#my pulse you must KILL if you want to p rank

[wenki-cai]

peppino lari

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

A Promise Woven in Silk

18/12: Letters & Lingerie Kink - Tom Bennett Word Count: 2.1k~ | Warnings: suggestive letters, masturbation (m), p in v sex A/N: thanks to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for checking my Tom Bennett was cunty enough 🤭

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

Tom couldn't wait to be off this fucking boat.

It was a sort of slum in motion, but with the threat of being killed or drowned.

He made his own fun, practically forcing people's hands into betting on the day his canary laid an egg, pissing off the commanding officer and choosing rather colourful language when he was speaking to people of a higher rank than him. Not like he gave a shit.

But he only did those things because he was Tom.

It didn't make him really happy.

The only thing that managed to pull a smile to his face were letters with her handwriting on the front.

It felt wrong to call her a sweetheart so to speak. After all, at first there was no expectation of anything deeper, not wanting to get involved in something so trivial before he decided to disappear abroad. But it was exactly that expectation that drew him to her.

She wasn't desperate and needy. And yes, he'd tease her for it, but she was so fiercely independent, she turned her nose up at how a woman should conventionally act towards someone she liked.

He loved her for that.

He leapt onto the top bunk, checking the room was clear before pulling the sealed letter from his pocket, the paper slightly crumpled with her swirly feminine handwriting decorating the front.

Dearest Tom,

I hope you are settling into navy life well and are not causing too much trouble for the people who have the displeasure of being around you all day and night. 

He smirked. She knew him too well.

As I write this, my stomach flutters at the thought of your upcoming shore leave. I have been entirely too impatient to not tell you that I have concealed a great secret from you, one I should hope you will be pleased to uncover upon your return to me.

Picture me, with delicate lace trimming framing the curves of my body, meant for your eyes only of course. The fabric, as smooth as a moonlit ocean, holds promises of stolen moments where you are once again by my side.

I must confess, once you are back I scarcely think I could ever let you go again. The mere thought of you being here with me has a pleasant, exciting effect on my inhibitions. An effect, I dare say, you are keen to replicate.

I anticipate the shared warmth of our reunion, one I have no doubt you have sorely missed.

Yours in fervent longing…

He swore his mouth was agape, before a sly grin slipped onto his face.

Jesus Christ.

Tom's baby blues flitted over her handwriting, as if needing to commit the words to memory over and over to make certain he was reading the same thing.

His fingers gripped the delicate paper noticeably tighter as his mouth went dry.

Cheeky fucking minx.

Completely naturally, he brought the paper to his face, sighing longingly at the familiar scent of her perfume. She'd no doubt spritzed it a few times before sealing it, intent on torturing him even further as if the words alone had not done so.

Her scent flooded his mind, making way in his brain and pushing all the blood there south, his manhood pulsing almost uncomfortably at the memory of her.

The way he'd left her lingered there.

She had his white shirt around her shoulders and completely nothing else, her breasts peeking teasingly against the thin fabric as if to tempt him to stay when she knew he couldn't.

He'd almost jumped right back on her when she rose to her knees and plucked the post-coital cigarette from his lips to have a sweet, shallow drag of her own, her eyes aglimmer with mischief and sparkled with lust. 

And he's not ashamed to say that the image of her lips around the cigarette had him wishing they were around him instead. Looking up at him through her eyelashes, massaging the length that would not fit in her perfect mouth.

And so here, miles and miles from her, but unable to think of anyone or anything but her, he slipped his hand into his trousers, keeping her letter close to his face and pumped himself needily, imagining it was her grinding her hips atop him, her moist lips parted with those sounds he loved so much slipping forth.

He spilled himself over his knuckles in no time with a choked moan that he had to keep quiet.

It was sweet, sweet torture.

“Cheeky. Fucking. Minx.”

Tom practically skipped through off the train onto the platform, resisting the urge to break into a run as he played the route to her flat in his mind and how to get there the fastest.

It felt like he'd had a perpetual need for her ever since he read her words, which was more akin to pornography than an innocent love letter, having the desired effect of keeping him rock hard, fists clenched and jaw tightened.

God, she'd pay for that.

His boots thumped as he made his way up the back stairs to her flat, fists rapping on the door rapidly and excitedly, his chest feeling all tight and fluttery.

Every second there was no answer, his leg bobbed with anticipation.

Tom's tongue poked his cheek as the door slowly cracked open, a smile working its way to his face.

Her hair was waved over her shoulders, a satin dressing gown around her and tied at the middle, accentuating her waist, with her legs all bare and poking tantalisingly out beneath the rich fabric.

