pain and in anger, raising the knife high in the air. She braces for the kill, it would be worth it to spare her children the pain of that choice. One that they would no doubt in her mind, make to save her in a heartbeat. She closes her eyes.

She screams when the knife pierces her leg. She opens her eyes again to see it deeply embedded in her thigh and the man stumbling back away. The lights flick out again as the tears escape uncontrollably. The pain of it chokes her until she can’t help but weap. All of the energy that had taken over to protect her kids flooded out.

Tipping her head back she let out a final scream. All of her frustration, anger, fears piled into one as she mentally berated whatever higher power was out there. Afterwards with her throat sore and head heavy, she allowed herself to be pulled into the welcoming darkness.

#gil arroyo x jessica whitly #jessica whitly x gil arroyo #prodigal son #jessica whitly #gil arroyo #religious content cw #martin whitly #mr david acting like he aint seeing someone fight martin when he deserves it is my aesthetic ok #he didnt see nothing #fanfic #find your way (back to me)#find your way (back to me) chapter 4 #notgonnarememberthis fics #gilssica #why is the ship name so ugly #why have i tagged that before

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madlymiho · 5 years

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Hi! So we know killer is embarrassed of his laugh so I guess hed be very embarrassed of his more intimate noises lol Can you do a fem so bj (headcanon or scenario) in which they want to hear him?

Hey hey Vivi! ~ Thanks for your patience, the first Killer scenario of this blog is finally here! 💜‼️

I’m really happy to write some filth about him, hehe, I hope this will suit you ~

Warning : NSFW

Words : 2561

Killer scenario : Can you make some noise? (Read after the cut)

He holds a grasp of her hair, his pants pushed down on his thighs, while his hard and swollen manhood is disappearing inside of her hot and wet mouth. He hears her gags, and her soft moans sometimes escaping from her throat, as she’s dedicated to the task, one of her hand gently rubbing his balls with tender and encouraging gestures. He pinches his lips together, concentrating on his own sounds, unable to let them cross the barrier of his mouth. He doesn’t want her to hear that. It’s too embarrassing.... He can’t even accept his own laughter, so letting her hear those terrible noises, almost animalistic? It’s not even possible. Killer sighs, feeling her tongue rolling downer on his length, to the point that the tip of cock meets the back of her throat, and he immediately grips her hair even harder, somehow preventing himself of letting escape any kind of moan. Yet, she seems to look for them. Despite her gag reflex, and her eyes full of tears, she keeps sucking him hard and deep.

“Name…,” Killer calls in a long growl. “If you keep going…,”

But no sounds. Not even a single growl or hum. Killer is utterly excited, and hard as hell, yet nothing comes out of his mouth. He pinches his lips together so hard that they almost disappear from his face, leaving nothing but a thin white line crossing his features. She manages to deepthroat him once again, and without a word, Killer finally loads in the back of her throat, his cock pulsing against her tongue while he rides out his orgasm with a few movements of his hips. He fondles her hair with tender and lovable caresses, until she’s back on her feet, wiping the remains of his seed and her own saliva at the corner of her lips. She doesn’t look very happy, and Killer furrowed his eyebrows.

“What’s the matter, Name?” He asks with his usual soft and inviting voice, extending his hand to invite her to come closer. “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll get back to you, if you want it,”

“No, I don’t want it, Killer,” she pouts, taking a step backwards as she bends down to catch her clothes on the ground. “It’s not really funny when your boyfriend is mute.”

Killer sighs and gets back on his feet, pulling up his trousers to dress hide his manhood in his underwear. He knows that he has some difficulties to open-up when they are in the middle of a steamy session, but he can’t fight his inner nature to protect himself. Years of mocking comments have been enough to create a profound trauma concerning his voice, his laughter and his general noises, and his deep control on them have turned into a problem in his relationship with her. He has been able to take off his mask after a few months, feeling enough at ease to expose his features to her eyes… But he remains mute and inaudible in their most intimate moments. There’s a blockage coming from him, and he knows she has a hard time to accept it. Usually, she doesn’t say anything, loving deeply the way he takes care of her, and how deep they are connected when they make love. But from time to time, it frustrates her, and she can’t help but give him a harsh comment.

“Hey, come here,” Killer invites, gently grabbing her hips to make her come closer. “Don’t be like Kid. Don’t pout.”

She rolls her eyes, hurt to be compared with their hot-blooded captain, while she wraps her wrists around his neck and looks at him in the eyes.

“Seriously, not even a moan?”

