#equal parts dread and excitement!!

[shinyspacepirate]

Im sick im sick im devasted im emotionally wrecked in the best way about arc 2 but i got one quick question

[alivebaguette]

SIGHHHHHHH …….. based off the sculpture Anatomy of a Hug by Luna Lu

[benvoliotheorphan]

Honestly I know four books isn’t a lot but considering how in years past I would read one book every couple of years or so, the fact that I read four last year is kind of cool

[eddiesmunsn]

What's about atleast?

i cannot say bc it’s gonna give it away lmao 😭

[leona-hawthorne]

KINKTOBER #4– CAUGHT BETWEEN THE GLASS / lorenzo berkshire

october 10th predator/prey , semi-public + mirror sex

lorenzo berkshire x fem reader

summary: a night of tension and innocent fun turns into a challenge between you and lorenzo at the carnival. if when he catches you in the mirror maze, he fucks you.

warnings: unprotected piv, fingering, semi-public sex, predator/prey dynamic, both lorenzo and reader are both a little high, oral (m receiving), throat fucking, 18+ content

words: 4.1k

a/n: idk how i feel about this one but here!

navigation kinktober masterlist

The carnival lights flickered like distant stars, casting multicolored hues that danced over the sprawling grounds, their glow stretching into long, dreamy shadows. The sounds of laughter, distant screams from the rides, and the hum of a lively tune blended together, as if submerged underwater.

Everything moved in sync with your heartbeat, your limbs loose and your skin tingling with a strange, buzzing warmth.

God, how many blunts had you and Enzo smoked?

Lorenzo walked beside you, his hand brushing yours occasionally, each fleeting touch sending sparks through your veins. You wiped the sweat from your brow, the sights around you blurring and blending together. “I think you’ve officially dragged me to every ride here,” you muttered.

Lorenzo laughed, the sound low and lazy, his grin stretching wide as he slung an arm over your shoulders. “Tapping out already?” He leaned in closer, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Oh, come on, love. We haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.”

You rolled your eyes, though the grin tugging at your lips was impossible to hide. “The good part? We’ve done the rollercoaster twice, and you threw up on the ferris wheel.”

“Details,” he shrugged, his hazy eyes sparkling with amusement. “Besides, I had to— too much sugar.”

“Uh-huh, sure.” Your voice was drenched in playful disbelief. Stepping away from him, you scanned the carnival, the cool air against your flushed skin a welcome reprieve. Closing your eyes for a brief moment, you let the breeze settle your racing pulse.

When you opened them, Lorenzo was watching you, his grin more dangerous now, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I’ve got an idea.”

You raised a brow. “That’s never a good sign.”

He pointed toward a towering, twisting structure in the distance, neon letters glowing above it: ‘Mirror Maze.’ The distorted reflections within flickered like ghosts, the sight sending a thrill through you. Equal parts excitement and dread.

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Scared?” he teased, his voice laced with challenge.

“Of a maze?” you scoffed, lifting your chin. “Don’t think so little of me, Berkshire.”

“Then I’ll make it interesting.” Lorenzo stepped in front of you, his smirk deepening as he blocked your view. “I’ll give you a head start. Five minutes. Then I’ll come find you.”

Your heart skipped, and for a fleeting moment, your mind spun in a thousand directions.

“And what happens when you find me?” Your voice was softer than you intended.

His eyes darkened, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. “You’ll see.”

The way he said it, the way his gaze locked onto yours, sent a delicious shiver down your spine. You bit your lip, trying to steady the weakness in your knees. “You think you can actually catch me?”

“Oh, I know I will.”

The challenge hung in the air, and you never could resist one.

Squaring your shoulders, you lifted your chin defiantly. “Alright, you’re on.”

Before you could take a step, Lorenzo’s hand shot out, catching your wrist and pulling you back to him. He leaned in close, his nose brushing the curve of your cheek as he whispered, voice thick with anticipation, “You should know… when I catch you, I don’t play fair.”

Your breath hitched, pulse spiking at the weight of his words. They lingered between you, heavy and full of promises you weren’t sure you were ready to unwrap.

“One minute, love,” he repeated, releasing your wrist, though his touch still burned on your skin. He nodded toward the maze. “You better run.”

Your eyes locked on his, the playful danger in them egging you on. Without another word, you turned, your heart pounding in your chest as you sprinted toward the maze, weaving through the crowd.

The neon lights grew brighter as you approached the maze, and with every step, the world seemed to spin just a little faster, the edges of your vision warping. You didn't look back. You couldn't. You weren’t sure what you'd feel if you saw him behind you, closing in already.

As you vanished into the twisting labyrinth of glass, Lorenzo watched until you were swallowed whole by the kaleidoscope of reflections. Then, a slow, wicked grin spread across his face.

This is gonna be fun.

He counted down under his breath—three, two, one—and set off after you, weaving between the crowds of screaming carnival-goers. The acrid scent of cotton candy and grease clung to the air, mixing with the haze of smoke still lingering on his tongue.

Each step felt heavier than the last, the ground tilting beneath his feet like a ship in rough seas. But he pressed on, driven by the thrill of the chase, the intoxicating promise of catching you in the endless hall of mirrors.

As he approached the entrance, the pulsing neon signs seemed to blur and distort, mirroring the erratic rhythm of his heartbeat.

Fuck, he was really stoned.

He stumbled slightly, catching himself on the cold door frame as he peered into the swirling vortex of reflections. A distorted version of himself grinned back, his own eyes glazed over with a hazy sheen.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed past the initial disorientation and stepped inside, immediately losing sight of the entrance behind him. The air inside the maze was heavy, almost suffocating, and the constant echo of footsteps reverberated off the mirrored walls.

Lorenzo squinted, trying to pierce the veil of reflections, searching for any glimpse of you. The longer he stood there, the more his senses began to warp, colors bleeding into each other, sounds morphing into strange, discordant melodies.

His patience wore thin, the competitive fire within him igniting once more.

The maze seemed to shift and change with every step, the mirrors twisting reality into an endless labyrinth of confusion. Your heart raced, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you navigated the dizzying array of reflections.

The tantalizing image of your figure kept showing between mirrors, only for a second or two each time, and it was driving him insane.

“I can see you, baby. You can’t hide,” he echoed, the crazed smile in his voice audible.

You heard the thudding of his footsteps somewhere in the maze, and you didn’t know whether to speed up or slow down your pace. You both knew you wanted him to catch you, but should you have given in so quickly?

You shook your head, trying to clear the cobwebs from your mind. The music from the carnival outside seemed to fade away, replaced by a dull roar that echoed through the corridors of glass.

Suddenly, a flash of movement caught your eye, a flicker of color amidst the sea of reflections. You whirled around, your heart leaping into your throat as you caught a glimpse of his silhouette darting between two mirrors.

"There you are," he growled under his breath, a predatory grin spreading across his face.

Without hesitation, he moved forward, his footsteps echoing loudly in the confined space. The mirrors seemed to blur around him as he ran, his blood pounding in his ears, fueled by a potent mix of adrenaline and desire.

He could hear your footsteps ahead, always just out of reach. The game was far from over, and he wasn't about to let you slip away so easily. With each passing second, the anticipation built within him, a primal hunger gnawing at his insides.

“You know what the deal is, pretty girl. Do us both a favor and stop running.” He gave a dark chuckle, his amusement palpable.

Up ahead, he spotted you again, a tantalizing glimpse of your curves as you weaved between the mirrors. His gaze lingered on the swell of your ass, the way your dress clung to your thighs as you moved.

With a final burst of energy, Lorenzo launched himself forward, arms outstretched to grab hold of you. The mirrors seemed to close in around him, distorting everything until he was surrounded by a dizzying array of reflections.

He collided with you in a tangle of limbs, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you hard against his body. The impact sent a jolt of pleasure through him, his cock twitching eagerly in response to the feel of your soft skin against his.

"You little tease," he panted, his lips brushing against your ear as he spun you around to face him. "Thought you could outrun me, huh?"

His fingers dug into your hips, kneading the flesh as he ground his erection against your belly. The mirror's cool surface pressed against your back, a contrast to the heat of his touch.

"I've got you now," he murmured, his hot breath fanning over your neck. "And I'm going to take my reward for catching you."

His hands roamed your body possessively, mapping out every curve and dip with greedy fingers. He leaned in closer, his lips grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear as he whispered huskily, “Such a naughty little girl. Of course this shit turns you on.”

One hand slid down to cup your ass, squeezing roughly as he pulled your hips flush against his own. The heat of his arousal was evident even through the layers of clothing separating you.

He captured your mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue delving deep to claim you thoroughly. His other hand tangled in your hair, tugging lightly as he angled your head to grant him better access.

Breaking away, he fixed you with a smoldering look, his eyes dark with lust.

The intoxicating mix of lust and power coursing through him took hold completely as he gazed down at your upturned face. Your flushed cheeks, parted lips, and the pleading expression in your eyes were enough to send him spiraling into a frenzy of desire.

"On your knees," he commanded gruffly, his voice low and rough with need. “Wrap those pretty lips around me.”

As if entranced, you sank to the floor without protest, your dress riding up your thighs as you went. Lorenzo watched intently, his cock straining painfully against his jeans, aching to be freed.

You giggled softly, a mischievous glint in your hazy eyes as you pressed a kiss to the bulge in his jeans. “Oh, so now you're punishing me for playing along too well?”

You looked up at him coyly, tracing a finger along the zipper of his jeans before slowly pulling it down. “Not much of a punishment to make me taste you, but I’ll take it.”

A groan escaped his lips as you freed his straining cock, the sight of it springing free almost too much to bear in its erect glory. He couldn't help but thrust slightly into your touch, already craving more of your attention.

"Fucking brat," he muttered, a smirk playing on his lips despite the intensity of his arousal. "You think teasing me is cute, huh?"

Reaching down, he gripped the base of his dick, guiding it towards your open mouth. "Open wide then. We both know good and fucking well you were waiting for me to catch you."

The commanding tone left no room for argument, and you obediently parted your lips, letting him slide the thick length past them. Lorenzo closed his eyes briefly, savoring the sensation of your warm mouth enveloping him, before looking back down at you with a satisfied grin.

He tangled his fingers in your hair, holding you steady as he began to rock his hips, pushing deeper into your mouth. Your wet heat engulfed him perfectly, the velvety walls of your throat massaging his sensitive tip with each thrust.

"That's it, baby," he praised, his voice strained with pleasure. "Take it all like a good girl."

The obscene sounds of your sucking filled the air, mingling with his grunts and groans of ecstasy. He could feel the pressure building at the base of his spine, his balls tightening as you worked him expertly with your tongue.

"Fuck, just like that," he gasped, his grip on your hair tightening. "Don't stop, keep going just like that..."

Your muffled moans vibrated deliciously around his shaft, spurring him on further.

As he continued to piston his cock in and out of your mouth, he reveled in the feeling of control, of owning your body so completely. The sound of your muffled whimpers only served to heighten his pleasure, and he knew he wouldn't last much longer.

Suddenly, he slammed into the back of your throat, hitting that sweet spot that made stars explode behind his eyelids. Your gag reflex kicked in, and you struggled to breathe around him, but he didn't relent, driving forward relentlessly.

"Aww, looks like my little brat needs air," he taunted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Too bad, so sad. Funny thing, isn't it? You said this wasn't really a punishment," he taunted, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "But here you are, face-fucked and drooling all over my dick. Looks like you were wrong, baby."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as Lorenzo pounded mercilessly into your throat, but you refused to tap out, determined to prove yourself worthy of his brutal affections. Your jaw ached from being stretched wide around his girth, saliva pooling in your mouth and dripping down your chin and onto your thighs.

You looked up at him with watery eyes, silently begging for mercy even as you hollowed your cheeks and sucked harder. Your hands came up to grip his muscular thighs, nails digging into the taut flesh as you steadied yourself against his relentless thrusts.

A particularly harsh snap of his hips had you choking violently, your throat constricting around him as you fought the urge to gag.

He reveled in your struggle, the way your throat spasmed around his cock, trying desperately to accommodate his punishing rhythm. The tears streaking down your face only fueled his dominant side, urging him to take you harder, to claim you utterly.

"That's it, baby," he growled, his voice rough with lust. "Take it all like the good little slut you are."

He held your head still, buried deep in your throat, relishing the flutter of your muscles as they tried futilely to expel him. Your nails raked across his thighs, leaving angry red welts in their wake, but the sting only heightened his pleasure.

After long moments, he finally withdrew, allowing you a gasping breath before plunging back in. He set a brutal pace, using your mouth like a personal cock sleeve, chasing his rapidly approaching climax.

The slick sounds of your gagging echoed obscenely off the mirrored walls surrounding you, a lewd symphony of depravity that only served to drive him wilder. He could feel his release barreling towards him like a freight train, body tensing up as he neared the edge, a hand tangling in your hair.

With a final moan, he buried himself to the hilt in your convulsing throat, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself directly into your stomach. Thick ropes of cum painted your insides, marking you as his in the most primal way possible.

"Fuck yes, swallow it all," he demanded, grinding against your face as he rode out the aftershocks of his intense orgasm. "You like it when I put that smart ass mouth of yours to work?”

He pulled out of your abused throat with a wet pop, watching with satisfaction as you gasped for air, coughing and sputtering. Strings of saliva connected your swollen lips to his softening cock, and he swiped a thumb across your cheek, collecting some of the mess there.

"So pretty," he murmured, bringing his thumb to your mouth and pressing it between your lips. “Stand.”

You managed a weak smile as he helped you stand, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Despite the lingering soreness in your throat, a sense of pride swelled within you.

"You're such an asshole," you joked hoarsely, rubbing your tender jaw.

His chuckle sent a shiver through you, and you couldn't help but notice the unmistakable bulge reappearing in his pants. You bit your lip, a wicked grin spreading across your face.

"You're insatiable. Can't get enough of me, hm?"

He smirked at your words, his eyes darkening with renewed desire as he pulled you flush against him. "Guilty as charged."

To punctuate his statement, he captured your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving past your teeth to tangle with yours. He swallowed your gasp, one hand sliding down to palm your ass possessively.

Breaking away, he nipped at your bottom lip before trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jawline. "And trust me, baby," he purred, his voice low and gravelly. "We're far from done here."

He turned you both around, pinning you chest-first against a gleaming mirror. Your reflection stared back, tits flattened against the cool glass, cheeks rosy. A deliciously perverse image that he savored for a moment before attacking the slender column of your neck.