She herself gave a smirk, pulling the cigarette from her lips with two of her manicured fingers.

“Hello, sailor.”

Fuck, her voice.

She squeaked in surprise as Tom's tall form had to twist to force his way in, his bag forgotten to the floor with a thud, finding better purchase on her body as he surged down to meet her lips halfway. She smelled and tasted just as he remembered.

Bodies touching and smirking between fervent kisses, he mumbles between them, “Hello, beautiful.”

Heat rose to her cheeks, and equally sank to that spot between her thighs that grew moist, aided by the endless weeks without his presence.

“I can't believe you sent me such racy letters. You just want to get me in trouble, don't you... and believe me you're doing a fantastic job at it.”

She hummed, pulling away to look up at him, smirking as he plucked the cigarette from her to take a drag for himself.

“You've got to have something to look forward to on shore leave, Bennett.”

He grinned with all his perfect teeth, stubbing it out once he was done with it and running his tongue over his lips.

She scrunched her nose, her hands around his shoulders as she craned up to meet his misty gaze, “in any case, I don't know what you mean. My letters were perfectly well-meaning and innocent.”

He scoffed, the smoke leaving between his pink lips, blonde eyebrows raised, “innocent? Those letters could be classified as a war crime.”

Her lips part involuntarily, warmth gathering in her gut as his hands lay flat either side of her waist.

"Now, where's my promised prize? To celebrate my return.”

She bit back a grin, her hands sliding down his chest to the tie at her front, fingers pulling it loosely unbearably slowly.

Tom swore he ascended to heaven once the silk parted to reveal what she'd promised beneath, a delicate lacy number that seemed to drift over every curve and left very little to the imagination.

 “Now that's what I call a greeting and my reward.”

His hands assisted in pushing the silk off her shoulders, leaving her standing in her silk sleepwear, the front dipping right where the shadow of her breasts appeared.

He grinned like a schoolboy, raking in every piece of her he'd been unable to see for weeks. God, maybe even months.

“You know, I almost thought you were lying in your letter and you didn't actually have this... but you surprised me.”

Her eyelashes fluttered as they both leaned in, dragging his nose over her cheekbone and placing several kisses, too chaste for his nature, along her jawline.

“I couldn't possibly do that to you, Tom.”

She giggled girlishly as his hands were now unable to stop their journey around her body, squeezing and moulding the flesh to his palm as he guided her to her bed. He stood, looking down as she lay there waiting for him with that honey-like gaze, biting her lip when she saw him work on his own clothes.

Once he got to his belt, she lifted her hands to the straps of her brassiere, to pull them down, until Tom tutted at her, kneeing her legs apart in reprimand, earning a confused expression.

He loved it when she looked all dumb like that.

He smirked, “Maybe I want you to keep it on. You look good in it.”

At this she lowered her hands, eyes glimmering with mischief as she watched him struggle with his belt.

She smiled smugly, “have you gone soft on me, Tom Bennett?”

“Soft is the opposite of what I am right now, love.”

A soft giggle slides past her lips as Tom looms above her, shoving his trousers past his hips as they snag on nothing, his eyes hardening  the more frustrated he gets. But it quickly dissipates, core clenching around nothing once he pulls himself from his underwear, hardly having to stroke himself to full attention.

His fingers creep along the side of her thigh beneath the delicate lace, swiping the pads of his fingers against her, grinning widely when he finds his words and actions have had the desired effect, her hips twitching upwards at his touch. 

“Oh, love. You’re fucking soaked for me.”

His ministrations become rough almost instantly, tugging the silk to the side and running the fat head of his cock, red and weeping against her womanhood. She watches the way his chest inflates and deflates with heavy breathing, at how the dog tag there glimmering in the low light around his neck, looking down between them, the air feeling hot and only the sounds of pure carnal desire rumbling in their throats. 

“Tom - please -”, she mewled longingly, trying to move her hips to gain friction as he teases her bud with the tip of his length. 

A dark chuckle rumbles in his chest, “God I fucking love it when you beg. What do you think, should I make you do it again?”

She shakes her head quickly, closing her eyes and turning away with a warm face at the intensity of his gaze down at her. 

He huffs another laugh and lays atop her, pushing her leg apart with his knee and pressing a kiss to her temple, “It’s alright, love, too fucking impatient for that.”

Her mouth falls open, warmth flooding her as he pushes into her agonisingly slowly, splitting her apart on his length to slide into her slick walls. Tom can’t help but screw his eyes shut, burying his face in her neck and inhaling her perfume as her warmth squeezes him and her fingernails leave crescent-moon shaped marks on his back.

