#☠ ( Arms of Power. )

[yandere-wishes]

｡ ₊°༺ Pink Pony Club ༻°₊ ｡

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆Yandere! Dr Phosphorus x Reader ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧

⋆.𝄞𝓟𝓲𝓷𝓴 𝓟𝓸𝓷𝔂 𝓒𝓵𝓾𝓫 𝓑𝔂 𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓵𝓵 𝓡𝓸𝓪𝓷𝄞˚.⋆

✮★✮ Oh Mama, I'm just having fun, on the stage in my heels it's where I belong, down at the Pink Pony Club, I'm gonna keep on dancing at the Pink Pony Club. ✮★✮

⋆☠︎︎⋆ He lets the music roll over him, allowing the drums to melt over his flames and bleed into the marrow of his black bones. When you dance, you have to focus on the turn out of each step, on the wave of your arms, when to stiffen when to loosen. It makes it all so easy to forget the pain of being constantly on fire. To forget the melancholy that festers inside you. When the adrenaline is this high, you can only make out the strobing neon lights and the dazed amusement of the crowd.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ It's hard to hate the music and the lights, to shy away from a crowd so easily fascinated by the gleeful macabre. It's really the most sanity-inducing thing you can cling to when your body has turned into the thing you once loved. When you've become your research after watching your old self die in a furnace at the hands of those who once wielded all the power in the world. Funny how we make our own monsters, funny how the thing that kills us, is nothing more than the very man we once tried to kill, now engulfed by his own invention. Phosphorus spins, left leg, right leg, jump, and twirl.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ The dancing, the music, the clapping, the lights, it's all so perfect for melting away the terrible things that slither inside him, to burn away all those good memories until the kill and the luxury are all the remains. It's getting just too easy to forget his son's face, to forget the smile his wife gave him on their wedding day.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ There's a moment between moments when the world seems to stop. It's only then that he notices you, or rather notices what you're wearing. It's the dress he thinks, pink like the mushroom clouds he'd once adored, like the sunset framing devastation. Or maybe it's the way you have your hair so cruelly tied. Tight circle above your head like an atom waiting to explode. In a flash it's over, someone is handing him a drink. Another sitting on his lap. And he's thrust harshly back into reality, back to a world of trying to forget.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ Phosphorus is and always will be a man of logic. A man of science. He lets his fingers glide over the stack of pristine hundred-dollar bills. To think he'd spent his whole life begging for a quarter of all of this. Begging for scraps of funding to save the lives of thousands. It had all been so important once. Still, he can't help but let his mind wonder, what could he build with all of this? What could he solve, discover, create? He tells his men to lock it up in the safe, he's not ready to go back to all of that just yet.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ The next time Phosphorus sees you, he's half sunken into the plush couch of the VIP lounge. It's been a long day, a long tough day. Everything had gone wrong and all so right in the same breath. This time your dress is the shade of clouds marred by the blood of a dying sun. He should know this shade from the history books he'd used to read, the shade of skylines behind ancient temples. Back then he'd been trying to understand. Understand what he's not quite sure, he'd been so desperate to pry every little answer from the world. To chew their solutions, breaking them with his teeth and spitting out his own variation, his own thesis. He'd been so utterly convinced of his own intellect, convinced that reading Saadi at the same time as the latest research paper on Nuclear decay meant understanding the world.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ He watched with staunch fascination as you tried to dance. Following your friend's steps, heels stepping awkwardly completely out of tune. You bend your knees, sinking to the floor. And Phosphorus can't think of any excuses for why his cheeks feel hotter than usual. Why his eyes are permanently affixed to the sway of your arms.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ He thinks you look just like nuclear fission dancing in the limelight with your friends. Like you've split your own body to create them. Little atomic nucleus dancing under his microscope. You look perfect, your toned legs amplified by the radioactive pink of your heels. Long neck he'd love to kiss decorated with a thin string of gold. You don't look a thing like the other girls at the lounge, you look like an experiment beckoning him, seducing him into cutting you open, and observing how you explode.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ He's been following you keenly, trying to see what happens next. It's the fourth week in a row that he's forgotten about dancing for the crowd, about the girls who used to hang off his arms. He's too devoted to this experiment. "Nuclear scientist finds atomic bomb inside ancient temple from the bronze age". Phosphorus examines the sway of your hips, the bob of your head, and the crude kicks of your legs. There's something wrong with those heels, they're too thin, too high, inviting everyone to stare at you. But he's quick to shove them away, circling you from afar. He can't let anyone tamper with his experimentation. Certain matter performs differently when it knows it's being observed. So he allows the notion of invisibility, making you feel unobserved, safe in your own ignorance.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ He hasn't felt this alive in years. This ecstasy tastes utterly sweet, pure saccharine. It's the same thrill as watching your particles stabilize after days of trying to find the right frequency. Watching them organize into the right motion. And isn't that what you are? An ionized atom. After all, what is dancing if not ionization, if not trying to lose a part of yourself you can no longer bear?

⋆☠︎︎⋆ He's late tonight, rivals had somehow bled in and were after the safe from Phosphorus' newest heist. He'd burned them to a crisp and danced on their ashes until they flew away. But that doesn't change the fact that he's late, too late in fact. When he rushes through the door, men nervously run behind him. His eyeless sockets fall upon an uttermost dreary sight...

⋆☠︎︎⋆ The problem with people is that they never truly appreciate beauty. They treat it as if it's something to conquer something to tame. They never bother to understand it, to study it from afar whispering prayers of gratitude for bearing witness to this new discipline. The man's body is too close to yours, head following your lips, as you awkwardly try to sidestep. The moment you try to flee he grabs your wrist. You scream, no one ever hears screaming through the bass and the rhythm.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ There's smoke in your eyes, sickly-sweet honey in the back of your throat. It's all too acrid but at least the hand assaulting your wrist subsides. The thing in front of you glows green, an acidic neon green that feels too familiar in shade. You watch as the skeleton seizes your shoulders, such a warm touch hearthlike in every way. He pulls you closer till all you can smell is null and all you can feel is smothering warmth.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ You never quite quiver under his touch, never fully shy away when he cups your jaw and tilts your head. It's like you want the radiation, want to feel his nuclear essence bleeding into you. Maybe then you'll be whole. Maybe then neither of you will need the music, and the lights, and the crowd to feel whole.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ You never belonged in the clubs, it was painfully obvious you could never mold to their dances, their music. Your heels never fit right. Phosphorous knows he's been trying to do the very same for all so long. Neither of you needed to kill off your electrons, to throw them away to ignorant nobodies who would sooner hurt you for their own voracious motivations. "Give me your electrons and I'll give you mine." Phosphorus tucks your head into the crux of his shoulder, "I'll fuse with you so you'll never need anyone else."

⋆☠︎︎⋆ Phosphorus' hands mirror yours, swaying overhead before falling lower like the cascade of a wave. Side step, side step, stop, and bend. He thinks this is better than any club, any choreography he could do by himself. He feels so whole dancing only for your eyes. He feels so happy having you dance only for his eyes. Your palms touch as you circle slowly. Dancing like the airy rotation of electrons. There's no more dancing at the Pink Pony Club.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ What do you call a dance that feels like merging two atoms? What do you call it when your heart feels like the denotation of a bomb? He presses his lips to yours slowly, feeling the nuclei crash, a nuclear reaction, his tongue hum between your teeth endeavoring to melt away your fear. His fingers, dance across your hips heating up, leaving burning hearts and hand prints, claiming you as his, making you death just like him.

Lost the request for this but thank you so so much to the sender!! 💞💋💞💋

[edenspoem]

kneeling for her ⋆ | ellie williams headcanons

༺ ellie x fem!reader sucking her strap hcs/scenario! ༻ ☽𖤐☾

(ellie image from kittaeria on pinterest)

✧˖ ° 🕯 bright blessings!

AN: had the most random scenario blossom in my head yesterday so i wrote it per usual, went a lil more risqué with this one 😜at least to my standards

cw/tags: NSFW!! SMUT!! MDNI!! ellies a lil goofy in the beginning, blunt/straightforward-ish reader, not a fully wrote out fic, small time skips, sitting on lap, cursing, takes place in jackson but not specified to be before seattle (readers choice) soft-dom leaning ellie (except maybe less soft in one instance, nothing rough tho), guiding you verbally and with hands, praises, petnames; (good girl, baby, slut) sucking/choking on strap, clit stim (giving) strap-vag insertion, flatiron position, rewarding, gripping head/hair, deepthroating.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

setting the scene

༻⛧one dusty orange sunset, cooped up in ellie's makeshift 'garage house' relishing a simple meal she whipped up for the both of you, albeit can you really classify her attempts at the art of culinary as five-star cuisine? regardless, the two of you slumped into the gray sofas' sufficient padding and dined like kings; in apocalyptic standards. no conversation had been rustling the space between you until a rather, interesting, unordinary, dare say- scandalous? scenario had implanted its peculiar self into your thoughts.

"hey babe?" you quell the silence, tone arching in curiosity.

"mhm?" ellie garbled through shut lips, chowing down her food.

"you know.. we should- try something new-"

"ooh~ like what?" she instantaneously hunches her back closer to you and tosses her barren plate aside, avid to hear your words go from mind to mouth. she invariably dotes on your ideas.

"uh- it's like.. related to.. bed stuff."

"like sleepin- wait! can we pleaaasee build a display shelf for my comic books above my bed-"

"ellie." 

"sorry." ellie, even being an adult, is still crazy about her long-kept hobbies.

"uh- anyways. I'm talking 'bout like.. sex." you impenitently tell.

her eyelids dim, sloping her head to the side in adorned interest, "sex? that's one way to ask."

"no ..seriously, I have an idea.." you stow the plate atop a stubby heap of books, conveying a genuineness in your stare.

ellie sails her tongue briskly through her lips, anchoring her torso back onto the sofas' arm, lengthening her legs out with a faint bend at the knees. her palm drops to her thigh, patting it twice.