His lips and teeth left a blazing trail, nipping and sucking at your tender skin. "You look so hot like this," he growled against your ear, one hand slipping under your dress to hike up the fabric and expose your soaked panties. "Want to feel you come undone in my arms."

His fingers deftly hooked into the waistband of your panties, pushing them down your thighs before dipping into your slick folds. Two thick digits plunged inside you, curling to stroke that sensitive spot deep within your core. "Mmm, always so ready for me, aren't you?"

A sharp intake of breath escaped you as his fingers delved into your heat, your back arching instinctively to press your center more firmly against his probing digits. Your knees nearly buckled at the intensity of sensation, and your hands pressed against the mirror for support.

"Yes," you whimpered, your voice trembling with need. "Fucking clearly.”

You could feel yourself teetering on the brink of climax already, his skilled touch stoking the flames of your desire to new heights.

He continued his sensual assault, alternating between slow, deep strokes and quick, shallow thrusts. His free hand slid up your body to cup your breast through the fabric of your dress, kneading the supple mound roughly.

All the while, his lips never ceased their worship of your neck, painting your skin with open-mouthed kisses and teasing flicks of his tongue. He lapped at your pulse point before grazing it with his teeth, sending electric sparks of pleasure-pain racing through you.

"I want to feel you fall apart," he rasped, his breath hot against your ear. "Come for me, baby. Let go."

A keening cry tore from your throat as his words and actions pushed you over the edge. Your inner walls clamped down around his pumping fingers, quivering and rippling in a violent climax.

"Yes, fuck! Oh god!" you wailed, your hips jerking erratically against his hand as waves of ecstasy crashed over you. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of your release.

As the tremors slowly subsided, you slumped against the mirror, panting heavily. Your legs felt like jelly, barely able to hold you upright.

He gentled his touch as your orgasm subsided, slowly withdrawing his fingers from your twitching channel. A smear of your arousal glistened on his digits, and he brought them to his lips, licking them clean with a satisfied hum.

Turning you around, he claimed your mouth in a deep, languid kiss, tasting the salt of your tears and the sweetness of your spent passion. His hands roamed your curves, soothing and caressing, until you were limp and pliant in his embrace.

"You're incredible," he whispered against your lips, brushing a stray lock of hair from your flushed face. "I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I'm never letting you go."

With a low growl of possessiveness, he swept you up into his arms, hoisting you effortlessly by the waist to press your back against the mirrored wall. His strong hands gripped your thighs, parting your legs to accommodate his growing erection. He ground his hard length against your slick heat, the friction deliciously torturous.

Your head lolled back against the cool glass as he pinned you there, a moan escaping your parted lips at the exquisite pressure of his cock rubbing against your aching core. The heat of his body enveloped you, making you feel small and delicate in his grasp.

"Yours," you agreed breathlessly, wrapping your legs around his waist to draw him closer. "Just fuck me."

Your hand fisted in his hair, guiding his face to capture your mouth in another searing kiss. You lost yourself in the taste and scent of him, your other hand reaching down to guide his tip to your entrance.

With a primal grunt, he surged forward, burying himself to the hilt in your welcoming heat. Your wetness enveloped him like a velvet vice, and he paused for a moment, savoring the perfect fit.

Then, with a snap of his hips, he began to move, driving into you with powerful, relentless strokes. The sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the air, punctuated by your wanton cries and his guttural groans.

He angled his thrusts to hit that sweet spot deep inside you, determined to push you over the edge again, his hands moving down to your ass to support you.

"You take me so well," he panted, his breath hot against your ear. "Such a good girl."

Your nails dug into Lorenzo's shoulders as he pistoned into you, each forceful thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. The way he filled you, stretched you, made you feel owned and desired in the most primal way possible.

"Oh fuck, yes!" you sobbed, your hips rising to meet his, eager for more of that delicious friction. "Harder, baby, fuck me harder!"

The filthy words spilled from your lips unbidden, your inhibitions shattered by the intense sensations coursing through you. You were completely lost in the rhythm of your joining, driven by nothing but the all-consuming need for release.

Your reflections danced across the labyrinthine mirrors as he pounded into you, creating an endless array of perverse images, all while your combined moans echoed through the narrow space. Perks of being in the house of mirrors.

His pace became brutal, almost punishing, as he chased his own release. Sweat beaded on his brow, trickling down to mingle with the dusting of stubble on his jawline. The lewd slap of skin against skin reverberated through the confined space, interspersed with your fevered pleas and his ragged breathing.

"That's it, Y/N, let go," he urged, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Come for me again, now."

With a final, savage thrust, he sent you hurtling over the precipice once more. Your sex clenched around him, milking his cock as your orgasm crashed through you in devastating waves. The feeling of your pussy spasming wildly around him was enough to send him careening after you, his own climax ripping through him with a deep groan.

He collapsed against you, his forehead resting against yours as you both struggled to catch your breath. His softening cock slipped out of you, a rush of mingled fluids following in its wake.

For a long moment, he simply held you, his heart pounding against your chest, his arms wrapped securely around your trembling form. Slowly, the haze of lust began to clear, replaced by a warm, sated glow.

"You okay?" he murmured, pulling back just far enough to search your face with concerned eyes.

You leaned into his embrace, relishing the comforting weight of his body pressed against yours. Despite the lingering ache between your thighs and the sticky evidence of your actions dripping down your leg, you'd never felt more content.

"I’m okay," you purred, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

Gently, he set you down on shaky legs, keeping a steadying arm around your waist. He took a moment to admire the disheveled state you were in - hair mussed, dress askew, lipstick smudged, and skin flushed with exertion and satisfaction.

"You look insane," he teased, brushing a stray curl from your cheek. "But also ridiculously beautiful."

His thumb traced the curve of your lower lip, pulling you in for one last kiss, this one softer than before.

Your lips moved lazily against his, savoring the gentle affection. As the kiss broke, you smiled up at him, still basking in the afterglow.

“Next time, you won’t catch me. I guarantee it.”

kinktober taglist: @mattheoriddles-slutt @theeslutintheroom @esmerai-artemis @gigival @cloudyyydayzzz @sn000py @abeoavita @yesiamthatwierd @shaquilles-0atmeal @roseofsharron438 @iouinotes @romantasyreader28 @c3liaaaaa @sleepiibunniiii @chemtrailsoverhogwarts @daenerystorgaryen @catching-fire-in-the-wind @emma-grace0 @tori-303 @ilovehpb0ys

[lightseoul]

CHAPTER 2 | ALL OUT OF LUCK

w.c. 3.8k

tags. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (26), some cussing, adult themes (not smut lol) (yet) (jk) (unless...), the mission finally starts, so much plot from here on out y'all so buckle up

a/n. i didn't get to include the most important bits that were supposed to be presented in this chapter because i got carried away with the buildup lol. exciting times ahead y'all. i have so much in store for you with this series. don't be a stranger and let's talk!

links. masterlist, ao3 (coming soon)

You can only stare back at the woman peering at you, her face painted with a thick layer of makeup, her hair styled to staged ‘effortless’ perfection, and her body wrapped in an outfit that’s equal parts provocative and refined.

Her image is so flawlessly curated—so much so that you barely notice the apprehension that’s hidden amidst her features, if it weren’t for the fact that that woman is you.

You can barely recognize yourself—and perhaps that’s the point of all this.

Asahi and Moriyama didn’t have to explicitly state it yesterday—they need you to put in every ounce of effort to make sure that you succeed, and that includes doing everything you can to supplement your quirk all the while keeping your real identity lowkey.

Even if it means looking like this.

You’re about to give in to your second thoughts and change out of the black, low-cut tank and beige cardigan you have on when an array of knocks echo from what you think is your front door, and you freeze.

With a cautious glance at your bedroom’s wall clock, you think you’re supposed to feel a wave of relief wash over you when you see that it’s 9:00 PM on the dot, the exact time Bakugou said he’d pick you up, which means no villain or mal intentioned person is at your front porch, but that doesn’t come.

Instead, the sense of dread that’s been stirring in your gut ever since you got swept by Asahi’s men yesterday only magnifies, leaving you a bit cold and…are you shaking?

You don’t get to dwell on that, though, because another round of rapping resonates from your foyer again, which somehow pulls you out of your nervous stupor. You hurriedly run to the door, not even bothering to check through the peephole, opening it with a turn of the knob to see Bakugou.

Wearing a white face mask and decked in a fitting black hoodie, with his ash-blonde hair peeking through the sides of a dark baseball cap.

His fist is frozen mid-air as he stares at you, eyes slightly widened in shock, as if he didn’t believe you’re capable of this thing called punctuality. He promptly brings it down, though, schooling his expression into a neutral one, but not before giving you a quick once-over.

“Hey,” he offers, voice gruff and way lower than you remembered it back in high school.

“Hello,” you counter, looking back at your messy apartment out of habit. “I’m almost done. I just need to grab my purse.”

And, because you genuinely need to know for the sake of what you’re about to do, you ask: “Do I look okay?”

He must’ve not been anticipating that question, because his eyebrows furrow ever so minutely like you just caught him off guard. “Yeah,” he eventually replies after studying the entire length of your body once again.

And, you may have just imagined it, but you swear to god his eyes linger on your chest for a beat longer than necessary before he meets your gaze.

“You clean up…” he pauses, like he’s grasping for the right adjective, before settling with: “…decent.”

At that, you feel yourself deflate a bit. Maybe you wanted a more affirming answer, definitely not because you want that from him, but because you need to look good. However, if there’s anything the rumor mill told you back when you were still teenage students, it’s that Bakugou Katsuki was a man of few words when he was serious, let alone appreciative, so you take his comment in stride.

Besides, in comparison to how you looked yesterday, anything is an improvement, really.

“Thanks,” you respond, and you debate for a second whether or not to say the next thing but ultimately decide on it. “…And you look mildly disguised.”

That seems to ruffle Bakugou’s feathers. “Mildly?”

You shrug, suddenly feeling unsure about your honesty. “I get the hoodie and the cap and the face mask, but there’s no hiding your hulking frame, man.”

And really, there isn’t. How are you supposed to conceal a torso as large as that?

You gesture to his chest and shoulder area for further emphasis. “I don’t think you can pass up as a regular citizen but like as a non-descript athlete, maybe?”

To your dismay, Bakugou merely grunts before shaking his head. “This’ll work.”

Apparently already over your suggestion, he glances past your shoulder as he shifts his weight on his other foot. “Can you grab your purse now? We’ve to get going.”

Now, you’ve got half a mind to argue and try to convince him that maybe going for a better disguise is better in the long run but you’re silenced by his domineering gaze. So instead, you nod before rushing back to your bedroom and grabbing the bag you already prepared beforehand, as well as your phone that’s charging on top of your bedside table.

Although it won’t be of much use later, or in the coming few weeks, if everything goes according to plan.

“Ready?” he asks when you return to the doorway with your things in tow.

“Yup,” you retort as you lock the door behind you, and just like that, you’re well on your way to a potential death sentence.

You’re in the elevator going down to the ground floor by the time he speaks up again. “We’re commuting,” he starts, not looking at you but instead scrutinizing the barely hanging on floor buttons. “Can’t risk raising suspicion by driving there.”

“Where are we going, exactly?” you ask just as the elevator dings, signifying your arrival.

The doors burst open, and he steps out. “You’ll see.”

The commute to wherever the hell it is you two are going is quiet.

Bakugou didn’t divulge any further details as you stepped out of your building, wordlessly ordering you with a stern look to just follow. Frankly, you don’t like how you’re being kept in the dark, but you don’t contend. You’re acutely aware that you have a limited number of cards to play with Bakugou, and you have to play them right, if you want to even survive this mission without your partnership falling apart and jeopardizing the entire thing. Wasting a card on stupid information would be downright foolish on your end.

Even the walk to the bus stop is silent, and so is the entire ride. Despite it being quite late into the evening, the vehicle is still somewhat crowded, which you chalk up to it being a Friday night. You find yourself relaxing in your seat as the realization dawns on you—perhaps there was no point in getting too riled up about getting noticed.

And besides, you’re taking extra precautions, too. You’re not sitting next to each other, because he’s trying to stave off attention while you’re straining to catch it. Maybe not of these strangers, but of the people you’re going to meet later on.

Roughly 10 minutes and a short subway ride later, you climb up the underground stairs to a stop you vaguely remember hearing from your coworkers about. You recall how she described an old party district right in the middle of Musutafu, and sure enough, the text on the street signs match the name she recounted during one of your lunch breaks.

“Over here,” Bakugou calls out from a few feet ahead of you. You quickly quit your observing and follow suit, mindful of keeping an appropriate, not at all questionable distance between the two of you.

After what felt like walking five blocks from the subway, you see Bakugou halt and make a left into a poorly lit alleyway. You hesitate for a second, having been on autopilot and going straight for the last how many minutes. You’re able to swiftly gather yourself, though, steering in the same direction.

The moment that you do, it instantly registers to you that you’re not just in the party district anymore. If the dingy signages and the palpable seediness of the alley are any indication, you’re most likely in the red-light district now.

Suddenly, everything feels a bit too real, and you barely catch yourself stumbling back on your feet. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Bakugou, who instinctively moves to reach out for you from where he’s standing. He pauses, though, when you’re able to regain your bearings with a slightly embarrassed smile.

“Sorry,” you offer meekly.

He eyes you with the very same inexplicable expression from before. “You good?”

You’re not about to tell him you’re scared shitless, so you give him a half-hearted nod. Turning to study the exterior of the small building, you take in the lightly peeling paint and the booming music emanating from it. “This the place?”

“Yes,” he answers without missing a beat. “Are you sure you’re good?”

You whip to look back at Bakugou, who, if you didn’t know any better, is now looking apprehensive.

You decide then and there that you have to get your shit together.

Bravery is contagious, but so is fear.

For a second, you contemplate using your quirk on yourself to calm your nerves down, but eventually decide against it. There are much bigger fish to fry tonight, and what’s the point of learning all those damned breathing and grounding techniques if you’re not going to use them?

“I’m ready,” you finally tell him after a moment of both of you standing there. “Let’s go in before we start looking unusual out here.”

If Bakugou notices the unease you’re sure you’re radiating, he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he gives you a curt nod, before turning to open the door.

And when he does, you’re almost instantaneously flooded by the music that was just escaping through the cracks and crevices of the run-down building. You fight the instinct to cover your ears as you step into the large room behind Bakugou, eyes quickly darting all over the place to drink in the scene before you.