He barely waits to reach the end of her before he moves, his hips meeting hers softly at first, but increasing in vigour once he hears her tiny little whimpers, and the way she presses her lips together to try and be quiet. 

Ever stubborn. 

Skin meets skin with quiet smacks, neither needing to say anything (except for the occasional ‘fuck’ encompassed by a low moan from Tom) but just basking in this closeness they’d been deprived of in all the time they’d been away. He is sure he could stay between her legs all fucking day, squeezing the flesh of her thighs and tasting her lips on his. 

“Fuck - ‘m gonna-”, he moans lowly, his hand running up the nape of her neck and pulling the strands of her hair through his fingers, not enough to hurt. Her core tightens around him, head thrown back into the mattress, lips parted. 

“oh - fuck, yes-”

With a choked moan, he takes her over the edge with him, holding her so tightly that had he been in his right mind, he’d think he was hurting her. But she doesn’t protest. She only loosens her grip on him when his thrusts falter to a stop, but his length remains tucked inside her, shuddering when he feels her core clenching around him in the aftermath of her peak.

His normal attitude clouded by the haziness sex, he rests on his forearms above her, giving an exhausted smile that she returns. 

“That the greeting you were hoping for?” she asks, her breath coming in short, hot pants.

And just like that, the Tom Bennett grin returns, leaning down to capture her lips again, “Yes, but I’m not done with you yet.”

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @virtualsweetsqueen @watercolorskyy @fan-goddess

[whodunnitaceattorney]

Finale Part One

Several more minutes were spent by the four remaining players in the Dining Room. They were eerily quiet as they contemplated what they thought could be their last night of the life they had grown accustomed to.

Of course, it was abominable. Every day brought new terrors, including dead bodies, messages from the killer, and worst of all, each other. Still, the fear of the unknown was potent enough to cast the status quo in a rosier light than it should have been in.

Will finally made the first move and rose from his seat, taking his dirty dishes with him. The other guests soon followed, and several minutes of kitchen cleanup ensued.

Will was tired. He had made it through seven investigations, and yet here he stood, his name marked as Scared like all the friends he had lost. To come all this way and endure all that heartbreak, just to have the killer take everything away in one fell swoop? It almost made all of his hard work worthless. Now all he wanted was to lie down and think about nothing.

Viola watched him listlessly smear the food off his plate. She knew what he was feeling, but she couldn’t find the words to reassure him. It already felt so long since the last time her name had been on the chopping block, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that something unexpected was to come. She tried to quell the rising agitation in her stomach as she finished rinsing out her cup.

Adrian felt like crying. Through seven deaths her eyes had remained dry. She had resisted the urge in order to appear strong to her adversary, if nothing else. But inside, she felt like the same young woman who didn’t have the confidence to live without the strength of her loved ones. And as she looked around at the people around her, she didn’t see anyone she could rely on. Even her hero Mr. Wright was absent, presumably having run off to escape the fear and guilt that the group reminded him of.

Ema was lost in thought. Was there something she had missed? She was used to always catching the villain in the end, yet here she was, gearing up for the final round of their game, still with no clear idea who they are. Of course, she had her suspicions, but they weren’t enough. She wanted to unmask her captor for herself, and live to see them die - winning their game alone wouldn’t satisfy her. So, as she dried the dishes that were handed to her, she forced her mind to analyze every clue she had come across, hoping that one would give her the epiphany she needed…

Then all of a sudden, it happened.

Will covered his ears at the sound. A siren was blaring from the direction of the Main Hall.

On instinct, he sprang forward to see what it was. Its song was eerie and industrial, like it was warning of an imminent and unstoppable force.

By the time he arrived, Phoenix and Viola were already there, with Ema and Adrian entering right behind him. They all stared in confusion at what stood before them.

The furniture in the room was pushed to the wall in front of the Spare Room, leaving a large empty space in the center. By the front doors of the Temple were four sturdy, rectangular wooden bins. On the floor in the central space was a device that looked similar to Phoenix’s phone, only in a slightly darker color. Connected to it by a short cable was a speaker.

Ema approached it and picked it up, looking for a way to silence the noise. As soon as she did, the screen on the device turned on, showing a clock. The time displayed was 45:00, and it began to count down second by second.

“What are we supposed to do?” Will yelled in distress.

“None of the buttons will turn it off!” Ema cried.

Phoenix took the phone from Ema and tried doing what normally worked on his phone. Nothing appeared to change. 