 "c'm over here." she coaxes sweetly with an alluring gaze, imbued with a pip of power in her vowels.

a suffuse of blush overlies your midface, crawling your body towards her beckon.

her hands steady your hips down on her lap, finding refuge on the back of your thighs thereupon settling.

"what's the idea, then?" the moods' been shifted, emanating one of sensuality.

you nestle near her headspace, whispering, "y'know ur' strap?"

"yeah.." ellie likes where this is leading, clearly by her rapt smirk and tune of chords rising in tempt.

"what if I sucked it?"

⛧ oh boy, that set off a night she wouldn't be forgetting for the inbound days ahead. immediately you found yourself levitating up from the couch by her arms and bouncing on the mattress. a makeout session leads to fated stripping and now, your kneeling in front of her at groin-level and a hunter green mass protruding towards your nose bridge.

her optics glare down at you, the sight of you so keen and willing to do this. sure, it's not the real thing but the sight should and will be fucking exhilarating. 

"c'mon, what're you staring at?" ellie's hand gently smacks your cheek and splinters your blurry-minded trance.

you deduct a reply from your mouth, instead, taking a solid grasp of the strap and wrapping your lips round' the tip, all while preserving unwavering eye contact.

"shit.." 

her hands ease and twine the locks on each margin of your head, massaging the pads of her fingertips tenderly. her arousals' climbing new peaks every second at this rate. she presses her pelvis further upon your lip, steering you to open up.

your lips part and welcome the rotund tip in, stroking along your front teeth. the weak grasp on your head pushes the strap languidly to a greater extent that bounds it to the back wall of your throat.

"ach-" you jab out a cough.

"good girl, take that shit in.." 

⛧she's one to be in control, but it's nothing rough. her hands guiding you back n forth gently as the strap summons spurts of tickles in your throat each time it prods the back of it. it'd be far enough to chafe the hilt against her clit, per usual any time she wears the contraption, so you'd always hear quaint whimpers, curses, groans, etcetera, from above.

"mhh~ fuuhhhhckkkk.." ellie draws out a long euphoric groan, straining her neck back and exposing the mild protrusion of her adam's apple.

catching up with the motion, you begin bobbing your head on your own accord. her hands dull their hold and hover above, letting you work your utter sorcery, mouth wide open and drooling for her.

her head recoils down, "such a slut- oohh~ fuck.." 

⛧again, she's not rough without consent and a special occasion, but she'll clutch your hair firmly enough. to you, it's like her non-verbal sign that says 'go faster'.

thrusting your head faster, her own moans begin to burgeon and crowd the room over your sucking and popping noises. she looks so fucking hot from your angle, a clement sweat, fucked out face, leaning slightly back so her pelvis projects closer to you, a solo hand supporting on the back of her thigh, the other latched onto the apex of your head and knotting strands of hair around her fingers. it's all getting to you. 

"oh- baby, fuck- keep goin'n.. uhn- shit!" the climax augmenting within her hips jitters the shit out of her knees, begging to just buckle underneath her and collapse on the bed.

"gh- hn.." your words fumble around ellie's cock, still putting your all into pleasing her. adding a grip on the strap and stroking it was endgame for her, the adjoined knocking against her swelling bud ruined her.

⛧ellie's definitely more of a groaner and a huffer when she comes, it's not growling level but it's certainly not fake exaggerated ones.

⛧i think she's also the type who'd want you to come as well, like, there is not a single night where she's the only one getting pleased, she has to see you unravel and lose your shit under her.

"stop, baby- stop.." ellie hastily hushes through heaves of breath, pulling your head from the strap to which it springs off your lips.

"huh..?"

"m'not cummin' without you- fuck.." her fingers take a grapple at your jaw, guiding you up onto your feet.

you give her a blank stare until it's washed away with a surprised one as you're cast onto the bed, stomach down, ass up. she shambles over you and flattens you out till your hips settle in the cloudy mattress.

she mounts your thighs and inclines her crotch to yours, slowly inserting into your cunt from the back. her nails chisel into your plush hips, thumbs notably indenting on your ass.

"oh-my gmm.. ellie.." 

"god damn-" she mumbles to herself, cuffing out a quick chuckle, "you earned this.." positively rewarding you for your work.

insert a loooong night spent railing.

⛧random conclusion hc but I feel like in this position where she's behind you she'll litter you with kisses and bites on your shoulder-neck region, especially for being so good and disposed for her. 

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

MASTERLIST

[gogogodzilla]

day 16, toys

natasha romanoff x reader warnings: nsfw 18+, jealous!reader, use of ball gag, use of double-sided vibrator, reader has electricity powers, slight dom! natasha, takes place during Black Widow, afab reader kinktober ☠︎︎ main masterlist ☠︎︎ read on ao3

You rested your head against the cool glass of the window as Natasha drove you to a safe house she knew. You’d just lost the only family you ever knew, and the loss still stung deeply in your chest. 

She grabbed your thigh and rubbed soothing circles on it, bringing you out of your thoughts. 

“It’s beautiful out here,” you commented, giving her a small smile. 

“Just wait until you see where we’re staying,” she grinned, and the lilt in her voice made you nervous. 

You’d stayed in some sketchy places before, and maybe you’d gone a little soft lately. But, nervousness gnawed at you regardless. 

As Natasha drove, the area surrounding you became more and more desolate. She came to a stop down a winding path. Your eyes widened as you took in the small metal trailer settled in the middle of a clearing. 

Natasha got out of her seat as you sat bewildered. 

“C’mon, hun,” she urged before shutting the driver’s side door, pistol held at her side. You joined her with a sigh, electricity arcing through your fingers as the both of you approached the trailer. 

Natasha’s footsteps were silent as she stalked toward the door. She opened it with one hand and made her way into the trailer. You followed wordlessly as she scanned the inside of the trailer. Finally, she kicked open the door to the bedroom and chuckled at the man sleeping soundly in the bed. 

You raised a brow and she put a finger to her lips. She leaned over the foot of the bed and tapped the man’s foot, a smile dancing on her lips. He jumped up, eyes flicking between the two of you. 

“You’re in my bed,” she noted, straightening. 

“I’m not even under the covers,” the man defended himself as he slowly got up. He led the two of you toward the front of the trailer. 

They talked for a few moments, and you observed as the man explained all the facilities that came with the trailer. Natasha stood at the bar and thumbed through the various IDs the man provided for both of you. You stood behind her, looking out the window in front of the sink. 

A lull fell over the two, and he leaned in, “Are you okay?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Natasha answered, her voice wavering. You straightened and hovered protectively behind her. 

The man shrugged, “I hear things. Something about the Avengers getting divorced…” 

You scowled, and Natasha placed a placating hand on your thigh. Rick was someone you could trust, she’d said. He’d done her a huge favor by helping the two of you. Still, you didn’t like him poking around in your business. 

Natasha bowed her head for a moment. “It’s fine. Besides, I have all I need right here,” she said, snaking a hand around your hip. A warm feeling swelled in your chest at Natasha’s display of endearment. 

The man’s eyes flicked between the two of you. You’d never made your relationship known to the public, but you also weren’t exactly hiding your feelings for each other. 

“Well,” the man clapped his hands together, “seems like you’re all set. Don’t call me if you need anything.” 

The man headed toward the door, chucking a little at his own joke. You narrowed your eyes at his back as he walked to his own car. Natasha pulled you away from the door, shutting it and blocking your view of the man. 

“No need to get your hackles raised, baby,” she joked, grabbing your chin with one hand. 

You pursed your lips and tugged your chin out of her grasp, pouting. She pulled you to her, bringing you into a tight hug. You stood there for a few moments with your arms at your side. Finally, you relented and wrapped your arms begrudgingly around her.

She released you and pressed a gentle kiss on your lips. “I like it when you get jealous, babe,” she teased before heading out the door to grab your bags from the car. You rolled your eyes before following her. 

Later that night, you sat on Natasha’s bed going through her dresser drawers, curiosity and boredom pushing you forward. Your hand landed on an array of leather attached to a silicone ball neatly coiled in the back of the bottom drawer. Your fingers danced over the gag, insides alight with excitement. You lifted it out of the drawer and nearly jumped out of your skin as Natasha’s footsteps neared. 

She watched you from the doorway, a black plastic bag in one hand and a beer in the other. You raised a brow, “You use this on all the girls you bring here?”

She smirked and moved forward to grab your chin, “Only for your pretty little mouth.” She pressed the bag into your palm, took the gag from you, and set it on the dresser. The bed squeaked slightly as she sat next to you, “I figured that if we’re going to be out here for the foreseeable future, the least we could do is have a little fun.”

You were skeptical, but nonetheless opened the bag. Your hand wrapped around the smooth surface of the small cardboard box and you pulled it out. The box was white with a blue device on the front. You gave Natasha a quizzical look as you attempted to decipher the Norwegian on the back of the box. 

“It’s a vibrator, baby,” she chuckled and your cheeks flamed. Her fingertips flitted over the top of your thigh, and you weren’t sure if it was nervousness or excitement bubbling in your chest. 

The bed creaked slightly as you both shifted and before you knew it her lips were on yours. You’d thrown the box to the side, too focused on the taste of Natasha. The air around you crackled with tension, and Natasha’s hands drifted up to cup your face and bring you impossibly closer. 

You scooted back, your lips still tangled with Natasha’s as you reclined on the plush mattress. She threw a leg over your abdomen, straddling you and trapping you between her thighs. Not that you were complaining, of course. 

She gripped your chin and turned your head, allowing her to brush feverish kisses along the soft skin of your neck. Your breath caught in your throat as she sucked a lovebite against your pulse point, and your hands ventured under the hem of her shirt. 

She trailed kisses up the side of your neck. A peck on your jaw, then your cheek, and finally your lips. You sit up and tug her shirt up and over her head, your lips immediately returning to hers. 