Right in the back of the space is a stage that extends in the center as a runway to the middle of the room. The orange and pink mood lights illuminating the area are relatively dim minus the bulbs lining the set and walkway. And, beneath the elevated platform are what have to be pleather seats littered all over the floor—all of which are occupied by decidedly rambunctious men.

You resist the urge to wrinkle your nose as their boisterous laughter fills your ears, opting to face Bakugou instead.

“Hey,” you call out to him, who stops in his tracks to look at you. You sneak a glance at the people at the bar nearest the two of you, just to make sure they’re not listening in, before you continue. “Are you sure this is the place?”

You don’t have to peek beneath his mask to know he’s now scowling at you.

“What am I, a dumbass? I told you, this is it.” He then shifts away from you, far enough that you barely hear his next words. “…It has to be.”

Well.

That’s not exactly comforting.

Your discomfort only heightens when the already faint lights dim further, and the music switches from a pop song to which you know a bit of the lyrics to a rap that, if you were to base it on the first phrase, is all about having explicit, unprotected sex. The crowd of men cheers in anticipation, and as if on cue, a woman dressed in nothing but a two-piece lingerie emerges from the back of the stage, confirming your speculation of what the place is.

A strip club.

You watch as the woman confidently struts towards the center, and apparently, you’re no better than any of the men here because your gaze slowly roves over her slim and toned body, eyes catching at her cleavage that’s leaving nothing to the imagination. You can’t help it—you look down at your own chest, sinking in disappointment at the contrast before promptly looking up in embarrassment, only to find Bakugou studying you closely.

“It’s a strip club,” you blurt out, flustered at getting caught in the act. His eyes only narrow in a way that tells you what you’re already telling yourself: Thank you, Captain Obvious.

Bakugou doesn’t say anything, much to your relief, only moving to the far corner of the room where there are miraculously two seats unoccupied. You follow him with no further questions asked, plopping in the chair to his right, thankful you’re wearing black trousers so that your skin doesn’t have to go into contact with the sticky furniture.

You take the opportunity to clock the rest of the room, cataloguing the bar at the other end of the area near the entrance where a barista is swiftly taking and making orders all at the same time, while the men seated on the stools struggle to decide whether to look at the man or at the stripper now performing an elaborate dance around the pole. Amidst the decorated wall adjacent to the bar is a door with a restroom sign on it, and you squint just enough to see it’s only one stall for everyone. You make a mental note to hold in your pee, at least until you get out of here.

And, because you’re feeling nice, you shift to regard Bakugou with a good-natured smile on your face. “I hope you peed right before leaving your house.”

“What?” he says loud enough for you to hear him over the noise they’re calling music. “I can’t hear you.”

“Shit, right.” You lean in ever so minutely, and Bakugou mirrors you. You try to ignore the new-found proximity. “I said,” you repeat, with a little more volume this time, “I hope you peed right before fetching me. I bet the toilet’s filthy as shit.”

To your delight, not that you’d admit that to him in this lifetime, Bakugou smirks at your little quip after confirming the lone comfort room with his own eyes.

“Don’t worry about me, princess,” he starts, and you stiffen at the nickname, “I’m not the one who has to sit on one.”

You’re about to retort with something along the lines of what if he has to poop out of the blue, or at least try to, because the pet name has you gagged against your better judgment, when a ridiculously tall man clad in all black appears out of nowhere, startling you.

“The f—”

“Dynamight,” the behemoth of a guy cuts you off, eyes trained on the pro-hero beside you and completely ignoring your presence. “We’ve been expecting you.”

“Took you long enough to approach me,” Bakugou sneers, oozing with the confidence you can’t find within yourself right now. “I hate sleazy places like this.”

To that, the man only bows his head slightly, face solemn but devoid of remorse. You watch him as his eyes finally drift to you, albeit for only a split second, before looking back at Bakugou. “Follow me, sir.”

The ash blonde does so, perhaps a tiny bit begrudgingly, and you speedily get up along with him. The two men turn to move, and you’re about to take a step closer towards their direction when a long arm shoots up in front of you, keeping you in place.

Any protests die in your throat when you look up and see the guy’s menacing glare.

“If you don’t mind,” he grits through his teeth, “Only Dynamight is needed.”

“She’s with me,” comes Bakugou’s commanding tone. You chance a glance at the pro-hero, whose countenance is so serious you’d be afraid if you were the one he’s talking to.

“But, sir—”

“It’s the two of us or we’re leaving,” Bakugou demands.

The two engage in a stare down which you witness for what feels like a few minutes before the man finally looks away, frustration etched across his intimidating features. He glares at you once more, as if you’re the one who’s insisting on being Bakugou’s plus one, and you’re about to be convinced that he’s mentally chanting a spell to make you disappear when he gestures for you to follow him with a flick of a head.

You gradually release the breath you didn’t know you were holding as you shadow them as they enter one of the doors on the wall perpendicular to where you were just stationed. It leads to a staircase that swerves in the middle, and you lock eyes with Bakugou as he makes the turn ahead of you. Neither of you says a word, opting to keep on trailing the man, even as you land on the second floor, which looks more and more like a prostitution den.

Once again, your conjecture is confirmed as you walk down the hallway and past several sets of doors on both sides, from which emanate a cacophony of sensual moans and groans. You wonder what Bakugou’s thinking right now, although you can’t get a read on him as you can only observe his backside.

Finally, after what seems like a tortuous eternity, the man stops right in front of the door at the end of the hallway, and you pause right behind him.

He looks back at Bakugou and you with what you’re pretty sure is caution, before knocking on the door twice, and then another two times but in rapid succession.

“Come in,” is what the muffled voice on the other side says.

And so you do.

You’re not entirely sure what you were expecting, because you’ve never actually been in a service room before, but you at least anticipated a bed on which certain…activities can be done.

But what you’re met with instead seems to be a refurbished lounge room with floor-to-ceiling brick walls, black and red quilted couches, and a bar at the far side all lit up with moody orange lighting.

And smack dab in the middle of it—sprawled so languidly all over the furniture—are three individuals.

Three individuals who immediately look at Bakugou.

It’s them, alright. You don’t need your extensive training in reading people to know that these are the ones you came all the way here for.

You quickly take note of their appearances. The seemingly old man who has to be in his late 50s is seated—quite relaxed—in one of the scarlet solo chairs. He’s slim, bordering on frail, but the glint in his eye as he peers at Bakugou tells you that it’d be unwise to rule him out as one of your main threats.

Juxtaposing his age which is further revealed by his shoulder-length salt and pepper hair is the young woman plastered on the couch adjacent to his.

Or maybe ‘woman’ is a bit too generous…

It’s not obvious at first glance, but you immediately notice how some of her body parts appear to be outright robotic in the literal sense. Perhaps it’s her long, pin-straight, jet-black hair that softens her entire look, but there’s no mistaking what seems to be an artificial left eye, a metallic right arm, and angled, silver lips. She’s wearing long pants so there’s no telling which other parts of her are made up of what you think is steel, but the ones visible to you already tell you enough.

And then there’s the third and last man, who, in comparison to the other two, is remarkably…plain.

There isn’t an air of age-induced wisdom around him, nor is there anything peculiar about his body. He looks like just about any other 40-year-old-ish Japanese man you know, with short black hair, an unassuming face, and semi-formal clothes that are quite loose on his not-buff but not exactly thin body either.

But to your surprise, it’s him that the hilariously huge guy from earlier directly reports to.

“Pro-hero Dynamight, sir, as you requested. And…” the ‘escort’ trails off, and for a split second, you feel kind of sorry you’re here and making things complicated for him. “…he brought company.”

“Finally,” the plain-looking man pipes up from his seat, and even his voice is generic. “And here we thought you were never going to come meet us.”

Placing what suspiciously looks like a glass of whiskey on the table in front of him, the man shifts to fully regard Bakugou. “I see that you’ve deciphered the messages we’ve been sending you?”

“No shit,” comes Bakugou’s blunt response, and for a beat, you seriously consider using your quirk on him to make him calm the fuck down.

You decide against it.

To your chagrin, he drones on. “Y’all gotta do better. That was barely even a code.”

At that, the old male barks out a laugh while the plain-looking man only chuckles. “Of course, we expect nothing less from the #2 pro-hero. But…” the latter trails off, eyes finally landing on you. You quickly put on the most endearing smile you can muster, suddenly regretting not touching up your makeup upon sitting earlier. Thankfully, though, he smiles back, before redirecting his focus back on Bakugou.

“I see you brought precious cargo. Is there any reason why she’s here with us?”

“We want in your organization,” Bakugou replies without hesitation. “The both of us.”

And when none of them say anything in response, Bakugou presses.

“You need me, right? I heard you’re planning an attack. I want to join.”

“Yes,” the old man finally speaks up, not even denying it yet his voice is riddled with misplaced humor. “We do, in fact, need you. But what use do we have of this girl?”

“She’s got a useful quirk,” Bakugou supplies, before turning to look at you and then back at them. “Luck. She boosts the success rate of anyone she works with.”

“Luck?” the old geezer says back so incredulously, you feel your eye twitch in annoyance. If he only knew what you were fully capable of. He can’t, though, if you want to get out of this entire situation alive. “I don’t think we’ll need that as long as we have you, boy.”

“Well, tough luck,” spews Bakugou, a little bit too sarcastically for your comfort. “Because, as I’ve told your little lackey here,” he gestures to the definitely not little guy from earlier, “It’s both of us or I’m out.”

“The both of you, huh?” muses the plain-looking man who’s seeming to be more and more like the leader of the group by the second.

Once again, silence envelopes the room when none of them utter a single word, with you and Bakugou watching in anxious (you) and impatient (him) anticipation. You observe their facial expressions as they have a wordless exchange, and judging by how the ancient and the robotic girl are looking at the ordinary man, you guess your hunch about him is right.

Eventually, they appear to reach an agreement, and the leader adjusts just enough to look at the both of you directly.

You brace yourself with bated breath.

He flashes you a modest smile.

“It’s a deal, then.”

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

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[madamemachikonew]

Hello, if you don't mind me asking, how do you think Pantalone would feel about his partner receiving a Vision?

HMMMMM.

Your mouth is agape as you look at the sparkling vision in your palm, its cold virgin glossy surface shining like crystal. Your stomach is in knots, your heart a mess of complicated feelings; what should be the happiest and most exciting day of your life is muffled in a shroud of abject dread. The trinket weighs heavily in your palm, like a tainted heart in the scales of Anubis.  

How will you be able to break the news to him?

The glowing core represented everything that he despised in the world; the recognition that had eluded him for all of his life. In spite of all of his efforts and ambition. And yet, it had tumbled, seemingly effortlessly and unbidden, into your hand of all places.

As you falteringly break the news to him, staring down at your empty hands, wringing them with shame, he forces a diplomatic smile that does not reach his eyes. The two of you are now different. And a fissure has now cracked through your relationship – one which threatens to bring down the whole edifice. Until now, the balance of power had always been in his favour. But now you hold something that his whole lifetime of wealth cannot buy.

His smile unwavering, he shakes his head in the face of your promises that you won’t use it – you won’t even wear it.

“I’m happy for you,” he says mechanically, rubbing your cheek with a gloved thumb, “You deserve it.”

Rising to his feet, he presses a strong, paternal palm to your head in congratulation - or perhaps reassurance – before planting a light kiss and then leaving, retreating to his study.

He replays the conversation in his mind. It seemed that your well-intended words had wounded him deeply. You had left the Vision in your room lest the sight hurt his feelings in some way. And yet, part of him wanted to know how such divine craftsmanship felt to hold and look at. Your pleading protestations with apologetic wide eyes that you had never actively sought such a thing and had no idea why a Vision would suddenly turn up only rubbed salt into his grieved heart; They had chosen you nonetheless, even when you had had no apparent desire to. And now you have more power than you know what to do with. It seemed almost malicious on their part to toss a trinket so close to his feet.

So why not him?

As much as he loves you, your achievements, though respectable, are quite simply not on the same scale as his own. Who could possibly be his equal? It was squandered on you. No! No, he doesn’t mean that and you must never know that such a jealous thought has crossed his mind in anger, even if you would understand and be sympathetic to his rage. Your merits are what he admires and loves. It is the very fact that you are not ordinary that attracts him to you. So why does his heart feel torn with thorns that the contemptible gods he abhors so much have bestowed this gift on you?

And what sort of deep-seated ambition have you harbouring that They had felt worthy of recognition?

That you have been holding in your heart in secret all this time.

He knows, deep down, that it was not a deliberate action on your part and that if anything, you’d give him your gift in a heartbeat. Or give it back if you could. And yet, a bitter taste fills his mouth at the idea that in spite of your best intentions, he will no doubt watch you grow increasingly at ease with wielding it, to the point that it will never leave your side.

He knows that he should be happy for you.

So why does he feel so utterly betrayed and resentful?

As the rational thoughts vie for his attention in the maelstrom of envy swirling inside, he thinks that perhaps your newfound talent could be of use to him somehow; knowing your unselfish nature, he knows you would feel too guilty not to share it. But it is not quite the same as wielding such a tool of his own, as meaningless as he keeps trying to convince himself that it is. All those times you had resolved together to go to war with Celestia now feel desperately hollow. Had you even meant it?

Perhaps the sting will dull with time, as well as the guilt for feeling this way. But for now, he will allow himself to wallow for the evening.

It’s not that he hates you.

It’s not that he isn’t proud of you or feels that you were somehow undeserving of this honour.

Just…why couldn’t it have been him?

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Excitement [Joel x f!reader]

Read on Ao3

Ship: Joel Miller x you/f!reader (reader has tits and pussy, weight undisclosed, same age as Joel)

Tags/warnings: Exhibitionism, fingering, P in V sex, creampie.

Summary: Jackson is safe and quiet. Too quiet. You don't know what to do with yourself on a snowy night when you're cooped up inside. Luckily, Joel knows exactly what to do.

Words: 2,319

A/N: @pazizz and I were talking about Mads Mikkelsen, I think? There is a very explicit sex sequence with him in the film Polar that I had to check out, and that got my mind working... So this is super inspired by Mads Mikkelsen's snowy night sex in Polar.

It's too quiet. It makes you jittery, restless. There's a tightness in the pit of your stomach, an anticipation of dreads to come.

No place is completely safe, but Jackson is as safe as it gets. And it throws you. You haven't been relaxed for so long you don't know how to do it anymore.