“It’s stuck in this application. Whoever’s this is, it’s been tampered with.”

“Well, if it’s not yours, it must be the killer’s!” Will replied.

Viola felt her pulse quickening. The siren only seemed to be getting louder every time they tried to stop it. She wished she could hide until it stopped.

She turned away to avoid facing the source of the torture. At that point, she finally noticed what was going on right behind them.

ADRIAN ANDREWS lay doubled over on the floor, a pool of blood increasing from her throat. One of the knives from the kitchen lay next to her.

Viola was screaming uncontrollably. Faintly hearing her over the siren, the others turned around, visibly shocked to see the evidence of the attack.

Will rushed over to Adrian’s side.

“Adrian!” He shouted. “Are you there?”

Her eyes were half open and glassy. Will wasn’t sure she heard him. But before he tried to shout again, she nodded slightly, and her body finally gave out. 

She slumped flat. One squeeze of her wrist confirmed she was dead.

They group had barely recovered from their surprise when the blaring siren suddenly stopped. It was at this point when everyone became aware of the painful ringing in their ears.

A voice began to speak. It wasn’t one of them - it was robotic, like the sound of a text-to-speech engine. The speaker crackled painfully throughout the playing of the message.

Dear Guests,

     Congratulations on being the final three of our game. Unfortunately, you won’t be given much time to celebrate your accomplishments. Despite all the fun we’ve had together, it’s time to finally bring our game to a close.

     There is a bomb on this side of Dusky Bridge. It is large enough to flatten this entire building - in fact, it will most certainly cause an avalanche that will bury the Temple five stories high. Consider it to be twice as powerful as the one I detonated when we first arrived.

     The device you see before will act as the detonator. As you can see, you have about forty-five minutes until the explosion. I have provided you with the means to escape the area, but unfortunately for you, I have hidden them on the other side of Dusky Bridge. Therefore, your final challenge as part of this Killing Game will be to reach the other side before time runs out.

     By the front doors, I have placed four bins. One bin is labeled with a blue square marked with a “P.” Another has a green triangle. Another has a yellow circle, and the last has a purple rhombus. All are locked, and cannot be opened until I disable the electronic locks.

     Which bin is assigned to which person will depend on your performance in the task. To unlock the bins, you must all enter a code by typing in a series of numbers separated by periods. The numbers you enter will be obtained by searching through the bedrooms of the deceased guests and completing the tasks you find there. The accuracy of the codes you enter relative to the correct code as well as the order in which you are able to enter will both be factors in the rankings of your performance.

     Phoenix Wright, I have assigned you the blue square bin, and you are guaranteed passage to the other side. I would not renege on my end of our deal by not allowing you to see what lies in the Inner Temple. You have been such a good assistant, after all. I will not, however, guarantee your freedom - only you can see to it that you survive this ordeal.

     By the time this recording is finished, the rest of you will have about forty minutes to escape Hazakura Temple. This is the last recording you will receive from me, so I suppose I will sign out by saying: Good luck, and be precise, for your life could depend on it. You may now begin.

The three remaining guests all sprang to action, the weight of their emotions not felt as adrenaline pumped through their veins. It was time to finish what they had set out to do.

And their final spectator came in the form of Adrian, whose blood was still creeping across the hardwood floor.

Adrian Andrews @azure-23, you have been murdered. You are one of the most intelligent and analytical players of this cast, and I thoroughly enjoyed reading every one of your cases! Thank you for your kindness and your perseverance. This game will not be the same without you.

Ema, Viola and Will: I will update you with information on the Final Riddle when I am close to being finished with it. Thank you for your patience.

[orchestratedadventures]

Living as a Coronary Christian + “Winning Life”

Walking out your belief in Christ is not something you do just when you are feeling it – it is a belief you hold on to regardless of feeling. Just like the constant beating of your heart, we must learn to live as coronary Christians. Day in. Day out. Constantly beating, constantly believing. 

Living as a Coronary Christian + Winning Life 

Krista Hengesh

“Stand firm, and you will win life” -Luke 21:19

100,000 times a day on average the heart beats. Day in. Day out. It beats.

Each day we wake up, it means it is beating. There are some times when we mentally recognize and feel our heartbeat, for instance after a work out, or when we are nervous, scared or anxious, or when we slow down enough to hear the constant, rhythmic pulse as we are going to bed or when we wake up in the morning. There are also days when we don’t notice our heartbeat; however, whether we feel it or not it will still be beating.  

That consistency, is what I want our walks with the Lord to be like.

I want us be a coronary Christians.