Your hands snake around her back and undo the clasp of her bra, which she eagerly slid off. Your fingers trailed up to fondle her breasts, and her hips jutted against your own. 

You pulled away panting and tapped her thigh, “Let’s get these off.” 

Her lips curved into a smile, “Look at you being bossy.” Nevertheless, she hopped off of you long enough to remove her jeans. The bed sunk under her weight as she crawled forward and helped remove the clothes that were separating her from your flushed skin.

Natasha pushed you backward and hovered over you.

“So perfect,” she murmured as her eyes raked over your naked form. She moved to touch where she could, tracing her hands over the column of your throat, down to the valley of your breasts, over your ribs, then over your hip bones. A soft whine left you as she avoided everywhere you needed her. 

She tsked and leaned over you to grab the ball gag. “As much as I love those pretty little noises you make…” she trailed off, and you opened your mouth for her. She was gentle as she clasped the buckle behind your head. Your lips wrapped around the silicone ball, and you took a deep breath through your nose. She took the vibrator out of its packaging, her eyes glued to yours. 

 Her hands skirted over the insides of your thighs as she positioned herself between them. She hooked her arms around your thighs, keeping you in place. She pressed kisses along your inner thighs, and you bucked your hips against her grasp. 

She pulled you towards her and licked a tentative stripe through your folds. Your whine reverberated against the ball gag. Her fingertips dug into your thighs as she latched onto your core. You arched your back against the mattress as her tongue expertly circled your clit before dipping down to tease your entrance. 

You tangled a hand into her scarlet locks, aching for something to ground you. She kept her plush lips attached to your clit as she slid a finger through your folds, gathering your slick. 

Slowly, she sunk a finger inside of you and you gasped as much as you could against the gag. She pumped her finger a few times before swiftly adding another one. Her pace was brutal, quickly rocking her fingers against you while her tongue continued its ministrations. 

She pulled away and the whine that escaped you was almost pathetic. She placed a placating kiss on your inner thigh before grabbing the vibrator and running it through your folds. 

You bucked your hips and clenched against nothing, desperate for anything she’d give you. Drool was slipping out the sides of your mouth, and you huffed a breath through your nose. 

She turned the vibrator on and circled it around your clit, and your hips jumped against her. The vibrator quickly replaced her fingers inside you, and you felt your release rapidly building within you. 

Your breath caught in your throat as Natasha lifted her hips and lined the other end of the vibrator up with her entrance. She threw her head back and let out a soft moan as she sunk down onto the vibrator. 

She grabbed the backs of your thighs and snapped her hips against yours. You let out a breathy moan against the gag, and she reached down to knead your breasts. She trailed her fingers up to wrap lightly around your neck as she ground against you. 

Your moans were increasing in pitch and frequency, and the air seemed to crackle around you. 

“You gonna cum for me, baby?” she panted as her her hips stuttered against your own. You furiously nodded your head as that familiar coil tightened inside you, seconds away from snapping. 

You gripped her forearm as your orgasm ripped throughout your body. The energy within the air made your hair stand on edge, and a high-pitched whine escaped you as the ceiling light above you brightened and then blew with a loud pop. 

Natasha jolted against you but continued her movements as she followed you over the edge. Once pleasure edged into overstimulation she pulled out of you, panting. 

She turned off the vibrator as she slowly pulled it out of you. You arched your back at the loss, and she rubbed a soothing hand across your thigh. She hovered over you to undo the buckle of the gag. 

Natasha pressed a kiss against your temple and then your jaw as she set the gag to the side. “Did so good for me, baby,” she praised, trailing her fingertips up your side. 

“That was fun,” you grinned. Your gaze moved up to survey the damage you did to the light. “Got any spares?” 

Natasha laughed and shook her head, “Nope.” 

You pressed your lips together and nodded. “Guess we gotta head into town.” 

“Yep.” 

[an0ldworld]

how i think Hobie would react to GN!reader calling them their husband casually, even though they’re not married.

Hobie Brown x GN!reader

established relationship, of course

warnings: none

requests: open i am BEGGING for requests i’m so bored

hobie, hobie brown !

★⋆ ⋆☆⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆☆⋆⋆★✧

okay, so we all know that hobie doesn’t believe in labels, but he also doesn’t believe in consistency so shhh

i’ve gotta imagine marriage is something he both hates and loves- the societal expectations for just two people to become legally bonded in these massive money wasting ceremonies just rubs him the wrong way

all a scam and propaganda to distract you from the truth with a passing moment of false sense of security, yeah ?

sooo if you just spontaneously call him ur husband one day, hobie is smitten because fuck norms am i right

like if it’s super off handed when ur with the other spider-people the brit is just so very overjoyed

“ay, yeh- you get that? you hear that? hus-band! that’s my hubby.” really enjoys spelling out the syllables, probably sling an arm around you at this point and is holding you so close while grinning like an anarchist that just tripped a cop into a puddle

you guys never called yourself labels like “partners” “boyfriends” or any of that, but Hobie’s a little obsessed w names like “hubby” and generally endearing names for spouses

isn’t a fan of the whole wedding band thing, yet another thing that’s robbing people blind with price of diamonds n shit

if you’re both comfortable just knowing that you love each other beyond what a piece of paper says, then he’s more than content to just happily know this and not do anything to beat the whole significance behind your guys’ rebellious approach to marriage

it’s your happy little secret how it went down. you both know it and your whole relationship has been a “we know we love each other, doesn’t matter what we call it or who else knows” kinda situation, because why would anyone else matter at point ?

that being said, mans less low-key around people like Miguel just because he loves to do everything in his power to make his life just a bit worse, because fuck authority

will talk about a non existent honeymoon that simply never happened, there are dozens of different retellings of this event that are completely fabricated

“remember on our honeymoon? when we- yeah, that’s it. still can’t believe we took down that syndicate.”

“Nah, they’ve got it. On our honeymoon, they [insert a comedic falsehood]”

likes to quote the wedding vows you guys never said, climbing through your window at night after being involved in a smack down, man’s roughed up and he’s just like “through sickness and in health” like a smug bastard before probably collapsing onto something. or you

★⋆ ⋆☆⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆☆⋆⋆★✧

this was a super quick thing i whipped together on a bus, lemme know if you wanna see this w different characters and i’ll see what i can do !

[wickedwitchofthegalaxy]

☞𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒞𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒶 𝒩𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓈 𝑅𝑒𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒☜︎

☠︎ 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒯𝓌𝑜: 𝑅𝒾𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔 ☠︎

𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: 𝑨𝒏𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏(𝑪𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒆𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒔)𝑿 𝑭𝒆𝒎𝑷𝒂𝒅𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒏!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Physiological Manipulation, Mature Themes, Mentions of Past Events

𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 5.3K

𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: This chapter teeters on the edge of transformation, where the promise of something greater begins to feel more like a curse than a gift.

𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈: Soooo this was totally unplanned but I thought I’d give it a go and see how y'all felt about continuing this storyline and possibly expanding it. Let me know what you think!

As always, banners done by @cafekitsune !

Enjoy 🖤

The sun dipped low, casting long shadows over the training room as you wiped your sweat-drenched face off. The room was crowded, more than usual, as trainees gathered in small groups, chatting quietly as they ran through drills.

“Come on, I didn’t even hit you!” Your friend, Lex, called from across the mat, her grin wide as she swung her training saber, trying her best to make the saber move effortlessly. Trying, being the hint word.

“Lex, you’re a maniac.” Your other friend, Abby, calls out from your side, her face also covered in beads of sweat. She takes deep, dramatic breaths, her back hunched over and hands on her knees as her head falls.

You gave her shoulder a gentle nudge as you passed her, stepping onto the mat.

“You’re getting more and more cocky, Lex. It’s actually becoming quite toxic.” You joke, swinging your own saber around in a quick, fluid motion, mimicking what Lex was attempting to do.

Lex scoffs, watching the way you swiftly twisted the saber in your hand before she blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Toxic? Me? I’m the least toxic person here. I’m like... the chamomile tea of this group.”

“Chamomile tea?” Abby repeats, arching a brow as she dusts off her robes. “Lex, you’re more like... a bottle of spice syrup someone accidentally knocked over into their drink. Chaotic and hard to swallow.”

“Wow, rude,” Lex shoots back, feigning offense as she takes a mock swing in Abby’s direction. “If I was so toxic, wouldn’t I have caused more… I don’t know… damage?”

Abby sidesteps easily, throwing her arms wide. “If we’re talking about damage, I’d like to remind you of the time you thought it’d be a great idea to duel Master Purn to ‘test his reflexes.’”

Lex cackles, the sound sharp and unrepentant. “In my defense, his reflexes needed testing. How was I supposed to know he’d use the Force to flip me into the meditation pool?”

You grin, sliding into your own stance and raising your saber, bringing Lex’s attention back to you. “I don’t know, maybe because he’s a Master and you’re... well, you?”

Lex points her saber at you, her grin widening. “Bold talk for someone who got ‘accidentally’ locked in the supply closet last week. Who was behind that again?”

“Oh, definitely an accident,” Abby threw over her shoulder as she walked around the edges of the mat, her voice dripping with mock innocence. “Totally not orchestrated by someone who thought it’d be hilarious.”

Lex shrugs, clearly unbothered as you both start circling. “Hey, you needed some alone time to reflect. Consider it... a gift.”

You roll your eyes. “Some gift. I was in there so long I memorized the Jedi Code backward.”

“Wow,” Abby says, clapping her hands slowly. “A true scholar emerges. Next thing we know, you’ll be reciting Master Purn’s lectures for fun.”

“Okay, let’s not go that far.” You reply, spinning your saber before faking a quick step towards Lex. She takes the bait and quickly steps back, giving you a small look when she recovers. You grin as you continue, “At least I didn’t blow up the training dummies during practice.”

Lex holds up a hand. “Hey, those dummies had it coming. I was innovating.”