Especially on a night like this, when it's snowing thickly, and everyone is Jackson is cooped up inside, except for those poor souls on guard duty. You're pacing the house, going from one room to another in search of something to do. But there are no chores because there is barely any laundry to do, dishes to wash, furniture to dust. You have everything you need in Jackson, but nothing extra.

You walk back to the living-room and look out through the gridded window at the empty street outside. The light strings are dancing in the wind, their light barely visible through the thick snow. Not a soul out there, which makes you even more fidgety. Surely life can’t be cuddling in front of the fireplace on a stormy night?

You make the decision in a split second, go to the entry, and start to put on your boots and jacket. It’s crazy to go out in this weather, but you’re going just as crazy indoors. As you pull your hat down over your eyes, the door opens, and Joel enters, bringing with him a gush of chilly wind and snow.

He shakes the snow off himself like a dog, then sees you, the line between his brows deepening.

“You startin’ a search party?”

“Almost. Glad you’re home,” you tell him, sincerely relieved that he’s back from guard duty. You accept a kiss from cold lips, but don’t stop dressing.

“Where are you goin’?” Joel wants to know.

“Out.”

“Out?” he echoes incredulously. “What for?”

“Just need some fresh air.”

He stares at you in disbelief as he hangs up his coat. You shrug.

“I just need to go out.”

“I’m not letting you.”

“You can’t very well stop me, Joel.”

“Can’t I?”

He stands in front of the door, arms crossed over his chest, and you know he’s right: you can’t move him, he’s a goddamn brick wall. You purse your lips, stare him down, but he doesn’t budge.

“Fine.” You take your outerwear off, leaving them in angry heaps on the floor, before stomping back to the window to look out at the whirling snow. Joel joins you, arms slowly winding around you from behind. His bristles tangle in your hair when he kisses your temple.

“What’s up?”

“Just keep waiting for some shit to go down,” you mutter. “It’s too quiet here.”

“I know. I feel it too.”

You relax when you hear Joel’s confession. It makes you feel less crazy.

“But the right way to handle that isn’t to go out looking for trouble, or winding up frozen to death in the snow,” he adds, a little bit of teasing in his voice. You turn your head to glare at him.

“It’s not like there’s anything to do in here.”

“Isn’t there?”

Your lips are pursed when he kisses you, but you quickly yield, parting your lips for his tongue, your hand coming up to his cheek, still wet from melted snow.

“Think you can deflect with promises of sex…?” you murmur, trying bravely to sound disapproving. Joel holds your hips and turns you to face him.

“I know I can, sweetheart.” His quiet confidence is equal parts annoying and sexy. You scoff, but gasp immediately after when he pushes you up against the window. Even with your wool sweater, you can feel the cold coming in through the glass.

“Joel!”

“Trust me.”

He crowds you against the glass, lips seeking out yours anew, hands already unbuttoning your jeans to reach inside your panties. You wrap your arms around his neck, greedily taking his kisses and humming when he presses his fingertips against your clit. A shiver runs through you, and Joel hums in approval. He fingers you lightly, teasing you wet and needy until you're pulling at the buttons on his plaid.

"Careful," he grunts, finally tearing his mouth from yours. You're pleased to note that he's out of breath. "Don't lose any buttons."

"I'm gonna lose it if you don't fuck me soon," you whine, but you slow down with the buttons, knowing full well that there rarely are replacements for lost ones. Joel's fingers dip into your wet warmth before escaping the confinement of your panties. You glare at him as best as you can with the feeling of bereavement thudding in your clit, but Joel only smiles at you, deceptively gently, as he licks his fingers.

"So sweet," he murmurs, and you finally get the plaid off of him. He, in turn, pulls the sweater over your head, and you're so heated up from an internal fire that you don't even notice at first how much colder it is without the garment.

"Turn around," Joel asks you, and when you're too slow for his liking, he puts his hands on your hips, and directs you to face the window.

"What are you doing?" you ask breathlessly as he kisses your neck, hands moving down to squeeze your ass.

"Creating excitement for you."

He caresses the jeans down your hips and pulls you into him so that your entire length is connected to him. He exudes warmth and safety, and you become aware of the draft from the window. Your nipples pebble underneath the t-shirt, and you rub your ass against the stiff bulge pressing against it.

"Oh, baby..." Joel's voice is tight, his fingers dig into your hips for just a second before relaxing into a new caress. "Sweetheart... fuckin' love your ass."

"I know," you purr, pushing back even more. Joel's hand comes sliding up your waist, under your t-shirt, tickling your ribs as it curves to your front, fingers finding your nipple to tweak and pinch. You exhale in a small moan, eyes falling shut at his slow ministrations. Your panties are wet in the crotch, and you reach behind you to pop open Joel's belt buckle.

"Already?" he chuckles in your ear before nibbling at the lobe.

"Tell me you don't want to," you quip, and Joel's hand draws back from under your t-shirt. You turn around to meet his velvety gaze as he unzips his jeans.

"Couch?" you want to know, already moving towards it, but he grabs your arm and pulls you back.

"Here."

You gaze flickers towards the window. "By... the window?"

"That's right." He cups your cheek and brushes his lips over yours. "Tell me you don't want it. Tell me you don't want anyone who's foolish enough to go out tonight to see me fuck you."

You only need a split second to make up your mind.

"Anyone who goes out tonight deserves a treat," you whisper, and you see a flash of bared teeth before Joel turns you around again. You bend over slightly, hands landing on the sill, leaning your weight forward. You hear the rustle of Joel's jeans, then feel his big, warm hand on your ass cheek, thick fingers seeking between your legs and pulling the crotch of your panties to the side.

"Spread 'em a little more for me, darlin'."

You obey, gasping when he reaches your yearning lips, and then his fingers are replaced by the fat head of his cock. He hisses when he slides it in, all in one slow go, sheathing himself in your welcoming pussy, his upper body draped over yours as he kisses your neck and breathes his praise onto your burning skin. You bask in his words, in the thickness of his cock lodged deep inside you, in the chill outside licking your face and seeping into your fingers. His hips move, pulling out halfway before he slides in once again, slowly but with a quick snap when he's balls deep. It's not forceful but still knocks the breath out of you with a low moan. Joel grunts, scatters kisses over your neck, bites your shoulders through the thin fabric of your shirt, all the while repeating the slow but devastating roll of his hips. You grip the windowsill so hard your fingers turn white, before releasing one hand to rub your clit. Your pussy immediately clenches at the new pleasure, and Joel groans as he slips out.

"Fuck, you're so fucking tight when you do that," he puffs, lining himself up again. You rest your fingers to give him a chance to enter you again, which he does with a harder thrust than before. He settles into a rhythm, hands on your hips to keep you from escaping.

"Fuck, Joel," you whimper, straightening your back so that you can turn your head and kiss him. Your lower back protests at the uncomfortable arch you're forcing it into, but Joel lets go of your hips and wraps one arm around your upper body, helping you to twist. His other hand sneaks around your waist and disappears inside your panties to tease your clit as he pumps into you. His breathless kisses miss your mouth, but it doesn't matter, you lick his lips, his cheek, his scruff tears at your tongue, his breath is hot on your skin, his body is hot, your body is hot, together you're fire. You scramble to pull off your t-shirt, Joel helps you impatiently, you hear a seam rip but don't care. The shirt is barely on the floor before Joel grabs your tits in his hands, pushes you forward a couple of steps, and glues your tits to the ice-cold window. You shriek, the chill a small shock to your system, but Joel has already picked up the pace and is fucking you harder, faster, and the assault of his cock is more all-consuming than that of the cold. His hand is back between your legs, and you moan loudly when the pleasure soars higher and higher. Joel is babbling nonsense against your neck, Is anyone there, can anyone see us, is anybody looking at your gorgeous fucking tits, no?, their loss, oh God it's their fucking loss, you're so fucking pretty, baby, you feel so fucking good, you're so good to me, your pussy is so good, your tits are so fucking sexy, yournipples are so stiff it's nothing short of a miracle they're not cutting through the glass. You gaze out through the window but all you can see is whirling snow. The windows of the house across the street are lit but you can barely even see that in the blizzard. Your brain conjures up images of what this must look like from the outside, the flesh of your tits spread out over one pane each, your arms out to the sides, your face twisted from pleasure and excitement, Joel's broad frame behind you, fucking into you like a man much younger than his years. What a sight, what a shock if anybody saw it, what a shame nobody can see you getting fucked like this.

The mental image sends you over the edge. Your thighs clamp shut, and your legs shake as your pussy spasms, and you let out a wail that surely must have been heard outside, even in the storm. Joel grunts, withdraws his hand from between your legs, grabs your hips again, and slams into you, again and again, panting for air but still going strong. Your pussy is raw and jubilant, the seam of your panties pushed to the side is cutting into your groin, but you don’t care, your head is wired to feel nothing but bliss. The cold doesn't bother you anymore, you're even sweaty when Joel's grip turns tight and his hips stutter. With a choked snarl, he shoots you full of hot cum, moaning loud when you buck back against him. You clench, drawing forth a breathless gasp from him, then another when you clench again, bucking back to prolong his orgasm, harassing his sensitive cock for as long as he keeps it inside of you.

Joel groans your name into the nape of your neck but stays inside, pulling you upright and covering your ice-cold tits with his slightly sweaty hands. When he finally slips out, his softening cock is followed by sticky cum running down your inner thigh. With trembling fingers, you adjust your panties, the fabric catching the rest of his spend.

“Exciting enough for you?” he murmurs against your ear before kissing it. You place your hands on top of his to squeeze your tits.

“I think I’ll make it without having to go out now.”

He barks out an exhausted chuckle before releasing you and taking you by the hand, leading you to the couch. Plopping down on it, he brings you into his side, arm wrapped around you.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he sighs deeply, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

“I’ll be in the grave next to you,” you remind him of your age. “But that was maybe worth it, right?”

He blinks his eyes open and gazes at you. “Did anybody see us?”

“Not that I could see.”

“Hmm.” He pulls you in even closer. “Better luck next time.”

You smile through your yawn and cuddle up against him. Your tits are still cold, but Joel’s torso exudes heat, and the front of his t-shirt is damp from sweat. You’ll be warm all over in no time.

“Thanks,” you tell him quietly. His fingers play a loving tune on your arm.

“You’re welcome.” He knows what you mean, neither one of you need words beyond that. You place your hand over his heart and feel it slow down after the exertion, and by the time it’s beating at a normal pace, you’re both asleep.

[dearest-nell]

turbulence

e. munson x reader, 1.7k

summary: you and eddie are taking your first real vacation together, but the turbulence of the flight is enough to make anyone regret their mode of travel includes: established reader x eddie, eddie being a comfort king, just a bunch of sweetness all round warnings: flight warnings, stormy skies, reader is terrified of flying and the flight is a bit rocky. no real danger.

a/n: shoutout to random images on pinterest for inspiring this one

How the hell you’d thought that this was a good idea was anyone’s guess. 

The idea had been so simple; you and Eddie had run yourselves into the ground to save up for your first overseas trip – his first one ever. Well… not quite overseas, though Eddie had very decidedly announced that Hawaii counted all the same. It had come from a thousand nights of cheap noodle dinners and canned tuna to garnish, leaving you sure that you never again would touch a pack of the grimy stuff. Double shifts and weekend overtime earned you enough money to get you to the airport, an excitable Eddie half trembling with the thrill of the journey. 

He’d been up almost the entire night before tossing and turning, eager hands squeezing at your waist as he tried his best not to wake you. Restlessness was par for the course with him, but even more so, this trip had him vibrating on an entirely new frequency. He’d never been out of state until he met you, had never seen a plane any larger than the size of his thumb held comparatively to the sky. The best part, though, was that he was getting to share this all with you. His life had been a constant stream of new experiences, a high he’d never had the pleasure of knowing until he felt what it was like to be loved so wholeheartedly by another. There was nothing so thrilling to him as the idea of basking in the sun with you, blissfully drunk and happily snuggled on a shared beachside lounge. 

Discount resort be damned, you’d been savvy in finding the best bargain the travel agent could offer. Eddie had never thought frugal spending could be so fucking sexy before. 

You, however, could not share his excitement with equal merriment. Sure, the holiday part sounded like a dream, and all of Eddie’s wishful thinking and imaginings had made you fall even more in love with the idea. Getting there, however, was another story, because unlike Eddie, you had been on a plane before. One time too many, if anyone were to ask. 

You did not like the small spaces, the recycled air, the uniform packaged meals that all somehow tasted like plastic. There was never enough room, always too much noise, and worst of all, nowhere to go. Every plane trip was spent with you counting down the minutes until your feet touched solid ground once more, a sensation you somehow seemed to forget with every passing travel until the next occurred. 

The dread had begun to build inside the airport, your hand clasped rigidly around the strap of Eddie’s backpack, his movements and your directions guiding your joined bodies through the chaos. If he knew something was wrong, he did not dare to comment. You were quieter than usual, after all, but it was easy enough to chalk that up to the obnoxiously early flight you were catching. It was cheaper that way, and you could sleep on the plane, you’d justified to yourself. The hour was enough to quieten even the most talkative of beings, twilight skies lulling Eddie to a gentle drawl as he rattled on about your upcoming adventures. 

Now that you were on the plane, though, it seemed all the worse. You’d been so brave through the takeoff, chewing on a pack of gum until your jaw ached from the tension, your hand tucked firmly under Eddie’s on the seat rest. You’d given him the window, his delight at the magic of flight distracting you enough until you were safely coasting through the sky. 

Eddie had chosen to sleep not long after, his head pressed to the wall of the plane despite the low rumbles, a position that could not conceivably be comfortable to anyone but Eddie. He could sleep anywhere, you’d learned early on in your relationship, and it seemed planes were no exception. You, however, were wide awake, trying your best to lose yourself in a book and suppress that nauseating feeling slowly taking over. 

It was within the hour that the turbulence began, gentle rumblings of the plane triggering that hazy green seatbelt sign to ignite. The captain warned that it would likely get worse before it got better, a thought that only exacerbated your growing anxieties. Eddie somehow slept through it all, even as the aircraft began to tremble and jolt. You didn’t want to wake him, not when he was sleeping so comfortably, still dreaming of all the good things to come. It felt silly to be frightened by such a small thing. Planes were safe, you knew that, but that seemed to be the trouble with anxiety; logic never mattered when the fear was so heightened. 