“It’s not so easy for me,” Killer argues, skimming her lips with his thumb. “You’re very good, but I don’t want to make any noise. It doesn’t mean that you’re not the best with your tongue.”

She lifts her eyebrow, suddenly terribly proud to see that gleam of lust in the back of his irises. She smirks cockily as she swings her thigh over his lap and rides him, her panties pressed against the bulge of his trousers.

“But even the best can’t extract those adorable noises coming from your throat… It means I’m not that good,”

“Don’t you think I know what you’re doing, right now, little demon?”

She smiles, catching his earlobe with her teeth while she moves her hips on his lap.

“Mmmh, absolutely nothing.”

Killer hums as he puts his hand behind her back, and swings his own hips to eventually plaster her back against the mattress. He pulls down her bra with his fingers, revealing her hard and pointy nipple, pulling on it with his teeth as she grabs his hair and carefully scratches his skull.

“Liar,” Killer whispers, unbuckling his pants for the second time of the day.

***

Three weeks. It has been three weeks since Killer didn’t see her. Life as a pirate isn’t always easy, and from time to time, he needs to get on a mission, far from her. When he’s gone, he always misses her warm presence in his bed, but also the sweet and incredible taste of her skin, and the warmness of her core. He misses every inch of her body as he’s suffering from a terrible illness, and despite his best efforts not to think about her too much, he feels terribly obsessed. On his way back to his crewmates, he’s almost suffocating, gazing at the horizon with a concerned stare, hoping that she didn’t go anywhere during his absence. He doesn’t want to jump back on Kid’s ship and doesn’t find her there. He needs her. He often thinks about the last time he had sex with her, and that pouting face she made when he has remained silent the entire session, only growling from time to time when the pleasure was too intense to stay still. He hopes that she has forgiven him somehow, and that they both could have a steamy reunion to celebrate his comeback on the ship.

When Killer finally walks on the deck of Kid’s ship after his absence, he immediately feels a body jumping on his back, and tiny arms roll themselves around his neck. He gasps, but smiles, feeling the burning kisses of his girlfriend on his nape. He manages to catch her waist and to put her back on the ground, his large bicep circling her waist as he can have a proper look on her blissful face.

“Seems like someone is really happy to see me,” Killer greets while he tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“You were gone for three weeks,” she reminds him, getting on her tiptoes to let him see her genuine smile. “I missed you.”

Slowly, she skims his arm with the tip of her finger, tracing an invisible map on his flesh. He feels her stare on his mask, inviting and promising, and soon enough, Killer grabs her arm and gently guides her inside the ship. He greets his crewmates on his way to their shared room, checking their hands or embracing them whenever he encounters one of them. She remains silent as he walks in front of her, until he opens the door of his room and pinches her ass to make her enter quicker. She jumps on her feet and throws him a playful stare, and the second after, they are finally alone, both full of desires. Killer slowly catches the straps of his mask and pulls on it, exposing his face for her greatest happiness. She immediately answers by jumping in the air, wrapping her legs around his waist, so they can share a sloppy and passionate reunion kiss. Killer breathes heavily, his hand hurtling down her back to grab her rear and squeeze it, a vicious smile growing on his lips. He feels her tongue looking for his, as she tilts her head, arching her back under his lusty touch, while he’s more than happy to let her caress his wet muscle. Finally, they catch their breath back, and for a moment, he only looks at her playful eyes, and the way she devours him with them.

“What are you up to, Name?” Killer asks, catching her bottom lip between his teeth to gently suck on it. “You have something in mind, I know you,”

“Why don’t you seat at the edge of the bed and find it by yourself?” She answers, digging her fingers inside his long and blond hair.

Killer perfectly understands her point, and softly, he lets her get back on her feet, getting rid of his shirt as he walks to the bed and sits on it. He puts his palms on the mattress, resting on them, analyzing her next moves, his eyes staring at her with a powerful intensity. He always loves when she takes the lead, more especially when she’s willing to kneel in front of him and take that cock of his in her precious mouth. Slowly, she moves her hips and walks to join him, stripping in front of him to increase this hot and lustful atmosphere in the room. She pushes her short down on her thighs, bouncing on her feet to make it fall on the ground, before she throws it away with a disinterest kick. Then, she grabs the corner of her shirt, and slightly dancing on site, she finally exposes her underwears. Killer smirks, extending his hand to wave it, hoping she would come closer anytime soon, pleased by her show.

“Matching bra and panties, you really knew I was coming back today,” Killer whispers, finally gripping her wrist to pull on it and plaster her belly against his torso, his fingers fondling the skin of her thigh.