“You overloaded the power cells,” Abby says flatly. “They exploded.”

Lex lunges at you, her saber coming down in a wide arc. You block it easily, the clash of the sabers sending a soft clunk echoing through the room. You push back, stepping into her space as you twist your wrist, forcing her saber downward.

“Come on, Lex, who taught you that move?” you taunt, grinning as she huffs in frustration.

“Give me a minute!” Lex retorts, stepping back and resetting her stance. “I’m just warming up.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” you reply, glancing at Abby, who’s watching with an amused expression.

“Admit it—you’d miss me if I wasn’t here to spice things up.” Lex adds, beginning the circling again.

You follow her lead, as Abby sighs dramatically from the side. “It’s like being friends with a hurricane. A very talkative hurricane.”

“A hurricane with style.” Lex corrects, striking a mock heroic pose.

The banter was easy, familiar—a rare pocket of normalcy in a routine that had grown more intense with each passing week. You could feel the eyes of the instructors watching from the edges of the room, their silent appraisals heavy with expectations.

It had been four weeks since you snuck out to the Underground with Lex and Abby. After the long and painful solo walk home, you had given the two of them a call to let them know you got back to your room before you let the anxiety of the upcoming trials and tests for graduation overtake and consume your thoughts, pushing down anything to do with that man or that bar.

You knew you were close to graduating, closer than most of the others here, and that only made the pressure more tangible. Every step forward felt like a test of its own, every glance from your instructors a challenge you had to meet.

Starting your training late hadn’t done you any favors either. Most Padawans began their journeys as young children—eight, maybe ten if they were late bloomers. At eighteen, you were among the oldest in the academy, and though your peers shared the same delayed start, the stigma wasn’t easy to ignore. It was a constant reminder that you were running out of time to prove yourself.

Before Lex can make another move, the door to the training room slides open with a sharp hiss, and a mechanical voice erupts in the large space.

“Apologies for the interruption,” the protocol droid states, its metallic tone cutting through the lively chatter of the room and echoing off the tall walls. Its polished bronze exterior gleams under the overhead lights as it strides forward. “Trainee Y/N, you are requested to report to the Council Chamber immediately.”

Silence.

You freeze mid-motion, lowering your saber as every eye in the training room turns toward you. Even Lex and Abby look momentarily stunned, the playful energy dissipating like smoke in the air.

“Uh…” Lex starts, lowering her own saber and glancing at Abby. “What’s this about?”

The droid doesn’t answer, its expressionless face making the moment feel draining.

A few whispers broke out among the other trainees, but they were quickly silenced with a sharp look from the instructors.

You shift uncomfortably, a knot forming in your stomach. “Is there a problem?” you ask, directing the question to the droid.

“I am not privy to the Council’s intentions,” it replies curtly, its head tilting slightly as if to gesture for you to follow. “You are to come with me immediately. No delays.”

Abby takes a step forward, her brows furrowing. “We’ll come too,” Lex offered quickly, Abby nodding in agreement as they both moved toward you.

The droid swivels its head toward Lex but doesn’t answer directly. Instead, it turns back to you. “Only Trainee Y/N is required. Please proceed now.”

Lex steps closer to you, her hand brushing against your arm. “Y/N…” she starts, her voice uncharacteristically uncertain and strangely quiet.

You force a smile, masking your own unease. “I’m sure it’s nothing.” The girls exchanged a worried glance, but they stayed where they were, clearly reluctant to let you go.

You nodded, offering them a small, reassuring smile even as your mind warred. You could feel the collective gaze on you as you followed the protocol droid out of the room. The absence of their warmth feels immediate, almost jarring, as if you’ve stepped into another world entirely.

The door hisses shut behind you, leaving the hum of training sabers and soft murmurs far behind. You’ve walked these hallways a hundred times, but now every detail feels magnified, every shadow stretching farther than it should.

The halls are quieter than you’d expected, the usual foot traffic subdued as you walked in step with the droid. “What’s going on?” you asked after a moment, unable to keep the question from slipping out.

The protocol droid doesn’t stop or slow its pace; its polished exterior gleams faintly under the breezeway lights, which is your only form of an answer until its robotic voice speaks up.

“The Council has made a decision regarding your future,” it replies simply, its tone infuriatingly chipper. “How exciting!”

You barely register its response, its tinny enthusiasm clashing with the growing tension in your chest. A decision? Regarding my future? The possibilities churned in your mind as you followed it through the long, polished hallways of the Temple.

The soles of your boots echoed softly against the smooth floor. Each step feels heavier than the last, the sound amplified in your ears like the steady beat of a drum, like each stride was a chance, a choice.

You force yourself to breathe evenly, to concentrate on the familiar surroundings: the intricate carvings lining the walls and the faint scent of incense wafting through the air. The arches and curves loomed larger than usual, their designs etched in stark relief against the soft glow of the lights.

Calm. Control. Focus.

The mantra comes unbidden, but now it felt like trying to hold water in your hands. Your thoughts were as scattered as the low chatter of the trainees you’d just left behind.

The Council’s decision could mean anything—had you done something wrong? The twisting in your stomach tightened with each passing thought as the droid led you around a corner, the Council Chamber doors now in sight.

They appear more daunting than ever; the entangled carvings in the wood glow vaguely, and for some reason this was the first time you had really given it a good look. They seem alive, almost springing with the burden of the decision waiting on the other side.

The droid stops a few paces from the entrance, turning to you with its usual brisk formality. “You may enter. The Council awaits.”

You hesitate, your pulse quickening. For a moment, you think of Lex and Abby, their worried expressions still fresh in your mind. I hope they’re not freaking out too much, you think, a faint smile tugging at your lips before it vanishes.

The heavy doors slid open with the familiar faint hiss, revealing the ominous circular chamber. Your heart rages in your chest as you step inside, the air noticeably cooler.

The semicircle of Council members sits before you, their faces calm but indecipherable. Master Yoda’s small frame is centered among them, barely filling the chair’s width. Beside him, Mace Windu’s gaze scrutinized you with a discreet vigor. Other familiar faces—Obi-wan, Kit Fisto, Plo Koon—flank them, their postures serene and suave while their eyes oozed judgment.

Your steps falter as your eyes catch movement. Seated beside Obi-Wan, arms crossed, is Anakin. His presence was unmistakable, a magnetic pressure that bends the air and shifts the room’s energy, or perhaps just your own. His expression is a collision of smug satisfaction and simmering impatience, the corners of his mouth hinting at something unspeakable.

He wouldn’t be thinking about that right now, would he?

The question roams in your head, but it’s quickly snuffed out by flashes of that night. The scent of bitter blood of the past erupts; you can practically taste it. With a swirl of your tongue, you find it’s not your imagination—the taste of copper is real; you had bit down into your cheeks, the red liquid pooling in your closed mouth.

“Step forward, Y/N,” Master Windu’s voice breaks through the silence, his tone firm but sympathetic as it echoes off the high, windowed chamber walls.

You obey. What else can you do? Taking measured steps, you stand at the center of the room, the Council’s combined stare resting heavily on you. The circle of them feels infinite; their eyes are oppressive as a black hole—nearly strangling, leaving you choking in its merciless pull.

And then there’s him.

Anakin’s eyes are magnets, pulling, trapping, forcing. Though he says nothing, his peering eyes are impossible to ignore. The memories of those eyes—the appetence, the control—crawl over your skin like insects. You resist the urge to recoil, but every step toward the center of the chamber it feels like stepping deeper into his shadow.

Master Yoda begins, his voice low and cracking, as if he were whispering a prophecy. “Decided, your future has been.” His ears twitch slightly as he regards you with wise, ancient eyes.

Your breath catches in your throat, sharp and ragged.

Decided? Already?

You fight to keep your expression neutral, the words and thoughts racing wildly in your mind.

Acid boils up your throat, dissolving the soft tissue it touches, as if your body is rebelling against the air itself. It takes everything in you to swallow it back down.

Master Windu leans forward, his words unforgiving in their clarity. “Your performance has been exceptional, Y/N. The Council recognizes your dedication and skill, and after much deliberation, we have decided that you are ready to take the next step in your training.”

The phrases landed like a gavel.

Ready. The next step.

You blinked, trying to process what this meant.

“You are to be assigned to a Jedi Master,” Windu continues. “A rare honor, especially considering your age and the limited number of Knights available to train Padawans at this time.”

Your heart convulses—a sudden, erratic spasm of exhilaration and disbelief. This is it. I’ve been chosen. The toll of the moment presses hard against you, grounding your excitement, and the master’s next words only bring the cold reality crashing down even harder, the bile rising back into your throat.

“However,” Windu says, the single word slicing through the fragile shell of your nausea as his voice dips, “it has not been an easy decision.”

Your eyes flicker toward Anakin, a mistake. His jaw tightens, the muscle twitching as he shifts in his seat. His eyes trace you—not with curiosity, no, he knows exactly what’s under your robes. He’s cataloging you, committing every movement to memory. His earlier smugness has curdled into something darker, the edges of frustration sensuous against his expression.

“Suggested, Master Skywalker did,” Yoda said, his tone soft but pointed, “that to him, assigned you be.”

Your gut tightens, a vehement twist of nerves, as your blood pummels through you. Your skin suddenly starts feeling unwelcoming, and each breath is a chore, the air scraping against your lungs—a visceral rejection of the words as they take root in your mind.

“But we’re not entirely in agreement on that.” Windu interjects, his hand rising, gesturing broadly around to each of the Council members.

You barely have time to process what Windu’s words might mean before more movement draws your attention.

Anakin’s fingers flex and uncurl against the armrests of his chair. He leans forward slightly, the tension in his shoulders coiling.

“You’re making a mistake,” he says. His voice was hushed and venomous, carving through the space with a lingering chill. “She belongs with me. You all know that.”

Wait—what did he say?