It was only when a terrified squeak left your lips that Eddie’s eyes flew open, his body shooting up rigidly in reaction to the sound. He’d have heard it anywhere, that terror, his body conditioned into a state of protection for you. The back of his hand wiped lazily at the sleep in his eyes, his body turning to face you on instinct. 

“What’s wrong? You okay?” You could hear the exhaustion that tinged his words, his eyes softening as he took in the fright in your own. 

“Its–” Your voice drowned out under the weight of thunder, the jolt leaving the tray tables to rattle in its aftermath. You couldn’t make your words come out, your lips hanging open in a frozen cry. 

Eddie did not need the clarification. He had never thought to consider you, his brave, sweet creature might have such fears, leaving guilt to turn sour in his mouth as it settled across him, knowing he had left you to face your fears alone. “Oh, sweetheart.” The solidity of his arms encased around you, tucking you gently into the curve of his side, hand cradling the back of your skull and the small of your back to shield you from the rest of the plane. “It’s okay, you’re okay.” 

“We’re going to die.” You whined, lilting in devastation into the fabric of his shirt. 

Eddie tried not to chuckle, his smile itching with amusement. “We’re not gonna die. We’re gonna be fine.” 

“We’re literally going to die.” You tried again, clinging to him until your knuckles were an ashen, bone white. 

Another jolt of the plane had you wincing, forcing Eddie to lift his gaze and observe your surroundings. Other than a few anxious fliers, most of the passengers were beyond asleep, tucked neatly into their own rows of the plane. No one else had much cause for alarm, the crew were muddling along their usual routes with a look of calm that even a professional could not fake. 

He dropped his attention back to you, slowly prying you from his side just enough to lift the armrest from between you, a reassuring arm scooping you now closer than before into his embrace. He could feel the tremble in your body as you burrowed your way into his side, trying to block out every other sensation but the feel of his body against yours. 

“You wanna know how I know that we’re not gonna die?” He asked assuredly, cupping at the base of your skull to prop your head against his shoulder, his grip firm and grounding in all the ways that were so incredibly Eddie. He felt you nod, hair slipping through the gaps of his fingers with every movement. 

“Because the crew aren’t panicking. No one’s brushin’ up on procedure or trying to wake everyone up. They're not at emergency stations. I’m pretty sure half of them are gossiping over there, can you see?” 

He lifted his hand to point, watching as your gaze followed the extension of his index finger, your lower lip dragging between your teeth to chew upon nervously. They all looked so calm, exchanging little whispered comments until one gentleman threw his head back in a silent laugh, shaking his head at his co-worker. 

“If we were gonna die,” Eddie continued, calloused fingers dipping between the layers of fabric at your waist to rub at your skin, letting the heat of his body lull you into further comfort, “then they’d be movin’ a hell of a lot faster than that, right? We’re gonna be fine, so you don’t gotta worry bout a thing.” 

He could see the contemplation simmering in your eyes, weighing up your fears with his logic, trying to discern where he line was. It was no easy thing to overcome a fear, especially one like this, but he loved you just for trying, even if your trembling figure only settled a little in his embrace. 

“Could you hold me anyways? Just until it goes away.” You turned to him with such sincerity, eyes widened and imploring in your gaze. 

He softened a reassuring smile in return, reaching to hook your legs over the nearer of his own, draping your body over his in whatever way these budget seats would allow. “I’m not letting you go, honey, not for a minute. I’ll hold you all the way there, so just settle in. We’re gonna get through it together.” 

As tired as he was, as muddled as he sure felt, Eddie did not mind staying up just to give you that peace of mind. His head fell back into the headrest, propping him up to keep watchful gaze on the comings and goings around him. It took the responsibility off you, feeling assured that he was there to spot if something went wrong along the way. Somehow, with his gentle movements across the expanse of your back and his steady, rhythmic heartbeat thrumming just beside your ear, you slipped out of consciousness, the exhaustion of this already long day finally dragging you under. 

Eddie was only able to notice once the turbulence subsided, expecting you to perk up with a surveying glance, only to find the rise and fall of your chest slow and drowsy against his own. He pressed chapped lips to your forehead, letting his own eyelids hang low as his vision faded drearily. He could sleep now, satisfied with the idea that neither of you would wake again until your hard earned landing was in sight.

[anim-ttrpgs]

Eureka Rules Breakdown! Episode 1 of an Actual Play of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy by the Tiny Table Podcast!

Episode 1 is out now, and you can listen to it right here!

This is the first ever Actual Play of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy, so we’re super excited, especially since Tiny Table really puts the “Actual” in “Actual Play.” They may edit out a stutter or bad mic read here and there, but you won’t find any prescripting of character arcs or setpiece events, just them, the rulebook, and the module.

This first episode is only about 15 minutes or so and introduces you to a brief rundown of Eureka’s rules and concepts. If you have been wondering what all the fuss is about with Eureka, but don’t feel like you have the time to download the free beta version and give it a read, then this fifteen-minute rules breakdown might be a great place to start!

The next episode, releasing on Tuesday, August 20th, will be the start of the actual Actual Play. Stay tuned for the Tiny Table crew to tackle FORIVA: The Angel Game, an adventure module for Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy.

FORIVA: The Angel Game is a 1990's investigation that sinks deep into a pit of dread and intrigue as the investigators step forward into a bizarre psychological horror mystery - one which may leave them unable to recognize themselves on the other side. To seek out the truth, an investigator must use all their wits and all the resources at their disposal - but only they know if they are ready to fall into the unthinkable rabbit hole that awaits. Stranger and stranger the story shall grow - and stranger still, what will grow in those who follow it.

Somewhere, a mother stares wordlessly at her hospitalized son who doesn’t recognize her, and wonders why this is happening to her family. Somewhere, a private detective smiles as his client offers a generous reward for someone–anyone–to blame for what was done to his children. Somewhere, a young girl tears down the advertisements that were covering up the missing poster of her friend. 

The year is 1999, and society is equal parts optimistic and apprehensive about the new millennium. Fears of the Y2K bug are circulating, Bill Clinton is still in office, and the popularity of video arcades is on the decline.

A rash of hospitalizations and disappearances has struck in Shreveport, Louisiana, with all of the victims so far being teenagers and children. Each case might at first seem unconnected, save for their close proximity in time to one another sending ripples throughout the community. Local news has been covering the story for days now, capitalizing on the fear and uncertainty of concerned parents, something that might seem like a distant problem to each investigator, until it strikes someone they know….

Having already listened to the whole thing ourselves, we can assure you that listeners who stick with it are in for a real great time! Episodes will be coming out each Tuesday, ending with a post-adventure discussion, and then an interview between the Tiny Table team and the A.N.I.M. team!

Elegantly designed and thoroughly playtested, Eureka represents the culmination of three years of near-daily work from our team, as well as a lot of our own money. If you’re just now reading this and learning about Eureka for the first time, you missed the crowdfunding window unfortunately, but you can still check out the public beta on itch.io to learn more about what Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy actually is, as that is where we have all the fancy art assets, the animated trailer, links to video reviews by podcasts and youtubers, etc.!

You can also follow updates on our Kickstarter page where we post regular updates on the status of our progress finishing the game and getting it ready for final release.

Beta Copies through the Patreon

If you want more, you can download regularly updated playable beta versions of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy earlier, plus extra content such as adventure modules by subscribing to our Patreon at the $5 tier or higher. Subscribing to our patreon also grants you access to our patreon discord server where you can talk to us directly and offer valuable feedback on our progress and projects.

The A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club

If you would like to meet the A.N.I.M. team and even have a chance to play Eureka with us, you can join the A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club discord server. It’s also just a great place to talk and discuss TTRPGs, so there is no schedule obligation, but the main purpose of it is to nominate, vote on, then read, discuss, and play different indie TTRPGs. We put playgroups together based on scheduling compatibility, so it’s all extremely flexible. This is a free discord server, separate from our patreon exclusive one. https://discord.gg/7jdP8FBPes

Other Stuff

We also have a ko-fi and merchandise if you just wanna give us more money for any reason.

We hope to see you there, and that you will help our dreams come true and launch our careers as indie TTRPG developers with a bang by getting us to our base goal and blowing those stretch goals out of the water, and fight back against WotC's monopoly on the entire hobby. Wish us luck.

[endless-ineffabilities]

there's hope for us yet - (2/2)

Anakin Skywalker x f!reader

The reader realizes that her true Anakin will always exist, in some spark or another, however miniscule. And she reconciles with what she must do in order to get him back.

masterlist ▪︎ part one

GIF by nerdside

When your eyes open once more, you're lying on something soft.

A sense of familiarity eases in as your fingertips glide on the silk sheets underneath you. And that scent. Which can only be...

"What were you dreaming about?"

Your head falls to the side, slowly, dreading what you'll see. Because you know, without a doubt, it's all going to break your heart.

Anakin lies on his side, with his torso bare and his head propped up on one sturdy arm, looking at you all starry-eyed.

Like he always had.

You can help but let out a shaky sigh. Why did I have to lose this? Why did I have to lose you?

He notices the switch in your expression. And as if he's heard your thoughts, he whispers, "I'm here, stardust. I'm never leaving you."

But you did.

You sit up halfway, and find yourself saying, "What about all that you said? About Senator Palpatine? If you... if you truly believe that, Ani, then I could... " I could lose you. Your words echo in your head. He must have heard them to be meaningless ploys.

"You don't understand, stardust. I'm doing this for us. For you! This way, we can be together forever. Nothing can take you from me."

You lean forward, gripping his hand tightly. "Nothing will, Ani. Your visions won't come into fruition. You're not gonna get rid of me that easy, you know." You smirk at him to assuage his concerns, but his frown stays in place.

You massage your thumb in between his ruffled brows, in a show of easing the tension in his expression. "I love you," you breathe.

"I love you, stardust," he says, his voice breaking with emotion. He presses his forehead to yours. And then, his lips on your own.

His breathing is heavy, his mouth frantic. His hair falls forward, casting shadows on the sharp angles of his face.

I love you, he keeps saying. Though he claims your lips again and again, before you can get the chance to say it back.

Your fingers tangle in his unruly blonde tresses, anchoring themselves as he slides down and nips at your collarbone. His hand dips inside your blouse, gently pawing at your chest.

When he looks up at you with his mischievous smirk, you nearly forget where you are. You want to.

"Ani..."

I want this to be real.

"It is real," Anakin responds without missing a beat. He lowers himself further, hands gripping your hips. His fingers trace a line underneath the waistband of your trousers. "Give in to me, my stardust. This can be as real as we want it to be."

"Now is not the time..." Your words halt when he presses his lips to your hipbone.

"Why not?" Anakin purrs, then proceeds anyway. His breathing is warm against your skin, as he carefully starts to undo your trousers.

It certainly feels real. Any world, any reality - Anakin Skywalker will always have the ability to set you afire.

Your stomach is in knots, in equal parts excitement and anxiety. You want to focus on him and only him, but your gaze is directed towards the ceiling. Or lack thereof. All you see is an apparent simulation of the night sky, with thick gray clouds to reveal a storm simmering and waiting to unfold.

You were so caught up in Anakin that you failed to notice your surroundings.

"Where are we, Anakin? This isn't your suite."

He sighs, shaking his head. "That's what you're thinking about?"

Lightning flashes overhead. Dread rips into you as it casts a glow above everything. It had been only for a split second, but it was enough.

The sky glowed red. You see much clearer now.

"Let me take your mind off it, stardust." Anakin had pulled himself up suddenly, covering your line of sight. Everything, like always, is just him.

He grips your jaw in one hand, forcing you to look right at him.

"Anakin..." your voice is a low warning him. You notice how it sounded more of a question. Your guard is up, your hands bunched up into fists at your sides, no longer lovingly pressed against him. Suddenly, the comforting feel of the silk sheets feels like a betrayal. A lie.

"Kiss me," Anakin purrs. His lips take yours, roughly. His teeth clashing against yours in the movement. "This is all I want. You're all that I want." He grows frustrated when you don't kiss him back. Almost rabid. One hand keeps your face against him, while the other freely roams all over your body. His fingernails dig into the flesh of your thighs. "Say you're mine."

"No," you struggle to take a breath, squirming underneath his solid form. "You wanted something more. And now you have it."

"Because of you," he implores. "I did everything for you."

"I never wanted you to cross over into the dark side." Rage is evident in your shaking voice. You find your strength and propel yourself from underneath him, footsteps carrying you away from the bed. He follows suit but you put your hand up. "Stop." He doesn't listen. When has he ever?

For me? How dare he blame me?

Anakin reaches you once more, looking pained. That familiar frustrated furrow in his brow making him look youthful. Almost vulnerable.

Like that brazen young Padawan whom you met a long time ago. The one you fell in love with.

You wait for him to speak. To begin his tirade. He was fuming just a minute ago, surely he has some lovely things to share. About the past. About what you lost. What he sacrificed it all for.

The new Empire. Palpatine. Darth Vader.

Each one a dagger right through your heart. Reminding yourself that he did not choose you.

But he was lost.

You shake your head at your resolve breaking. One look at his broken expression and it all falls down.

He was lost. He was manipulated.

"Forgive me, stardust." Anakin says. His forehead presses against yours, and he holds you close. The makeshift sky above you seemingly calms, no longer displaying the occassional flash of crimson red. You feel the tension leave your body, and nearly slump against him.

A minute passes before he finally speaks again, "I never meant to hurt you. I never meant for any of this."

You know full well that he apologizes for much more than causing you to grow irate moments ago. He means everything.

"I know," you finally admit. Your eyes flit over his features. His eyes gently shut, his fingertips memorizing the planes of your face. "But this... this was the end."

"Well," he slowly smiles, and it is one of both sadness and acceptance. But when his eyes hold yours, it betrays the Anakin that would never accept defeat, who would never relent to losing the one he loves forever. "Why don't we go back to the beginning?"

The scene fades before your eyes, but Anakin remains.

And he always will.

It is the day after your thirteenth nameday, and your Master has granted you leave for the entire week.

It gives you the chance to interact with the visiting Padawans from other Jedi Temples, but you find yourself sitting all alone in an alcove in the inner courtyard.

Training has not been easy as of late, and you're beginning to doubt whether you deserve to be in the Jedi Order at all.

Lost in thought, you make the hilt of your lightsaber hover to the side. Spinning it midair. Tapping it against the stone in a sporadic rhythm.

Maybe if I fail, I can make a living off of these party tricks.