“Do you like it? I bought this outfit a week ago when you called to say you were coming back,” she laughs, slowly kneeling in front of him as Killer gives her some space, opening his legs.

“Nasty little girl.” Killer approves, watching her unbuckling his pants to push them down as long as his underwears, and reveal his already hard arousal.

She gently runs her fingers on his long length, taking her time to put him in the hottest mood, amused by the way his cock twitches whenever she presses her digits slightly more. She looks at him in the eyes, and for a moment, Killer perfectly sees some hesitation coming from her. He fondles her hair, encouraging her to spit it out without a word.

“I bought something else as well,” she eventually states with a less confident voice. “Do you trust me?”

Killer raises an eyebrow, somehow concerned by her statement, looking at her serious features and they way she patiently waits for his agreement. He knows that he can trust her, but sometimes, she’s full of surprise, and he’s not particularly confident with her intentions. Yet, he eventually nods, watching her smiling brightly with all her teeth, as she stands back up and runs and opens the bedside table’s drawer to take a little bottle of something.

“Oh, wow, hey Name,” Killer immediately says, raising an alarming hand to stop her. “I’m not… I don’t want you to touch me… there…”

She snorts and shakes her head vividly, kissing his thigh tenderly as she kneels back between his parted legs.

“No idiot, I’m not touching you there, don’t worry!” She opens the bottle and coats her fingers with the lube, looking at him with some Machiavellian eyes. “It’s only a little help for me…”

As she finishes her sentence, she grabs his cock and starts to jerk him off, slowly spreading the lube all over his length. The sensation is absolutely different, a cold outer layer enveloping his hard cock as she starts to increase his pace. Killer can’t help but open his mouth, absolutely amazed by the new sensation between his legs. The coldness of the lube, plus the rapidity of her fingers are enough to create thousand of goosebumps running down his spine. And before he can get ready, he feels her tongue teasing the head of his length, before she starts getting down, until she eventually begins to bob her head on his length.

“Oh, Name, fuck…,” Killer whispers hungrily, his fingers immediately grasping her hair to escort her movements.

He hears a muffled laugh coming from her throat, as she increases her pace, her fingers still occupied to jerk him off while she perfectly masters her tongue and the way it rolls around his arousal. He feels trapped between two opposite sensation : the warmness of her delicious mouth, and the sudden coldness of the lube on his cock. Everytime she bobs her head, the two mix themselves together, and soon enough, Killer feels that he has a hard time to control his own emotions. He grips her hair slightly stronger, helping her to take him deeper, as her lusty noises are filling the room. He closes his eyes, pinches his lips together, but she manages to flick her tongue in a different way, and before he can control it, he lets lose that desperate and so desired moan he muffled for too long. She lifts her eyes for a second, tears blurring her vision, as she digs his fingernails in his skin, excited by what she has just heard. And Killer can perfectly see that spark of mischief in her eyes, as she doesn’t even try to hide it.

“Don’t…,” Killer tries to order, but once again, she takes more of his length in her mouth, until he meets the back of her throat.

His head falls backward, as he abandons that impossible fight to remain quiet, his voice suddenly echoing in the room while he moans deeply. He can’t believe she finally did it, but her tongue, her movements and the lube are a deadly triangle for his pleasure. He doesn’t want to hide his voice anymore, encouraged by her everlasting ministrations on his length. He cries loudly, adorably, until he eventually looks back at her.

“Name, I can’t hold it anymore,” Killer warns, his hips sometimes thrusting on their own in her mouth.

She nods, her fingers increasing their pace on his length, while the other ones massages his balls, her head moving erratically. He loads in the back of her throat with a powerful growl, his hand cupping her cheek to somehow take the lead and hold her still as he finishes to ride his orgasm out, enjoying the vision of her soiled mouth and her blushed face while he reaches his nirvana. He hears a gulp, and softly, she pulls his cock out of her mouth, catching her breath back while she looks at him with a big satisfied smile.

“God you sound so good…,” she whispers, yet, her voice doesn’t seem mocking at all, on the contrary.

Killer feels embarrassed for a second, but in front of the sincerity of her expression, he eventually starts to smile, cupping her jaw to offer her a slow and passionate kiss, ignoring his own taste on her lips.

“Let’s see what this magic bottle can do with you now…,” Killer teases, plastering her back on the mattress as he presses his already half-hard arousal against her thigh.

He has never felt so relieved in his life before today.

#one piece headcanons #one piece scenario #one piece scenarios #killer one piece #killer #one piece imagine #one piece imagines #one piece hc #one piece hcs #lemon scenario #lemon #not suitable #thenotsofantasticlifestory

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