You glance at him, your eyes widening despite yourself. There’s a moment of silence, a heavy pause as the oxygen is eaten up by electric tension. Anakin’s eyes burn into Windu’s, his anger visible, and Windu returns it with a narrowed gaze.

“The decision has been made, Anakin. Your role now is to focus on the war. Not on training a Padawan.” Master Windu’s voice cuts in, his tone stern and slightly annoyed, like this isn’t the first time he’s had to tell Anakin this.

Anakin doesn’t flinch at the rebuke, but his knuckles whiten as he grips the armrests. His shoulders rise and fall with each breath, barely contained fury leaking out in the subtle tremors of his movements. His eyes twist to Yoda’s, “I can do both,” he insists, his voice pointed and more stubborn. “I’m more than capable.”

The Masters exchange glances, a silent conversation passing between them.

“Capable you are,” Yoda replies, his tone taking on an unyielding undertone to his usual laid-back manner. “Ready, you are not.”

Master Windu’s eyes grow empathetic as he tries to find a middle ground. “Anakin, you know we’re considering another master for her. One who has more time and is better prepared for this—”

Anakin stiffens in his seat, his head snapping toward Windu. “No,” he roars, his voice sharper this time, his frustration growing and becoming even more obvious to the other Council members. “You’re shipping her off to sit on the sidelines; she’ll never reach her full potential without the guidance of someone willing to—“

“Assigned you are—to Luther Koth. Final, it is.” Yoda insists, his voice rising and eyes stabbing daggers into Anakin. The whole room seems riled by his defiance, and the feeling seems to be directed at you.

The room tilts slightly as Yoda’s words sink in.

Luther Koth?

You’ve heard the name in passing, but you’ve never met him. The thought is disorienting, a crack splintering through the precarious balance of your emotions.

“Master Yoda,” Anakin persists, his voice rising slightly, and he half-stands, his body looming like a storm cloud ready to erupt. “you can’t just—”

“Enough, General Skywalker.” Yoda interrupts sharply, his eyes burrowing deeper on Anakin, “Strong in the Force, you are, but in check, your influence must be. Your path in the Republic is not to train Padawans at this time.”

“At this time,” Anakin repeats in a low mock, barely above a whisper, as his expression darkens while looking between the Masters. “This isn’t about my ability to focus; this is about her and her future—”

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan’s voice is like a whip crack, startling in its incisiveness. He rises from his seat, his hand raised in a silent command for Anakin to stand down. You glance at Obi-Wan, your heart hammering. His posture broadens and his eyes flash with warning as he continues, “This isn’t the time or place for this argument. You know better.”

Anakin doesn’t back down. His gaze flicks to Obi-Wan, then back to Yoda, his jaw tightening further as if clamping down on whatever he wants to say next.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin snaps, his head swiveling back to Obi. His vexation is evident in every muscle, every twitch. He looks like he’s about to snap. “I’m insisting.”

“No, I’m insisting.” Obi-Wan steps forward, his body angled slightly toward Anakin as if preparing to physically block him from advancing. His voice is low and punctuated as he follows up, “You need to step back. This isn’t about you or her right now.”

Your breath catches as Anakin’s eyes sweep back to you, searing into you with an intensity that feels almost physical. For a moment, the room fades—the Council, the chamber walls, even the low hum of air. All that remains is the haze of his stare and the unspoken promise it carries.

What the hell is he thinking?

“General Skywalker,” Windu cuts in, his voice colder now, expression solidifying into stone as he leans forward, like he too is getting ready to physically stop Anakin. “This discussion is over. You are out of line.”

Anakin straightens to his full height, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths as his cold edge sliced through the room. For a moment, it seems as though he might say something else, his lips parting—but then he stops. His breath hisses through his teeth as he crosses his arms. His rage coils beneath his skin, snarling, seething to break free, primed to explode.

You swallow hard, your throat dry as sandpaper. You’ve seen that look before; you’ve seen it up close. You wish you could disappear into the stone beneath your feet, to be anywhere other than here.

“You’re wrong,” he finally says, his voice barely above a whisper, but the words slam into the room, and they’re thick, as if they were made of lead and everyone was being forced to breathe them in. “All of you.”

For what feels like the longest five seconds of your life, Anakin doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. He just stands there, his eyes flickering between the Council members before finally settling on you. The room holds its breath.

And there it is again—that unspoken promise.

Your feet feel numb, like you have a gaping wound and are too far gone; the pins and needles feeling of blood loss. If the Council dismissed you right now, there would be zero chance you could pick up your legs and actually walk. That’s what his gaze did; it made your knees jelly and your spine snap in on itself. You weren’t sure if it was the Force or something deeper, nor did you have time to think about what reasons Anakin’s gaze was so different.

He exhales sharply as he lowers himself back into his seat, the large chair scraping against the floor with a dissonant screech. He rolls his shoulders, relaxing them as if dismissing everything that just happened, brushing the entire encounter off, as if the air didn’t crackle with the residue of it.

It's like he’s discarded the weight of the confrontation like a loose garment—yet there’s no mistaking that it’s still there, a rancid pulse between you all, stifling every breath. The others exchange looks, the tense stillness now broken only by the soft shuffle of robes as they all settle back into their seats.

You want to scream; you want to cuss him out like you should have that night; instead, you break the everlasting silence the rest of the council has been stunned into, your voice surprising even you with the confidence it carries behind it.

“If I may,” you state, not waiting for their full attention as you continue, “I’m honored to be assigned to Master Koth, and I don’t take this recommendation from the Council lightly. I will serve the Republic with everything I have. The stars will bend if those are my orders.”

Shock carves itself into the faces of the Council members, all their eyes dawning in on you. Anakin’s eyes are the harshest; you can feel them burning into the side of your face like twin suns. You keep your focus forward, refusing to turn toward him again.

“Strong words these are. Confidence you show, but prove yourself, you must.” Yoda’s tone carries no reproach, only an obstinate expectation, like the galaxy itself will hold you accountable.

“Indeed,” Master Windu adds, his presence back to the practiced ease that all the generals and masters plaster on their faces. “Serving the Republic is not just a matter of bending stars or showing resolve—it requires understanding, discipline, and the ability to make difficult choices. Master Koth will demand nothing less from you.”

You nod quickly, instinct taking over as you bow your head. “I understand, Masters. I won’t fail.” The words spill out, firm but automatic, and you’ve never been more proud of yourself.

Master Obi-Wan, still recovering from the heated debate, sits forward slightly. His tone softer than the others, but his words carry no less gravitas. “Master Koth is a man of principle and precision. He’s demanding but fair. Under his guidance, you’ll learn to navigate not just the battlefield, but the intricacies of what it means to truly be a Jedi.”

And then, like clockwork, Anakin shifts in his seat. His posture is casual, almost disinterested, but his energy is anything but. His gloved fingers drum once against the armrest before his voice cuts through the Council's focus on you. “She’ll be fine,” he says, his tone deceptively glassy. His eyes flick toward you, and you feel the sting of his stare as he adds, “After all, she’s earned it.”

The words stick to you like barbs, digging into every insecurity you thought you had buried. You didn’t want to think it, didn’t want to have it confirmed that the exact and only reason you’re standing in the middle of the greatest Jedi of this century is because you were a slave for a night.

It’s not praise. Not really.

You feel your heart thud painfully against your ribs, and for a split second, you wonder if this is what a heart attack feels like.

Earned it.

The phrase clings to your thoughts like oil on water. His words weren’t an endorsement; they were a reminder, a branding. A mark that would be with you forever, no matter what path you take.

You hold yourself still, despite your mini heart attack, your lips forcing a polite smile, and the quiet resolve in your chest swells just enough to remind you that you are here for more than just Anakin’s twisted perception of you.

The silence stretches until Master Yoda speaks, his voice cold and drained. “You may go. Prepare for your meeting with Master Koth. Tomorrow, it will be.”

You bow again, a little deeper this time, feeling every eye in the room on you. The finality in Master Yoda’s voice motivates your previously jellied legs into a half jog until the heavy doors close behind you. Even then, you don’t stop, your jog turning into a full sprint. Your arms pump furiously, pushing your body forward.

Earned it. Earned it. Earned it.

His voice—the phrase—is a poltergeist, a haunting in its own right. You try to push it away, but Anakin’s words seem to cling to you, like a shadow you can’t outrun, but you’ll be damned if you won’t try. Your feet put more distance between you and the Council’s chambers, but your mind is still trapped in the middle of it.

As you round a corner, you come face-to-face with your two friends. Nearly toppling over them as their arms secure you, both of them speaking too quickly for your already racing mind to grasp.

“Whoa, slow down, Y/N. What happened?”

“Yeah, are you ok? Did they find out about us sneaking out?”

You want to tell them everything—the drunken spill, the velvet-lined back rooms, the violence, the desire, the new position—but the words never leave your lips.

Tell them! Why are you questioning their intentions? They’ve never betrayed your trust. They’ve never done anything to ever insinuate that they would be anything but forgiving.

“Yeah,” you say, the smile you force out too tight, too strained. “I’m fine. Just… just…”

Tears prick at your eyes, and within seconds both girls are steering you to the dorms, both their arms wrapping tightly around either side of you like a blanket of protection.

The familiar, comforting warmth of their embrace is almost enough to make the tears pour out, but the words still lash at your insides, louder now than before.

Earned it.

Your blood pumps furiously through your veins, pulsing in your ears to the point where your friends voices are muffled, their words a jumble of vibrations. You feel the walls closing in, your lungs shrinking with each breath. But you can’t say it. You can’t tell them everything; you can’t shatter what little remains of your dignity. You need to keep it together.

Lex’s voice cuts through the haze, and though her words are soft, they pierce the growing fog around you. “You don’t have to hide it, you know. Whatever happened in there… you don’t have to keep it all in.”

You stiffen, a rush of panic flooding your chest.

How did she know?