Then a voice breaks you out of it. "That won't be much of a living, but I have a better idea."

The boy you will soon know to be Anakin stands there, with his sandy mop of hair along with its signature Padawan braid, and curious gaze. He looks to be about your age, but already much taller.

"Stay out of my head." You respond on instinct, letting annoyance win over.

"Don't you want to know what I had in mind?" He sits across from you, unfazed. Clearly this is a kid who holds himself in some high regard. His force feels like determination and honour.

And defiance, as well as a simmering fury, but you will find this out much later.

"Not really," you shrug, trying to play coy. Your interest is piqued, but you're still discomforted by the thought that this random Padawan is tuning in to your deepest emotions.

"Well," he sighs. Something tells you it didn't really matter what your response was. "I was thinking that I can help you train. I can feel that the Force is strong with you, as it is with me."

"Is it, now?" The pair on this guy. But he's right. He has the power to bring balance to the galaxy. He just doesn't believe it yet.

"It is. And trust me, I tend to be right about these things." He smiles, and it is one of boyish innocence and wonder. Years later, he will change, but you will find that his smile remains the same.

You shake his hand in introduction, and you fall into conversation. How long is he visiting your Jedi Temple? Where did he come from? How is he finding his training?

It's polite conversation. It's a normal afternoon.

But it's also the beginning of everything.

"Come find me," he says to you, before he leaves.

"I will."

As he walks away, you notice a cloud of smoke encroaching upon him. White tendrils twisting in a race to get to him. Anakin. You blink hard, trying to get clear of the haze. His figure is morphed, doubled in size. Something's not right.

The white tendrils turn red. Darkness creeps in from all sides, and you know there is danger here.

"Wait!" You scream out. I have to warn him.

You take sure, long strides toward his figure and your bones ache. You're certainly taller now, and stronger. Much older than your thirteen years.

"Anakin, wait!"

He turns, and it is not Anakin. You freeze upon seeing the unfamiliar being, towering over everything, dark mask firmly in place.

Darth Vader. You realize just where you are, and why you're here, running around moments of impermanence.

He starts to speak, and you're startled to hear that the voice does not come from Vader's deep, chilling synthesizer.

"Come find me," he repeats. It's Anakin's voice. The one you've always known.

"I will," you say once more, the meaning of the words renewed.

And then everything is lost in a blinding flash of light.

You find yourself back on the suspended path, amidst millions of the same pathways to memories and forms of reality. The galaxy stretches eternal, the stars unending.

Anakin stands calmly before you, as he did when you arrived.

"You have to go back, stardust. Ahsoka needs you."

"I know," you say, not willing to say goodbye, but there's no other choice. You take his hands, committing the feeling to memory, and he rests his forehead against yours.

"Will you come find me?"

taglist: @maggiecc @fandomwarrior98 @irishbl0ss0mz @sarahbutnot @anerdypanda @valsarchives @avitute @standwithcap @lwkaslvt @yourusername1 @queenv319 @hesvoid3434 @caramelcandescence @eykismyfav @maratheidiot22 @leahthesith @hestia-fires @geekygirl127 @solaceinwritings @hueanhdang

"I always will."

[vampirestookmydoubts]

The Prince's Debutante - Series

A/N: This is a series based and written on the ideas of @aninhatatu, I'm just the messenger, haha. Once again, thank you very much for the chance to bring your idea to life and for being the first person to proofread my texts, haha!

Prince Friedrich deserves all the love.

Summary: As the daughter of a disowned marquis and a common maid, you enter your debut season under the watchful eyes of your grandmother, hoping for a humble suitor, to secure your family's future. But your plans change when Prince Friedrich falls for you, sparking an unexpected romance.

Will you and Friedrich be able to find a way to unite love and duty, as you navigate the complexities of society? Or will your blooming love succumb to your family's different expectations and societal scrutinies?

Pairings: Prince Friedrich x Reader

Warnings: none

Chapter 1: A Debutante's Dilemma

The early morning light filtered through the delicate lace curtains right into the bedroom, casting intricate patterns on the wooden floor. You sat at your vanity, fingers trembling slightly as you tried to arrange your hair in the latest fashion. Today was the day you had awaited with equal parts dread and anticipation: you debut in London’s society. As the eldest daughter of your parents, your introduction to the ton was fraught with complexity.

Your father, Jonathan Withlock, was the son of the marquis of Thornewood, leading a comfortable life as a member of the rich and noble ton of London. Your mother, Moira, on the other hand, wasn’t part of the glamorous society your father used to mingle with. In contrast to his noble status, she was just a mere maid; and, to make matters worse, a Catholic Irish immigrant, who came to England to find a better life for herself after the death of her parents.

When your parents fell in love and eloped, despite their different social statuses, one could only imagine the uproar that went through Thornewood Manor and London’s high society. And, naturally, with that came your father’s disownment from his family, losing his title and money. But despite losing everything that came with his name, as well as the future title of marquis, your father always told you and your two younger siblings that he never regretted choosing your mother.

The only reason you were to be presented to the queen and to the ton today was your father’s employment as the king’s new physician. Through old friends and his talents as a physician to other noble men, the queen herself got word of your father’s competence. As a reward for his good treatment and discretion when it came to her husband, the king, she awarded your father a minor title.

Your mother, Moira, a woman with a fierce spirit, entered your room quietly. Sh approached you, her eyes softening as the got the sigh of your anxious reflection in the mirror. “Y/N, you look lovely,” she said, her voice a soothing balm to your nervous mind. “Do not worry. Today is the beginning of something exciting and wonderful.” You smiled weakly. “I am not worried about today. It is the entire season that frightens me. What if no one pays me any attention? Or worse, what if they do?” Moira placed a gentle hand on your shoulder in an attempt to calm you. “You, my love, are intelligent, kind, and beautiful. Any man would be fortunate to have you.” You nodded, trying to draw strength to from your mother’s words. “I just wish you could present me to the queen. It feels wrong, going with Grandmother.” Your mother’s expression tightened slightly at the mention of her mother-in-law. “I know, darling. But the ton has its rules, and we must abide by them for now. Your grandmother has agreed to help, and we must be grateful for that. Your grandmother, the Marchioness of Thornewood, had gladly offered to present you to the queen, when you mother wrote to her. It was a move driven by her desire to reconcile with her estranged son and, perhaps, alleviate some of the scandal that had marred their family’s name. Despite her outward appearance of haughty indifference, you knew your grandmother harbored a deep sense of pride and duty. Tucking a stray lock of hair back into your updo, your mother squeezed your shoulder again, looking at your reflection in the mirror. “Everything will be alright.”

The carriage ride to Buckingham House was a quiet one. You sat beside your grandmother, Lady Clarece, who regarded you with a critical eye. “Sit up straight, Y/N,” Lady Clarece admonished. “You must look the part of a lady, even if you bloodline is tarnished. You are representing not only your father, but more importantly, the marquis of Thornewood.” You bit back a sharp retort, reminding yourself that this was the woman who held the key to your and your siblings future in society. Instead, you straightened your back and lifted your chin, trying to exude the grace and poise your grandmother expected.

Upon arriving at the palace, you joined a long line of debutantes and their chaperones, all waiting for their moment before the queen. The air buzzed with nervous energy, the scent of perfume mingling with the tension of dozens of young women about to face their societal debut in front of the queen. When your turn came, you felt your heart painfully pound in your chest. With your grandmother next to you, you stepped forward, each step felt both too fast and painfully slow. The grand hall, with its high ceiling s and opulent decor, seemed to close in on you, the present members of society blurring as your eyes fixated on the person at the end of the aisle: Queen Charlotte. The queen, resplendent in her regal and pompous attire, regarded you with a discerning eye. “Miss Y/N Withlock,” the messenger of the queen announced. “Daughter of Sir Jonathan Withlock. Presented by her grandmother, Lady Clarence, the Marchioness of Thornewood.” Your grandmother performed the necessary courtesies, and you followed suit, curtsying deeply and holding your breath, just like the hundreds of times you practiced before. A low murmur went through the crowd. Queen Charlotte’s gaze flickered with recognition at the mention of your father’s name, the renowned physician who had earned her husband’s trust. She gave a barely perceptible nod. “Rise, Miss Withlock.” You straightened your back, meeting the queen’s gaze with as much confidence as you could muster, despite the anxiousness rushing through your veins. The queen’s eyes softened just a fraction, and you felt a glimmer of hope. Perhaps your father’s reputation might lend her some measure of acceptance. “You may proceed,” Queen Charlotte said, dismissing you and your grandmother with a wave of her hand. As you left the palace, your grandmother turned to you, her expression unreadable. “You did well enough, my dear. Now, the real challenge begins.”

The days that followed were a whirlwind of activities. You and your grandmother attended numerous teas, luncheons, and soirées, each event blurring into the next. Much to your grandmother’s satisfaction, you quickly learned to perform the art of polite conversation and the delicate dance of societal expectations. But, despite your best efforts, you remained on the fringes, overshadowed by this season’s more illustrious debutantes like Daphne Bridgerton and Marina Thompson. Something you didn’t mind, if you were honest. One evening, at one of many balls, you found yourself standing by the refreshment table, observing the throng of dancers swaying and waltzing to the music of the orchestra. You sipped your lemonade, suddenly feeling the weight of the season pressing down on you. So far, you had already managed to attract the attention of a few men of modest means, but no one of significant fortune or title. Nor someone you felt a connection with. “Feeling like a wallflower?” asked a familiar voice to your right. You turned to see Penelope Featherington, her kind eyes and warm smile offering a welcome respite from the sea of unfamiliar faces. Penelope - that much you already learned from the latest teas and get-togethers - was also often overlooked, but her sharp wit and genuine kindness had quickly endeared her to you. “Perhaps a bit,” you admitted. “It seems I am not quite like the diamond of the season.” Penelope chuckled. “Not am I, but I find it rather liberating. Less pressure to impress, more freedom to enjoy oneself.” You smiled, appreciating Penelope’s perspetive. “You are right. It is just difficult not to feel overshadowed.” Your conversation was interrupted by a sudden hush that fell over the room. You followed the gaze of the other guests and saw him at the top of the grand staircase: a young man with shiny light blonde curls and a noble aura, that gave away that he wasn’t some common noble man. He was a striking figure, tall and regal, with a presence that immediately commanded attention. Your breath caught in your throat as you watched him. For a moment, everything else faded away. He moved through the crowd with an air of confidence, exchanging pleasantries with the debutantes and their chaperones, who swarmed him like moths to a flame. “That must be Prince Friedrich! The queen’s nephew. I heard he’s here to find a wife!” Penelope whispered under her breath in excitement. “He’s even more handsome in person, isn’t he?” You tried to remain inconspicuous, but your heart raced as he drew nearer. You watched as he spoke with Daphne Bridgerton, his smile polite but distant, before moving on to greet others. “Of course he has to exchange pleasantries with diamond of the season,” the redhead next to you mumbled to herself. You could only nod, your eyes following the prince as he continued his circuit around the room. The prince was a dream beyond your reach, and a harsh reminder of the societal heights you could never hope to attain. The moment that thought crossed your mind, your eyes met his across the room. For a moment, everything else faded away. You imagined to see some kind of curiosity in his gaze, and something else - a surprising and unspoken connection send thrills through you.

“Is he coming in our direction? He is coming in our direction, is he not?” Penelope’s nervous squeal brought you back to reality. Before you could evaluate the situation, the prince - who was indeed coming in your direction - came to a sudden halt in front of you. The room seemed to hold its breath as he stood there with a smile that made your pulse quicken. “Good evening, Miss...” he looked at you with a questioning air, a warm smile still painting his lips. Penelope gave you a sudden nudge that broke you out of your trance, and you curtsied quickly. “Miss Withlock, your Highness.” “Miss Withlock.” the prince said, his voice soft and accented. “May I have the honor of this dance?” You barely managed a nod, your voice catching in your throat. “Of course, your Highness.” As he smoothly led you onto the dance floor, your felt a mixture of exhilaration and terror. You had hoped for an easy and unremarkable season, but now you found yourself in the literal center of attention, dancing with a prince while a shocked murmur went through the staring ton. The music swelled around both of you, as the waltz began. “You dance beautifully, Miss Withlock,” Prince Friedrich remarked genuinely, his eyes never leaving yours. “You flatter me, your Highness,” you replied, feeling a searing blush rise to your cheeks. “You are a most graceful partner.” He smiled, a genuine warmth in his eyes. “Please, call me Friedrich. Titles are for formalities, and I would rather this conversation not be so formal.” Your heart fluttered at his words. “Very well, Friedrich. But it would be only fair if you may call me Y/N.” “Y/N,” he repeated slowly, as if savoring the sound of your name on his tongue. “Tell me, how you finding the season so far?” You hesitated, then decided on honesty. “It has been... overwhelming, to say the least. But there have been moments of enjoyment as well.” Friedrich nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I can understand that. These events can be quite daunting, even for those of us accustomed to them.” You continued to dance, the world around you fading into the background with each move. You felt a connection with Friedrich that you couldn’t quite explain, a sense of ease and comfort in his mere presence. “I must admit,” Friedrich said after a moment, “I find these gatherings rather tedious at times. It is refreshing to meet someone who seems to share the sentiment.” You laughed softly. “I imagine being a prince comes with its own set of challenges. Do you often feel out of place?” Friedrich’s eyes darkened slightly. “More often than I care to admit. There is a great deal of pressure to meet expectations, to play a role that is not always true to oneself.” You nodded, understanding all too well. “I can relate. My family’s... history make it difficult to navigate these waters. There are expectations, hopes and judgments that seem impossible for me to escape.” Friedrich’s grip on you tightened slight, a comforting gesture. “I know well what it is to carry the weight of family expectations. But I also believe that we must find our own paths, make our own choices.” You looked up at him, heart pounding at his honesty. “Do you truly believe that, Friedrich? That we can choose our own destiny?” He smiled, a light in his eyes. “Yes, I do. And I believe that it is worth fighting for.”