I want us to live lives where our faith is what keeps us alive. Whether we “feel” our heartbeat or not, we know that it’s keeping us alive.

Day in. Day out. Constantly beating. Constantly believing. 

More Than a Feeling

In some seasons, we “feel” our faith. We can see God moving in our lives and in the lives of our friends. When we open the Bible or we pray we can sense His nearness. We find ourselves eager to tell others about the Lord with no hesitation or shame. We are able to trust God with excitement, willing to go where ever He calls us. We wake up with enthusiasm to see what He has in store.

We feel the beating pulse of our faith.

THEN… there are other seasons where we just don’t feel it. We pray but don’t feel like we are getting a response. We go to church, and don’t feel like we got anything out of it. We don’t feel like we can trust or rely on God because of what is happening in our lives. This could be right after a relationship ended that you thought was going to last forever, or after your parents told you they were getting a divorce. It could be right after you lost your job, or one of your best friends let you down. It could also just be a season of waiting, a season of transition, where you don’t feel much of anything even though you are asking and praying about it.

  But you know what will still be there during those seasons as well as the good ones? Your heartbeat.

Regardless of what is happening on the outside of your body, your heart will still beat.

Day in. Day out. Constantly beating.

Faith is not based on a feeling. It is based on belief. A belief we need to stand firm on regardless of our circumstances. 

“Though you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy” – 1 Peter 1:8

Coronary Christians = Standing Firm In All Circumstances = Winning Life 

“Stand firm, and you will win life” -Luke 21:19

To be a coronary Christian is to stand firm on your faith regardless of circumstances. Just as your heart will continue to beat and keep you alive through every season in your life, your faith in Christ will do the same.

This takes practice, and it takes strength, but the people who fight to stand firm and persevere under trials, hard seasons, and life’s ups and downs will be the ones to “win life,” like Jesus says in Luke 21:19. They will also be the ones to “receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised to those who love him.”

“Blessed is the one who perseveres under trial because, having stood the test, that person will receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised to those who love him.” – James 1:12

This type of stance is not easy.

You will have to mentally tell yourself that you believe in the Lord more than you believe in the circumstances around you, and that each season you go through whether it be suffering, joy, trials or triumphs will be used to mature you into the woman.

God created you to be.

“Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.” – Romans 5:3-5

The most important part to remember is to KEEP standing firm.

Don’t give up the fight early and don’t grow weary in doing good. That is where the true display of faith to kick in, and you start to live out being a coronary Christian.

“Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up” – Galatians 6:9

  Desmond Doss – An Example of a Coronary Christian 

  Desmond Doss was a true war hero both for the American Army AND for the Kingdom of God. He served as a combat medic for an infantry during WWII and never ONCE touched a gun because of His conviction of “thou shall not kill,” (one of the Ten Commandments) and his relentless faith in the Lord. Despite experiencing immense persecution and rejection from people high up in military rankings as well as the men in his infantry he never once compromised his beliefs, relying on God through it all. During the battle of Okinawa, Doss saved 75 injur

ed men under fire with which he was awarded the Medal of Honor, the first conscientious objector to receive a medal. The night he saved all those men up on Hacksaw Ridge, he kept calling out to God saying,

“Just one more, God just give me one more.”

Doss lived his life to serve the Lord and the people around him. Despite the persecution from his peers early on in his training and the horrific happenings of war- Doss never gave up his faith, it was what kept him alive. Just as his heart kept beating throughout the war, he kept believing in the Lord the entire time.

(Desmond Doss’ story was turned into the movie- Hawksaw Ridge– and I encourage you all to watch it. It is a war movie, so at times it is hard to watch, but it is one of most moving films I have ever seen. Inspiring to say the least. Above is a clip from the end of the movie highlighting Dos’ passion for the Lord to “give me one more.”)

“If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you.” –John 15:7

The Call to Be Coronary

Desmond Doss listened to the call on his life, and was persistent to follow through until the end. He lived by his belief in the Lord, and because of that single handily saved the lives of at least 75 men and inspired millions after by the way He lived.

Ladies, we too have the ability to live lives like Doss. We have been called and created for a purpose, and now we need to live it out. We need to hold on to our faith and walk in the conviction of its truth each and every day, just like the beating of our hearts, especially in the face of trials and persecution.

God never told us life would be easy, nor did he say it would always be fun, but he did say he came to give us “life and life to the full” and that comes from living on dependence and reliance on him everyday.

Day in. Day out. Constantly beating. Constantly believing. 

from Living as a Coronary Christian + “Winning Life”