But before you can respond, Abby adds, “We’re here for you. Screw them.” Her voice is quieter than Lex’s and holds a hint of humor but is equally concerned.

You find yourself retreating even further inward, madly trying to build barriers, to lock every detail away where they can't see it. Where you can’t feel it. You want to tell them, to let them help, but you can’t bring yourself to. You don't know how to explain the tangled mess inside you.

Your throat feels tight as you give them a small, weak nod, not trusting your voice to sound anything but broken. “I know... thanks, I just... I need some time.”

They guide you to your bed, sitting beside you and just letting the silence fill the space between you.

But even in your safe spot, next to your best friends and a good distance away from any higher up, Anakin’s words continue to reverberate through your mind.

Earned it.

Each time it echoes, it feels like another wound is being sliced into your back, like the physical embodiment of betrayal.

“Whatever’s going on... we’ll figure it out together.” Lex’s hand rests on your shoulder as she shuffles closer to you. You want to believe her. You want to, but you don’t. It’s like your body is trying to protect something, some part of you that’s still... untouched. Maybe it’s your pride, maybe it’s the fear of being completely vulnerable, but either way, the words won’t come out, and you can’t seem to shake the feeling that your life has just been uprooted in the worst way possible.

Instead, you lie back against the bed, your hands gripping the edge of your blanket, and just stare up at the ceiling.

Abby leans in slightly, her face in your view blurring as your eyes unfocus. “We know something’s up. You don’t have to tell us what happened in there, but if you ever want to talk... we’re not going anywhere.”

The words don’t land as they should. They don’t wrap around you the way they always have. They just make you feel heavier, more guilty. It’s almost worse, in some ways—being so close to the answers you can’t bring yourself to give.

Anakin’s words continue to torment your dazed mind, like a private torture session.

I bet he’d love this. Love to know how completely frozen you were. How fucking pathetic.

You turn your head slightly to the side, staring at the wall as if it could give you some reprieve from the chaos in your mind. But it doesn’t.

Earned it.

With every second that passes, that feeling of being trapped deepens. There’s no escape from his voice in your head, no hiding from the truth that it’s now a part of you. But somewhere, deep in the hollow ache in your chest, something else stirs. A sensation, too fresh to name, but oh so familiar.

It’s the flicker of something perilous, something dark and twisted, something that has been waiting for this moment. You try to ignore it, but it's there now, and maybe it always has been, crawling just beneath your feeble ego. It fills the space in your veins that his words froze with a fever that isn’t entirely unpleasant.

Earned it.

For the first time, you let yourself wonder if there's truth in it. Not the way Anakin intended, not the way he made you feel small, but a different truth, a truth that’s far more unsettling: What if you did earn it? What if everything that happened—that night, the Council, even this—was a consequence of destiny, true destiny?

What if you were already changed, and you just didn’t know it yet?

You sit up suddenly, the movement enough to make them both jump. The words you've been holding back, the questions, the doubts—they spill from your lips as they form in your mind.

“I don’t think I can be the person I was anymore,” you whisper, not meeting their eyes, because you know if you do, you’ll see the pity. You can’t bear that.

Anakin’s words have taken root in you, not just as a form of self-torture but as something far more insidious. A seed planted in the fibers that are you, ready to grow into something more dangerous than any of you can imagine.

Something alters. Not in the room. Not in them. But in you. It’s a momentary flicker, a beam of clarity—a glimpse of a hunger that was deeply buried.

You straighten your back, standing abruptly. You feel the energy change, like a charged current is propelling you forward. You turn and face the two of them, their eyes two pairs of shock and confusion as you speak, your voice more confident and certain than ever before.

“But I feel good. Yeah, I feel great.”

[pearlzofperil]

☠︎ All quiet ☠︎

Pairing - Ghost x Soap

└ ──────☠︎ *̥˚ ─── ☠︎*̥˚────── ┘

• Chapter Summary - Soap’s rejection sensitivity and ghost’s inability to handle other’s emotions.

• Rating - gay

• Chapter Warnings - Hurt/comfort, angst, slowburn

• Author Notes - follow for more bangers

└ ──────☠︎ *̥˚ ─── ☠︎*̥˚────── ┘

The room was quiet—too quiet for Soap’s comfort. No ticking of the watch Ghost always kept on the desk, no shifting of weight in the creaky floorboards near the door. Just stillness. Tense, suffocating stillness.

Soap stood with his back to the door, arms crossed, his chest tight. He hated this. Hated how a single sentence could ruin his whole day, how one cold look from him could send his mind spiraling.

“Don’t get clingy, Johnny.”

It had been a throwaway line, said under Ghost’s breath, probably meant to defuse the moment. Soap had joked—maybe a little too earnestly—about crashing in Ghost’s quarters for a bit. It wasn’t the first time. They’d had beers there. Shared stories. Silence, even. It was the only place on base Soap felt remotely like himself.

But Ghost hadn’t laughed. Just stared at him with that unreadable look before shutting him down like flipping a switch.

Now Soap was doing everything in his power not to fall apart.

Ghost stood outside his own door, leaning against the cool metal, fists clenched.

He hadn’t meant it like that. Christ, he never meant it like that.

The problem was, when people wanted things from him—emotion, vulnerability, closeness—his brain just… locked up. Ghost didn’t do heart-to-hearts. Didn’t know how to comfort someone who looked like they'd just been stabbed with words instead of a blade.

Especially not Johnny.

Soap was his exception. The only one who’d managed to slip past the barbed wire of his psyche, who saw something worth fighting for behind the mask. And Ghost had repaid that loyalty with a careless comment. Because he got scared. Because he thought pushing Johnny away would protect them both.

But all it did was hurt him.

Ghost inhaled through his nose. Slowly. He could leave it alone. Let time smooth it over like they always did.

Or he could try—try—to be the man Johnny thought he was.

The door creaked open behind Soap.

He didn’t turn.

“You meant it,” he said quietly. “It’s fine.”

Ghost stepped inside, pausing a few feet away. “No. I didn’t.”

Silence.

“Then why say it?” Soap’s voice cracked. “Why do you always do that? Push me away like I’m nothing? Like I’m just some fuckin’ weight you’re tired of carrying?”

Ghost winced. “Because if I say the wrong thing—if I let you in too close—then it’s not just you that can get hurt.”

Soap finally turned. His eyes were rimmed red, not with tears, but with frustration, exhaustion. “You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t been there, too? I don’t want to fix you, Ghost. I just want to be there. But every time I reach out, you flinch like I’m a threat.”

Ghost looked away. “I don’t know how to do this, Johnny.”

“I don’t need perfect. I just need real.”

They stood in silence again. It wasn't comfortable, not yet, but it wasn't cold either.

Ghost moved to sit on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, mask tilting down.

“I’m not good with emotions.”

Soap sat beside him, just far enough that Ghost wouldn’t feel boxed in. “I know. And I’m… not good with rejection. Even when it’s unintentional. So we’ve both got our demons.”

Ghost nodded slowly. “I want to be better. For you.”

Soap let that sit between them for a moment, then reached over, brushing his fingers lightly against Ghost’s gloved hand. Not forcing anything. Just offering.

Ghost didn’t pull away.

And for the first time in days, the silence didn’t hurt.

[sanjoongie]

Duchess of Death!

☠Pairing: Butler! Jung Yunho x Duchess! Reader (f) x Cook! Jung Wooyoung

☠Au: the Duke of death and his maid anime, anime au, noble au

☠Trope: mutual pining, noble/servant

☠Genre: angst, smut

☠️Word Count: 2,136

☠Rating: 18+, MDNI

☠Warnings: the entire sexy body of Jeong Yunho described in various compromising ways, mxm, handjob, mutual masturbation, verbal instruction

☠Summary: cursed as a child to kill anything you touch, you're banished to your family's estate in the country with only your faithful Butler Yunho by your side. He knows of your curse yet does everything in his power to push your limits--just to see your reaction.

☠A/N: To the Ying to my Yang. may we never see eye to eye and always laugh despite of it 🤣🤣 you’re always there to match my level and i never feel more myself than i am with you. We may fight, and sometimes it’s nasty, but I'd like to think that sisters fight the way we do, so that always eases my heart. Please never change, you’re my world, my sun, happy birthday @mejuii

“Yunho!” You call for your butler at the piano. “My oral fixation is acting up again! Fetch me something to suck on.”

“As you wish, Your Grace.” Yunho bows his head and reaches for his pants.

You watch in horror as he unbuttons them and places both hands by his hips, about to pull down his pants, implying--

“YUNHO!” You screech, covering your eyes with your gloved hands. “Why are you like this?!”

Yunho began to button his pants back up. “Why, because your reactions are so cute, Your Grace,” Yunho chuckled.

“I'll cute you,” You say, a grumble and a warning in your tone, “without the e.”

“Oh no!” Yunho covers his mouth in a mock gasp of horror. “Not my hair, Your Grace, you swore you'd never let me cut it. Or do you mean to say you wonder if I'm cut or not? Do you think that changes the texture on your tongue?”

Your face heats up, embarrassment thrumming through your veins. “No, I did not mean that! Stop with your sexual innuendos.”

Yunho smiles, lips only pulled up at the corners in the slightest, his perfect cupid’s bow  the epitome of temptation. And you will never be able to feel them against yours because of your damn curse.

When you were but a child, a witch had casted a curse on you; anything you touched would die. So you had been banished to this mansion, far from your family, with only your butler as company. It had been hard at first, to be away from your younger brother and sister but soon Yunho was the only family you needed. He eased the ache in your soul. 

“Your Grace, should I prepare the afternoon tea?” Yunho wonders. “Surely you should start utilizing the new chef we hired.”

You perk up at the mention of the new cook but wilt upon realizing you couldn't even thank him properly for the meals he prepared. “No, Yunho, I’ll have my sucker for now.”

“As you will, Your Grace.” Yunho bent at the waist to bow and went to fetch the sweet concoction that would do nothing for your hunger pains.