You danced in silence for a few moments, a feeling of belonging and mutual understanding between growing stronger with each step and twirl. You suddenly felt a sense of hope you hadn’t known before, a belief that perhaps, just perhaps, there was a chance for something extraordinary in your life. As the music drew to a close, Friedrich led you to the edge of the edge of the dance floor, his gaze never leaving yours. “Thank you, Y/N. This has been the most enjoyable dance I have had in a long time.” “Thank you, Friedrich,” you replied softly. “I feel the same.” Bowing slightly, a smile played on his lips. “Until we meet again.” As he moved away, you abruptly felt the weight of countless scrutinizing eyes on you, and heard the whispering of the merciless ton around you. Lady Whistledown would surely have much to say about this encounter. “Y/N, you were magnificent,” Penelope whispered, pulling you away from the judging gazes, back to you shared spot at the wall. “He could not take his eyes off you.” You shook your head at her, trying to quell the rising tide of hope and fear. “It was just a dance, Penelope. Nothing more.” But even as you said those words, you knew they rang hollow in your heart. Something had shifted with you - a new, unknown path unfolding before you. The carefully laid plans for an uneventful season were crumbling and, as the evening drew to a close, you felt a mixture of emotions: excitement, fear, and a deep, unspoken yearning.

Back home, as you prepared for bed, your thoughts kept returning to the prince. You wondered if you had the strength to navigate the treacherous waters of the ton. But one thing was certain: your debut had been far from ordinary, and your heart had been irrevocably touched by a prince.

[antoncore]

calling after me | j. sc

now playing: wallows - calling after me

contains: smut (minors dni), fluff, jealousfwb!sungchan, recording, hickeys, breeding kink, reader is painfully unaware of sungchan’s feelings for her

word count: 2.7k

synopsis: jung sungchan, the university football team's captain, is your friend with benefits, but feelings start to complicate things. his sudden affection towards you leaves you confused as you navigate your own emotions. could your relationship with sungchan develop?

a/n: hope you guys enjoy this and i’m sorry if this pure yap! also just to clarify when i say football i mean what americans call soccer lmfao

you didn’t know how you got to this point with jung sungchan. he was one of the hottest guys on campus, being the captain of the university football team and you were just… you. just an average student just trying to get through university. you weren’t unpopular but you weren’t popular either so you never understood how this happened. from being complete strangers in the same class to becoming project partners, then friends, and now...friends with benefits. initially, you had agreed to this arrangement because you had just had your heart broken by this guy you were seeing and you didn’t want to jump into a relationship for a while.

but you had started to form feelings for sungchan, something that you promised yourself you wouldn’t do. you didn’t want to have this discussion with him as you didn’t want to risk your friendship so you started to hook up with other people to fill the void. the other people you’d hook up with would always try to take you out on dates but you weren’t interested at all, nobody could compare to sungchan. the way he genuinely cared about you, the way he’d prioritise your pleasure over his own and the way he always paid attention to you to figure out what you liked (and didn’t like) and the way he always made an effort to take care of you after sex had you falling for him.

today was another sunday in the library, studying for your end of year exams that you were dreading. you put your music on, not expecting to be approached by anyone but you felt a tap on your shoulder. it was sungchan, holding your favourite drink. “hey, y/n,” he whispered with a warm smile, “i noticed that we haven’t been seeing each other much lately because we’ve been studying lately so i thought i might bring this for you.” admittedly, you had used the exam period as an excuse to see sungchan less as you weren’t ready to confront your feelings for him. “thank you, sungchan,” you whispered back as you took the drink, trying not to blush, “that’s really thoughtful of you.” sungchan’s smile widened at your reaction to his attempt to show you affection. “of course y/n, anything for you,” he replied softly, the way he looked at you making you weak. “by the way, how long have you been here, huh?” you laughed nervously knowing that he cared enough to ask. “a few hours now,” you admitted. “you’re coming with me for a walk right now y/n, you need to take breaks.”

you hesitantly got up, feeling equally nervous and excited to spend time with sungchan. you walked around the local park, your heart beating so fast. “you know, you look really good today y/n. well you look good everyday but i thought i’d tell you” he said, unable to take his eyes off of you. “thank you, sungchan. you’re so sweet towards me,”you replied, blushing. “sweet, hm? you’re so cute when you blush y/n, only ever seen you do it when i fill you up with my cock,” sungchan says, smirking as you both gaze at each other. you can’t help but blush even harder when he mentions what you’re like in bed. you then look away shyly and you both go silent, deciding to enjoy the walk.

sungchan walks you back to the library and before you part ways, he pulls you in for a hug which was unusual for him to do. “thanks for the walk chan, i enjoyed it a lot,” you say. “anytime, y/n. i like spending time with you. speaking of, how about you come to my football game on thursday? i know it’s exam season but you deserve to have a bit of fun too,” he suggests, his eyes hopeful. he had never asked you to attend a game before, just asked you to make sure you’re available after in case he needed you to relieve his stress. “of course, i’d love to,” you replied, smiling. “5pm at the campus grounds. i’ll see you there, bye y/n,” he says, smiling again before turning away. you continue studying, unable to stop thinking about the game in a couple of days.

it was the day before the game and you were in your room. your latest hookup, jay, had just left and you couldn’t help but feel guilty for sleeping with another guy apart from sungchan. but it was ok to, right? you needed to distract yourself from your feelings plus you didn’t want to believe that sungchan liked you unless he told you directly. you hoped that you’d know soon so that you could finally feel at ease.

game day was finally here and you were so excited. you put on the team shirt with a short skirt, wanting to catch sungchan’s eye. you also incorporated lavender purple, the team’s colour, into your hair and makeup. you did this tying a ribbon in your hair and doing a lavender eye look. you walked with some of your friends to the game, meeting with everyone else there. sungchan instantly spotted you and ran to you excitedly, abandoning the conversation he was having with his teammates. “hey y/n! wow… you look amazing and the lavender suits you well, you should come more often!” he said with the biggest smile on his face. “thank you chan and good luck! you’ve got this, i believe in you!” you replied, hugging him. and off he went, back to his last-minute training session with his teammates before kickoff.

as the game came to half-time, jay approached you, smiling at you flirtatiously. “hey y/n, didn’t know you liked football. guess we can watch together for the rest of the game, like a first date?” he said, putting his arm around you. you smiled politely, not wanting to be rude. sungchan ran over to the sidelines to talk to you once again, his expression turning sour at the sight of another man talking to you. “hey, y/n! how are you enjoying the game?” he asked in a possessive tone. jay walked away very quickly, getting the hint. “i’m enjoying it a lot, sungchan! you’re playing really well!” you responded excitedly. “i’m glad you’re enjoying it because we’re going to win!” he said with determination in his voice.

sticking to his words, the team won 7-2 and the crowd cheered happily. sungchan’s teammates lifted him up in celebration but his eyes could only look at you. once his teammates put him down, he rushed over to you and hugged you tighter than ever before. "y/n, you have no idea how much it means to me that you came to support me today," sungchan whispered into your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "couldn't imagine celebrating this victory with anyone else but you." you looked at him lovingly as you said “i’m so fucking proud of you, channie. you played amazingly!!!” “well y/n, we’ve got to celebrate right? how about we go to my place and have some drinks? i don’t feel like going out with the others, just want it to be us two,” he suggested, gazing at you warmly. as you nodded, you felt your heart beat rapidly at the thought of spending more intimate time with him. “i’d love to sungchan,” you said, your voice filled with anticipation. “just wait for me where the changing rooms are, ok? need to have a shower and get changed,” “of course, channie” you replied before he went to the changing rooms.

you waited outside for sungchan. after a few minutes, he came out wearing a black jacket over a plain black t-shirt and jeans. he looked so effortless that you fell even deeper for him in that very moment. “ready?” he asked, offering you his hand. you took it, feeling a surge of excitement through you as you walked together towards his place. he unlocked the door, taking off his jacket and leading you to the kitchen. “so, what drink would you like? i have almost anything you could think of,” he said, pointing to the bottles behind him. “whatever you’re having channie,” you replied as your eyes met, giving you butterflies. “i’m thinking wine, it’s a special occasion, right?” he suggested with a soft smile. you nodded. he poured the wine, giving you your glass and then sitting at the kitchen counter.

as the night goes on, you both get drunk and your conversations became more candid and vulnerable, both sharing your secrets, dreams and fears when all of a sudden the topic of hooking up is brought up. just as you’re about to respond, you get a call. it’s jay, the guy you hooked up with recently who desperately wanted to take things further despite you making it clear that you didn’t want the same thing. “give me the phone right now, y/n,” sungchan says, his voice low and possessive as he takes it out of your hand. he answers the phone, listening to jay attempt to convince you to meet with him again. sungchan couldn’t help but feel extremely jealous, he could feel it completely consuming him. “listen here jay, i’ve already tried to show you earlier at the game that she isn’t fucking interested but you’re clearly too dumb to understand that. so leave her alone and move on, she’s with me,” sungchan said, his frustration very clear. you’d never seen sungchan so possessive before but there was something undeniably attractive about it. he abruptly ends the call and turns to you, moving as close as possible to you as his eyes locked with yours. you could feel the tension between the two of you in the air but he breaks the silence.

“you know, y/n,” sungchan begins, his voice filled with vulnerability. “i’ve been feeling overwhelmed by my emotions lately and i can’t hide them from you anymore. i’ve tried to show you how much you mean to me but i think i need to be direct. i love you and i have for quite some time now,” he continues, trying not to get emotional. “i can’t do this arrangement anymore. i want more with you. i want us to be together as a couple. will you be my girlfriend, y/n?” he asks, his voice trembling slightly with nervousness and anticipation. you took his hand in yours and looked into his eyes lovingly and with a smile, you replied “of course, channie. i’ve been dreaming of this day for so long, you don’t even know.” sungchan’s eyes instantly lit up with joy, his heart filled with happiness. “really? you mean it?” he asked, unable to contain his excitement. "absolutely," you said, your heart overflowing with love. "i love you, channie, and i want to be with you, now and always." a wide smile spread across his face as he pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you close as if he never wants to let you go.

“by the way, i got you something,” sungchan said, reaching into his pocket. he pulled out a small velvet box and inside was a stunning necklace with a heart pendant with his initials. you gasped in awe of the necklace, it was so pretty and he was so thoughtful. “channie, i-it’s beautiful,” you said gratefully. sungchan smiled warmly, his eyes filled with adoration as he took the necklace and clasped it around your neck. “now, everyone will know that you’re mine,” he said softly. he couldn’t help getting turned on by the sight of you wearing a necklace with his initials on it. he kept thinking about how you’d look when you two would have sex, especially in missionary. god you’d look so gorgeous, he thought as his cock got harder. he got up suddenly, grabbing your hand and going to the bedroom and then pinning you up against the wall.

“i need you, y/n. badly,” sungchan whispers, his voice filled with lust. he started leaving hickies on your neck, another way to show others who you belonged to. you moaned softly as he used his lips on your body, loving the way it felt. “get on the bed for me, pretty girl,” he demanded. you obeyed him without hesitation, knowing he liked when you were obedient. as you laid down, sungchan looked at you with a balance of desire and tenderness in his eyes. you were truly all he ever wanted. he got on top of you and kissed you passionately, touching your body through your clothes making you moan lightly. sungchan helps you take off your clothes, admiring every inch of your body. “you’re so beautiful y/n, need to mark every inch of you so that everyone we see knows you’re mine,” he whispered as he kisses your body, leaving hickeys along the way on your tits and stomach. he looks down at your pussy, looking at how wet you were just for him. “this for me, hmm? so pretty, angel,” he whispers as he takes off his shirt, revealing his abs which you always found attractive. it’s not like you hadn’t seen them before but something had changed; you were now his girlfriend meaning he was yours, nobody else could have him.

“need to be inside you right now, pretty girl,” sungchan says huskily as he pulled down his pants, revealing his hard cock. you gasp as if this was your first time with sungchan even though you’d done this many times. “need you too, channie,” you whisper back, your voice sounding so needy for his cock. he teases you with the tip, making you whine desperately for more. he finally gives you what you want, giving you his whole cock deep inside your pussy as he fills you completely. “you feel so good, baby,”he says breathily, the pet name making you blush. he continues, going slow but deep so he can feel every inch of you. with each thrust, you were feeling so much pleasure as you arched your back. “hm baby, have an idea. wanna film this to send to jay?” sungchan says, his voice filled with excitement at the thought of what he’d just said. “mm, yes chan, need to show jay who i belong to,” you reply eagerly. sungchan grabs your phone and positions it so that it shows your pretty face as you take every inch of his cock. “tell jay who you belong to, pretty girl. look at the camera and tell him who loves you, who’s fucking you so good,” he whispers as he goes faster. “i belong to you, sungchan, only you,” you moaned, getting close to cumming. “that’s it baby, tell him again, be louder,” he demands. you comply, moaning louder and louder for him as he gets faster and faster, wanting to cum.

as you both get closer, sungchan’s thrusts get more urgent and his grip on you tightens, pulling you as close to him as possible. you were both speechless, unable to do anything but moan as the pleasure gets more and more overwhelming. he gets so greedy, fucking you even faster than he ever has making your tits bounce along with the pretty necklace he got for you. “gonna cum inside you, baby. gonna make you all fucking mine, understand?” “yes channie, make me all yours,” you whimper, close to tears as you cling onto him as you scratch his back, leaving your own marks on him. with a final thrust, sungchan fills you up with his cum as you cum at the same time. he moves the camera down to show his cum dripping from your pussy. “see jay, she’s all mine. look at that pretty pussy, dripping with my cum,” sungchan says, his voice possessive as he smirks at you.

sungchan stops filming, wrapping his arms around you as he holds you close. you felt so complete and cherished in his arms. his gaze softens, gently kissing you, comforting you. he gets up, grabs a cloth and cleans you up, his touch gentle and caring. once you were both settled in bed, wrapped in each other's arms, sungchan whispered sweet words of affection, his voice a soothing melody that lulled you into a state of tranquility. "you're everything to me, y/n," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin, "i love you more than words can express." you smiled softly, feeling warmth and contentment. in his embrace, you felt so safe, knowing that you were loved by the man you loved all along. as you drifted off to sleep wrapped in the warmth of sungchan's love, you felt a sense of peace unlike anything you had ever known before.

[fleur-a-whump]

Overloaded (#4)

Rocky Reunions Pt. 1

Surprise! This shit went FAST.

Guys I’m so excited. Caretaker has joined the chat! Fair warning, our caretaker cusses like a sailor (aka I’m indulging my fondness for the word fuck)

CW: physical violence, electrocution, shock collar, hero whumper, ex-villain whumpee, veiled threats

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Kai was idling in the hall, absolutely dreading the impending meeting. He knew it was important; knew the reasoning behind regular Hero League briefings. But they were just so boring.