Wooyoung, unbeknownst to you, is waiting outside the doors in anticipation. When Yunho leaves the sun room and closes the door softly, he shakes his head and Wooyoung’s shoulders fall. All they want is to serve you and you continue to keep them at arm's length--physically as well as emotionally. 

Still, you cannot deny that Yunho has your heart utterly in his grasp. Whether he’s aiding you in moving the plants around to capture the sun best, or he’s tucking a blanket around you when you fall asleep in front of the fireplace, too stubborn to move to your bedroom, he’s your constant. He never leaves your side and you have come to prefer it this way. But it is still torture to know that you will never be able to touch, to kiss, to hug the one you love the most. 

Then one day, a small reprieve is given to you. You had been walking the halls of your mansion, specifically making your way to the wing that held the wonderful pieces of art your family had accumulated over the centuries. They didn’t hold any value or interest to you per say, but it gave you a purpose on this day. 

You scrunch your nose in confusion, tilting your head to follow the complex lines of one particular painting. Your confusion only increases as Yunho pushes into your personal space. In fear, you back up against the wall, palms pressed to the wall. Yunho slams a hand on the wall beside your head and his lip twists into a smirk. 

“If I had known you wished to gaze at something beautiful, I would have volunteered myself, Your Grace.” Yunho speaks in a lilting, low voice and you feel as if you’re being hypnotized by your butler. 

“Yunho!” You squeak, eyes avoiding his own.

Yunho takes the moment to eye you from bottom to top. If you had bothered to meet his gaze, you would have seen the hunger emanating from them. “What I would give to be able to pleasure you with my own hands…Your Grace.” The formality seemed to be added only because of habit. 

You bit down on your lip, the feeling mutual. You breathed quickly, inhaling his dark scent that belonged only to Yunho. “Me too,” you whispered as if you couldn't bear to say it louder. 

You hear pitter-pattering of feet, the screech of the sole of shoes along marble, and finally Wooyoung turns the corner. He braces himself against his thighs as he catches his breath. “....you bastard… Jeong Yunho…starting…without me!”

This causes you to meet Yunho’s eyes finally. His eyes mirror your own, wide and worried. “What is the meaning of this?” You demand.

Yunho backs off, but only slightly. “We should retire to your bed chambers first, Your Grace.” He uses his hand to point the way, bowing to a small degree and waiting for your feet to move. 

You sent a look to Wooyoung, attempting to read his face, but it’s cheerfully blank now. He sends you a winning smile, however, but it only causes you to grumble. The only way you’re finding out what’s going on is by following Yunho’s lead. You’ve been down this road before.

Once in your room, Wooyoung bounced on the balls of his feet while Yunho stood still. “Your Grace, we have figured out a work-around to you not being able to touch me.”

Your eyes flew open in excitement. “You figured out how to break the curse!”

Yunho winces. “Not exactly, Your Grace.”

Wooyoung whistles, seemingly innocent. “We figured out the next best thing!”

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow at Yunho. 

Wooyoung caught his tongue between his teeth naughtily. “You tell me what to do to Yunho. I’ll be like an extension of your hands.”

Your jaw drops. “What?”

Yunho moves into your bubble, practically cutting off your view of Wooyoung. “I can tell you what I’d want to do to you. You would move your hands to my command. If you willed it, Your Grace.”

“Yunho…"

“Please please please!” Wooyoung begs, poking his head around Yunho’s broad body.

You take a step back and wring your hands through your gloves. “I don’t know…”

Yunho places a hand on Wooyoung’s shoulder to halt his movements. “It’s fine Wooyoung. I told you she wouldn’t want to see me in a debauched state with your hands on me.”

Your face flames up and you slap your hands to it. The pure and unadulterated image of Wooyoung grasping Yunho’s cock in his hand and Yunho’s head cast backwards in ecstasy cannot be erased from your mind’s eye. 

“Wait…”

“Your Grace?” Yunho cocks his head, always waiting for your command. 

“You should show me. A demonstration is in order,” You order.

Wooyoung gleefully giggles and then he’s zooming to your bed. Yunho sends you one more unreadable look and then he is moving towards your bed as well. He sits against the headrest like he belongs there. Wooyoung raises his eyebrows. “Well?”

Oh, right, you had to instruct Wooyoung. “Ummm… unbutton Yunho’s shirt first.”

Wooyoung clucks his tongue at you. “Tell us how you’d do it, Your Grace.”

“I…I would lean in to take in Yunho’s smell and then unbutton his shirt. Slowly.” How were you going to do this and not end up a puddle on the floor?!

“Ooooh!” Wooyoung leans towards Yunho’s neck and takes a deep breath. “He does smell good.” Wooyoung’s deft fingers pluck at Yunho’s vest and shirt until it’s gaping open for your viewing pleasure. “What next, what next?” Wooyoung looks at you eagerly.

You find yourself climbing onto your bed, legs splaying under your body at the foot of it. Wooyoung unbuttons Yunho’s trousers next and pulls him out. Yunho is already hard and impressively long. 

“I’d torture him. I’d run my hand up and down his shaft for hours, to hear his pretty moans just for me,” You whisper and then you clamp your hands over your mouth.

Wooyoung’s smile couldn't have been more full of teasing. “Your Grace knows exactly what she wants.” Wooyoung wraps his hand around Yunho and strokes him slowly, achingly slow.

Yunho swallows loudly and lets out a devastating moan. It’s exactly like you imagined in your bed, late at night, when you would touch yourself after a hard day of teasing from Yunho. It was exactly what you wanted to hear. 

“Your…Grace…” Yunho attempts to pull himself out of the lust he’s feeling from Wooyoung’s hand. “Please imagine my hands skimming up your legs and playing with your most intimate parts. I want to see my fingers pushing in and out of your sweet hole.”

You press your lips together in nervousness. Could you really touch yourself in front of both Wooyoung and Yunho? Wooyoung jerks his chin, as if to say “get on with it!” and you scowl at him, sticking your tongue childishly at him. Still, you remove your gloves, a wary eye on how far the two men are from you.

You pull your petticoats up, spreading your legs, and let your fingers play along your thighs. They skim and tempt and then finally you reach your mound. You move your hands to your hips to pull down your undergarments but Yunho’s grunt stops you.

“Don’t,” he says hoarsely. “Keep them on.”

You push them to the side instead, wetting your finger along your folds, before pushing one into you. “Wha-what next?”

Wooyoung is biting his lip, tempted by both the pleasure he’s giving Yunho and the picture you’re giving him, fingers inside of yourself. Yunho’s chest is moving up and down quickly, like he can’t catch his breath. “I would bring you to as many orgasms as I could give you,” He growls.

Wooyoung tsks at Yunho this time. “She needs direction, Yunho, not a prediction of your sex life.”

Yunho spares Wooyoung a harsh glare before focusing on you. His eyes follow your fingers and you swear he gains some energy and confidence from it. “I would make you feel every inch of my fingers inside of you.”

It’s your turn to gulp. “Fingers?” You squeak.

Wooyoung grins. “You heard the butler. Better put another finger inside of yourself, Your Grace.”

You groan as you stretch yourself with two fingers. It feels good to do as Yunho says and you get a little excited, pumping your fingers inside of you faster. “So good.”

“Your Grace,” Yunho moans, “Please, can you play with my head?”

“Oh Yunho,” You gasp.

Wooyoung, after a quick nod from you, rolls his palm along the head of Yunho’s cock, causing Yunho to jolt. His hands fist your expensive Italian silk sheets in response. “Your Grace, your hands feel lovely on me. I’m sure they’re soft and small but so good to me.”

“Yun-Yunnie,” You mewl in response. “Need you. Need you so badly.”

“Co-come with me, Your Grace. Let us climax together!” Yunho cries out.

You focus purely on coming from your butler. You thrust your fingers in and out of your sopping hole. You aggressively rub your clit as well, chasing that high that’s just out of the reach. Wooyoung’s fist quickly makes good work of Yunho and soon the two of you are coming together. Yunho’s gravelly groan makes your cunt clench around your fingers and you come with a long, drawn out whine. 

All three of you are panting in need but you are well aware that there is no step after this; this is as far as you can go. Until you break the curse, until you can touch Yunho without killing him, this is the most you can manage.

“We’re doing this again,” Wooyoung, of all people, declares. “I’m going to make us food. You two talk.” And with all the energy of a whirlwind, Wooyoung is gone with the quiet hush of a closed door.

You push your skirts down and Yunho tucks himself back into his pants. “Your Grace? Was that enjoyable for you? Please tell me it pleased you.”

You smiled through unshed tears. “It was wonderful, Yunho.”

“Your Grace.” Yunho’s voice is hoarse. He reaches out but lets his hand fall before he can touch you. “We will break this curse. I will marry you and we will be together in every way we’ve always dreamed.”

“I hope so Yunho, I truly do,” You sob.

The two of you sit there, embracing each other with your eyes only, for that’s all you can do. Until Yunho suggests that he touch himself again to get you to stop crying. That is when you choke out a laugh and throw a pillow at him. And all is well in the household of the duchess of death and her butler. 

[damned-punk]

What You Won’t Ever Find (Kidd x Reader)

Part Three

.⋆⁺₊⋆˚｡ ☠︎︎ ⋆｡˚⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆˚｡ ☠︎︎ ⋆｡˚⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆˚｡ ☠︎︎ ⋆｡˚⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆˚｡ ☠︎︎ ⋆｡˚⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆.

Content Warning: nsfw, modern!AU, suggestive language, unhealthy attachment, angst

Content Description: gn!reader meets Kidd in a bar and their relationship develops from there ♡

.⋆⁺₊⋆˚｡ ☠︎︎ ⋆｡˚⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆˚｡ ☠︎︎ ⋆｡˚⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆˚｡ ☠︎︎ ⋆｡˚⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆˚｡ ☠︎︎ ⋆｡˚⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆.