He had sent his team ahead of him into the massive semi-circle auditorium that was currently filling to the brim with just about every hero in the League. If he already wasn’t looking forward to spending the whole meeting sitting still, he definitely didn’t feel like going in early and suffering small talk with teams he didn’t know.

He was planning to pace the hall just outside one of the main entrances until the meeting started, but the weird looks he’s getting combined with the cacophony of chattering heroes spilling out quickly becomes too much. He wanders deeper into the maze of hallways as he tries not to think about what the meeting will be about. He’s sure it will either stress him out or piss him off. Or both. That’s happened before.

There was a bathroom down this hallway. Figures he’d make his way to water. He lets his core pull him even closer, feeling the water flow all around him through the pipes. Kai turns the sink’s faucet just long enough to manipulate some water flow through the air. He sends it flying back and forth between and around his hands, playing with it like a fidget toy. The water flattens down to a thin disk between his hands before he pops it up to spin on the tip of his finger. It was his newest trick he’d been working on.

Kai is suddenly startled by a rough groan and a shaky, quiet voice exhaling a curse. The precarious disk splashes down over his hand as he loses his concentration. He shakes it off as he peeks down the bathroom corridor. The stalls are all open, but he can make out someone kneeling in the last one.

He sighs as he moves towards it, knowing he’ll probably regret it. He knocks lightly as he edges his way in.

“You good, man?” he calls.

The man kneeling in front of the toilet nods and takes a breath, only to lurch forward, dry heaving. He shudders violently in his crouched position, swaying.

Kai is behind him in a moment, steadying him by one shoulder. He stands there sort of awkwardly while he makes sure the dude isn’t about to crack his skull on the tile.

“Is, uh, is there anyone I could get to help you maybe?” he asks, equal parts concerned and uncomfortable.

It seems like the man hesitates before shaking his head. He spits into the toilet one last time before slowly, shakily rising to his feet. Kai backs off to give him space. He wipes his mouth and flushes the toilet before turning towards Kai.

Time seems to slow as the man turns towards him. Kai’s eyes narrow as he meets unmistakeable bright blue eyes and curly brown hair, mussed and sweaty but recognizable. Despite not wearing his typical gas mask-like villain disguise, Kai’s all but sure he’s looking at a notorious villain.

“Tinker?”

Tinker stiffens just slightly, enough to confirm Kai’s suspicions.

He lunges.

Two pipes on either side of the villain suddenly burst at the pull of the superhero’s powers. Water rushes fast and unforgiving, slamming into the villain’s chest with sufficient force to throw him into the tiled wall. Kai directs the water to pin and encase his charged hands for good measure. He lets out a strangled groan at the pain of being thrown into the wall and gasps to catch his breath.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Kai growls.

He lets out a breathy chuckle as he adapts to the situation, scrutinizing Kai for a moment. “Nalu! I missed you, man. Didn’t you miss me?” the villain jokes with a playful grin, only a slight strain to his words hinting at the immense pressure of water on his chest.

“I'm not fucking playing around, Tinker,” he snaps. “Look around. We're in a bathroom. I could drown you without even trying.” His powers pull at the water just beyond his fingertips, ratting the pipes and fixtures for good measure.

Tinker's grin melts off his face, just fast enough that Kai knows it was a front. “Look man, I'm supposed to be here. I promise, just ask Miguel Toro, ask Shadow.”

“How the fuck do you know that name?”

“I—because, dude!” Tinker bursts, then immediately flinches slightly at his own outburst. Kai raises an eyebrow at him, and Tinker sighs with another little groan.

“I-I know him because, I told you, I’m supposed to be here. I’m on his team,” Tinker says in measured words, clearly trying to control his frustration.

Kai glares down at him, trying to read the kid. He was a few inches shorter than Kai and looked skinnier than he’d last seen him. Dark circles like bruises stained his under his eyes, making his already intense blue eyes stand out even more. He’s slightly green still—a subtle sheen of sweat across his forehead—from being sick. From this close, he could just make out the faint edge of a bruised jaw and cheek covered with makeup. The kid doesn’t look too hot. Weird.

Most importantly, though, Kai can’t see any sign the villain is lying. He is a villain and being a good liar is practically Villain 101, but Kai can’t imagine how he could possibly know Shadow’s real name besides him now, bizarrely, being with the Hero League.

He sighs, easing back on the water pressure. Tinker drags in a deep breath.

“What do you mean you’re supposed to be here?” Kai prods.

“I’m—the new villain reform initiative, I’m the guinea pig. I came to the Hero League; they—they’re giving me a chance,” the villain says quietly.

Kai scrutinizes him one more moment before sighing and pulling the water away from. The kid slumps against the wall when he’s released, breathing heavily. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Tinker was more hyperventilating with fear than anything else. But this is Psychosis’ protege; he’s one of the most notorious new villains in the city. He's bested Kai several times. There’s no way he’s that afraid.

Kai forces the water back into the pipes he burst, wincing slightly at the damage. Two very burst pipes and maybe a dozen destroyed tiles. Plus the holes in the wall. He might’ve gotten a little carried away again. He grabs the villain’s arm tightly, freezing the holes in the pipes shut and making a mental note to let his supervisor know. Mari was gonna kill him. Six pipes this month. He sighs and shakes his head.

“Come on, let’s go find Miguel,” Kai grinds out, frustrated that this was now his problem. He pulls the pliant villain out of the bathroom with a tight grip on his arm.

They make their way through the halls in tense silence, only occasionally interrupted by Kai’s huffing and annoyed grumbling as it takes longer and longer to find Miguel in the maze of hallways around the auditorium.

Kai is just about ready to start yelling again when he suddenly feels a sharp, painful jolt of electricity shoot up his arm. He swears loudly, dropping the villain’s arm as fast as he can. He’s about to burst some more pipes in preparation for a fight when he realizes Tinker has yelped in clear pain and completely collapsed to the ground. The kid’s muscles are so tense it looks painful as he twitches and groans on the floor.

What the fuck, Kai thinks.

He crouches next to the villain, who’s clearly in severe pain, not sure what to do. Since when did Tinker’s electricity hurt him? Kai’s seen him use his powers plenty of times before, and he’s never seen anything like this. Is this some kind of weird trap? He doesn’t touch the kid, not wanting to get shocked himself, but his hands hover over him, not sure what to do.

Eventually, it seems like the electricity that’s rendering the villain totally immobile subsides and he gasps, tears suddenly spilling over. He shakes and quivers through the aftershocks, gulping oxygen. His pain seems too genuine for this to be a trap.

He puts his hand on the kid’s arm and he flinches like he’s been burned. The kid whimpers in pain, eyes glazed over and not quite there. Kai realizes he’s mumbling something under his breath and leans closer. He can just barely make out what the kid is saying.

“I-I’ll be g-good, I’m sorry. I’m trying, p-please, I’m s-sorry,” he stutters.

Kai grabs his arms a little more firmly this time and doesn’t let go even when the villain flinches again. He shakes the trembling kid lightly, trying to get him to snap out of it.

“Tinker? Come on, man. What the hell is going on?”

Tinker’s eyes eventually clear. He blinks up at Kai—so openly vulnerable and confused and scared that it startles him. He’s not sure what to do with that, so he decides to focus on anchoring Tinker in the moment, clearing his throat.

“There you are. You good?”

Tinker gives him a hesitant and shaky nod that’s not really convincing. Kai watches as the kid blinks a few times and a clearly well-practiced mask slips into place, hiding the raw emotions he just witnessed. He struggles to push himself into a sitting position, and Kai helps him sit up.

“What the fuck was that?” Kai asks when he seems more lucid.

“Uh, it’s—well, it’s a warning. Miguel must be l-looking for me. I-I have to get back to him, like now,” he says, a little panicked.

He struggles to his feet before Kai can do anything to help. He has to stand quickly himself to steady the villain before he crashes to the floor again. His steps are clumsy and unsteady, but urgent as he looks around, trying to find his way back to Miguel.

Kai hurries after him, even more confused and alarmed now.

“Wait, what the fuck do you mean ‘a warning’? Was that not your powers?”

Tinker shakes his head, pulling the collar of his shirt to the side wordlessly to expose a thin metal ring around his neck. Like a collar.

“Again, and I cannot stress this enough, what the fuck?” Kai exclaims.

The villain shakes his head, dismissing Kai’s question, and suddenly lets out a very relieved sigh when he peaks around the corner.

“Miguel! I’m right here!”

Kai follows after the villain, now jogging towards Toro.

Miguel does not look happy. “Get the fuck over here, Jasper. Where the hell did you go?”

Jasper? Kai thinks. It’s strange to think of the villain as anything other than his villain moniker.

Jasper slows slightly, nerves returning to his shaking frame. “I-I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, I was sick and, and then, uh,” he breaks off, looking back pleadingly at Kai for support.

Kai’s really not sure why he opens his mouth. But he does.

“Yeah, I, uh, held him up. That’s my bad.” It wasn’t technically a lie. He fixes his gaze on the team leader, “Um, he’s on your team, Miguel?” he asks.

“We’re keeping an eye on him.”

Kai could swear he sees Jasper deflate a little out of the corner of his eye.

“You’re getting ready to hear about it. Why don’t you head in to sit with your team, Kai? We’ve gotta go get Tinker here set up,” Miguel says, stiffly, grabbing Jasper’s arm tightly and starting to tug him away.

Jasper looks back at him once more, gratefulness and something else hard to read, something maybe like resigned fear, swirling in his eyes.

Kai watches the pair go, Miguel pulling Jasper close by the collar of his shirt as he drags him down the hall, whispering something sharp and terse in his ear. The villain tenses, stiff but yet still pliant in Miguel’s grip.

Kai sighs to himself.

What the fuck.

~~~

Grumpy caretaker is grumpy! Not sure when or how that happened because I really didn’t plan on him being grumpy he just kinda manifested that way lmao. He a little confused but he’ll get the spirit I promise. Elijah might have to bully him into it a little bit tho.

tags!! hello again!! I love you!! I hope this actually works this time!! lmk if you wanna be added or removed anytime :)

@whumpsday @sergeant-jasper @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @crystalrose141 @aloafofbreadwithanxiety

@paingoes @elizaisnotokay @quaggasus @defire @tonystark604

@writereleaserepeat @whump-queen @clickerflight @gliittergelpens @kawaii-cakes

@whump-in-a-million @scoundrelwithboba

[queenie-ofthe-void]

A Desperate Fool - Part 2

written for @steddiemicrofic

Prompt: 'top' | wc: 510 | rated: T | cw: hurt/no comfort (comfort is coming I promise!), mentions of child abandonment, breakup fic, AU-Modern Rockstar!Eddie

Part 1

~~~

“Hey, Teddy Bear!”

Eddie quickly scans for the voice piercing the buzzing swarm of paparazzi outside his home. It’s a cold winter night, yet after his public outburst with Robin a week ago and the ensuing onslaught of viral videos, they never seem to leave. Attention that used to have him feeling on top of the world now only leaves him feeling like the scum of the earth.

The overtly personal nickname rings through his memories, filling him with hope and dread in equal measure.

If I’m your baby, Eds, then you’re my Teddy Bear.

A swath of red hair and a high fade catch his gaze against the light snowfall. The boy’s usual charming smile’s been replaced with a cold stare, while she’s actively scowling. Eddie rushes through the crowd, excited to see them after so long despite the circumstances. He pulls them into the safety of his home, slamming the door behind them.

“Did you honestly think Steve was the only person you abandoned?” Max asks, before Eddie can even say hello.

Abandoned. A low blow, throwing Eddie’s childhood in his face, at least before he was adopted in all but name by the Wheeler’s. But coming from Max, he thinks maybe it’s fair play. She’s always been more Harrington than Mayfield, Lucas too. Out of the bunch, they’ve always been Steve’s kids.

“Mike had to go back to therapy! Nancy actually cried,” she spits, pacing the foyer while Lucas stands stoic by the door. 

“I didn’t think they’d-” Eddie starts before he’s interrupted.

“What? That your family wouldn’t be upset, feel as betrayed as Steve?” Lucas finally speaks up. “So when you bragged about outgrowing your roots, that wasn’t supposed to mean us too?”

Eddie shrinks in on himself. He’s being admonished in his own home, and he knows he deserves it. He knows, truly. He just can’t handle the overwhelming aches of guilt and regret, which pang louder with each disappointed loved one. Another reminder he’d surrounded himself with people who only care about Metal Munson. 

He’s foolishly desperate to win back his family, people who loved him for himself. He wants to be Eddie again. His baby’s Teddy Bear.

“What-” he tries again, forcing words around the growing knot in his throat and watery eyes. He’s cried so much lately. “Why are you here?”

Max eyes him skeptically, glancing at Lucas and sharing a look Eddie can’t decipher. They make a silent decision, and she moves to stand by her husband at the door.

“Steve’s getting married this summer,” she states, like it’s nothing. Like it’s not the end of Eddie’s world.

The tears fall, then. He loses control of a sob before he gets his voice back. “To who?” he pitifully asks, pretending he actually wants to know.

“You don’t know her,” Lucas replies.

Her. Her. Herherherher.

“Oh,” Eddie says softly. He can’t stop shaking, or is the earth quaking beneath him.

Max sighs, sympathetic, and rips his world open further still.

“Steve wants to talk, but you’ll have to get through Nancy first.”

Part Three

~~~

I SWEAR it's gonna get better!!! Some solid Eddie and Nancy comfort coming up next. Think I might keep adding on to this fic via prompts only but we'll see.

[tightjeansjavi]

Dinner & Diatribes

A/N: I wrote Dinner & Diatribes back in December and quickly realized that this would be a two-parter that is going to quite literally rip my heart out and stomp all over it. @corazondebeskar & @kedsandtubesocks have been my two cheerleader’s through this and I’m equally excited and dreading writing through the second and final part 😔

Summary: you’re the kind of love that Joel Miller has been dreaming of all his life

Pairing | Cowboy/bounty hunter! Joel Miller x female runaway!reader

Warnings: smut,fluff, angst, canon typical violence, major character death, cowboy in shining armor vibes, unprotected piv, implied age gap, implied abuse (not by Joel) Joel is a bounty hunter during the Wild West, reader is a runaway bride wanted for murdering three men, AU that might not 100% be historically accurate, reader has no physical descriptions such a skin tone or body type, readers nickname is Chickadee, +18 minors dni!

Part 1 - Dinner & Diatribes

Part 2 - Goin’ to California (coming soon)

“that’s the kinda love I’ve been dreaming of”