The next several days were spent texting Kidd about any and everything with no topic left unexplored. He’d start each day by texting you good morning and you’d end the night over the phone, telling him to get some rest when his speech slurred as a consequence of exhaustion. You found it so endearing when he’d send you random messages throughout the day, almost always relating to his job as a mechanic or a project that he was planning to work on as soon as his shift was over. Kidd made sure to ask about your day and the times you were free, opting to invite you to visit him at his house on your next day off.

You wanted so desperately to catch Hip up on your situation but she had still not replied to any of your previous calls or texts. Just thinking about what could’ve possibly caused such a change in your relationship was enough to make you ill. You forced yourself to focus on your pending day with Kidd, the only thing that seemed to effectively stabilize your thoughts. A part of you had started to wonder if she was upset that you’d grown so close to Kidd in such a short amount of time, but the idea was so irritating that you forced it to the back of your mind completely.

Much more pressing was the storm that had begun to rage shortly after you’d arrived at Kidd’s. You were trying your absolute damnedest to not let him see how scared you were but as thunder rumbled overhead and hail pattered against his windows, you clung to him tighter than ever before. Judging by the wide grin splayed across his handsome face, you could tell he was loving every second of it.

“Scared of a little rain?”, he said playfully, leaning his lips close enough to your ear that they brushed against it.

“No, I’m not.”, you retaliated with a furrowed brows and a pout, causing him to erupt with laughter at your stubbornness.

“If you’re not afraid, why are you holding onto me like I can control the weather?”, he teased you, squeezing your sides as a silent way to ease your nerves.

You shot him a glare which immediately faltered as the power flickered out. Your vice grip on his arm tightened as you nestled your face in the crook of his neck. The thunder only seemed to crack louder and tears began to prick at the corners of your eyes. You really didn’t want him to see you like this but his comfort was the only thing preventing you from panicking. A sudden, loud rattling sound emanated from the front door which caused you to flinch. Kidd’s large hands met your back and relief washed over you as Killer stepped in, hair dampened from the heavy rainfall.

“It’s piss-pouring the rain out there.”, he commented as he kicked off his boots, running thick fingers through blonde tangles, “I’m not surprised the power’s out.”

“It just happened and it’s damn near got this one in tears.”, Kidd continued to tease as he gestured down at you, your reddened face indicating your discomfort.

“Don’t let Kidd mess with you (Y/N), give it right back to his mean ass.”, Killer instructed playfully just before each of your phones buzzed at the same time, a severe weather warning popping up on the screens, “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but it looks like this is a set-in storm.”

“Yeah, you’d be better off spending the night.”, Kidd rubbed circles into your back as you looked up at him with glazed eyes, “Not that I think you’d leave my side until it’s over away.”

You lightly swatted his chest in response to the comment as Killer shook his head. The three of you sat in the dark living room and talked about nothing in particular as the night went on, the occasional lightening strike providing momentary illumination. Unbeknownst to you, the two of them were purposefully keeping the conversation going to distract you from the weather. Killer took himself to bed after a while as exhaustion from a long shift became too persistent to ignore. Kidd took the opportunity to lead you to his room which, even with a lack of light, looked exactly as you’d imagined it would.

There were a few posters lining the walls and miscellaneous pictures of his friend group that had assuredly been gifted to him. His albums were neatly organized and displayed next to a large sound system, the volume of discs he’d collected was impressive. The closet was as neatly organized as everything else, each item seeming to have its own place. You snagged the biggest shirt you could find to sleep in, the garment perfectly distressed from being worn so frequently. As you stepped into his bathroom to change for the night, you couldn’t help but smile at the tubes of lipstick and eyeliner resting on the countertop. They were as unconventional as he was, but you couldn’t imagine him without such products adorning his already devastating features. When you reentered his room he was laid on his back on the bed, mindlessly scrolling thru his phone. As he turned to face you, his eyes grew a bit wide and his expression was unreadable.

“What’re you giving me that look for?”, you took on a serious tone to repay him for messing with you earlier in the evening.

“You’re wearing my shirt.”, he replied in a flat tone, his stoic face unwavering.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t bring any clothes with me so I thought I’d just wear something of yours to bed.”, you explained, starting to feel the beginnings of anxiety, “I can change back into my clothes, I should’ve asked first.”

“That’s not what I meant!”, he said a little loudly as he sat up and reached out to grab onto your waist, clumsily pulling you lay on top of him as you giggled, “You look good as hell.”

“Kidd.”, you laughed at his choice of words as they were rough but well intentioned, just like him.

You adjusted yourself to get more comfortable, using his chest as a pillow and positioning your leg over his own. He rested his hand between your shoulders as his thumb rubbed lazy circles, light snoring echoing throughout the quiet room as he fell asleep. The night was peaceful and you were sleeping soundly until the repetitive, rapid buzzing of Kidd’s cellphone on his nightstand woke the two of you. He lifted his phone to reveal Hip’s contact on the screen. He tossed his phone back onto the table and remarked that he wasn’t going to answer the call, she’d send a text if it were important anyway.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and flopped around until your positions had been flipped, you on your back and him nestling his head against your chest. He could tell that Hip’s call had made you tense so he opted to start making fun of how tightly you clung to him over a few drops of rain the night prior, the only way he knew to lighten the mood. He knew it’d worked when you scoffed at him, making it a point to mention how it was a hell of a lot more than just a few drops of rain. The sleepy laughs and wide grin that spread across his face from your defiance was contagious and caused your defense to falter. The two of you shared a glance and locked eyes, the seconds developed into minutes and you could feel your face growing warm.

Kidd leant up and hovered his lips over yours for a moment, giving you adequate time and space to push him away if you weren’t feeling the same things he was. He lowered his lips onto your own, only pulling away to get a look at your wide-eyed expression. You just looked so sweet lying underneath him, a tenseness swelling in his chest that made it difficult to breathe. He didn’t want to mess things up by moving too fast but he wanted you, needed you so badly. He resumed kissing you with a greater sense of urgency, nipping and sucking on your bottom lip as his hands kneaded your sides through the loose fabric of the shirt you’d slept in. He trailed his way from your lips to your neck, wasting no time in continuing his way down your abdomen.

“Kidd…”, you whimpered out as his lips met the tops of your thighs, realization of the situation dawning on you as he played with the hem of your bottoms.

“I’m right here, (Y/N).”, he began to massage your hips in an attempt to soothe your obvious discomfort, “Are you alright?”

“Yes… I think…”, his words meant so much to you, his attentiveness to your reactions only working to increase your growing desire for him, “I’m alright, just nervous.”

“I wanna make you feel good.”, he let his fingers slip just under the top of your bottoms, “Can I?”

You nodded your head after taking a moment to ponder on his proposal, totally overwhelmed but eager for relief from the arousal he’d built up within you. He slid the fabric past your knees, discarding the unwanted clothing to the floor. He took your knees in both hands and spread your legs to accommodate his body, opting to rest your feet against his shoulders as he left imprecise kisses on the inner portion of your thighs. You instinctively reached for his hands, interlocking your fingers with his own for support as he placed his mouth over your sex.

The most erotic sounds met your ears as he licked and sucked all the right places to have you writhing with pleasure. Your heavy panting only served to spur him on further, urging him to intensify his ministrations. Once he was sure that you were focused on the pleasure and relaxed, he released your hands in order to circle your entrance with two thick fingers. He pulled back for a moment as he carefully coaxed his digits inside, pumping slowly a few times before quickening and returning his mouth to its prior position. It didn’t take long for your abdomen to tighten, the flutters squeezing around his fingers letting him know you were close. He had certainly achieved his goal of making you feel good.

“Kidd! Something is- Something’s happening…”, you stuttered out as your impending climax coursed through your body.

He hummed as you came undone against his lips, continuing for a little bit more to allow you ride out your high before admiring his work. Your embarrassment returned in full force, prompting you to clamp your legs shut and pout when he stared for too long. He cracked a grin at you before pulling himself up and overtop of you, not hesitating to meet your lips in an exchange of adoration.

“You did so fucking well.”, he spoke against your ear, his voice sounding gruffer than usual, “You wanna try to take me?”

His use of the word ‘try’ was not just a phrase used in passing, he’d stripped unceremoniously after your consent and the size of his cock was impressive. He was big by every sense of the word, not a complete surprise considering he was a large person in general. He slid his hands under your thighs, lifting them to rest on either side of his own. He rubbed himself at your entrance for a moment, giving you time to prepare yourself before he began to push himself in. A lovely gasp escaped your lips as his hips pressed flush against your own, your half-lidded eyes meeting his very blown pupils.

He felt so good with you wrapped so snuggly around him, he couldn’t remember another time feeling so secure in a situation like this. Kidd drew his hips back and forth a steady pace, working his way to sharper thrusts as the pleasure built between you. He felt the need to be as close to you as possible, kissing and lightly sinking his teeth into any patches of exposed skin he could reach. Your nails coursed along the muscles of his back, an indication of how well he was fucking you.

“Fuck (Y/N)… I’m close…”, Kidd muttered out, gripping your hip and resting his forehead against your own, “I’m gonna fill you up…”

Your eyes screwed shut as his movements became erratic and sloppy, an intense warmth spreading in your lower belly as he slowed to a halt. His breathing was audibly heavy as he rested against you for a moment, carefully removing himself from you when he was grounded. Kidd wordlessly trailed to the bathroom, the sight of his naked ass causing you to stifle a laugh. He returned quickly with a damped cloth for clean up, already wearing clean bottoms himself and smiling manically at how beautiful you looked spread out on his bed. He rested the cloth between your legs, caging his arms around your waist and pressing himself against you.

“I wouldn’t have thought you’d be this clingy when we first met.”, you teased him, running your fingers through his hair and scratching at his scalp.

He only hummed in response, seemingly lost in thought. It wasn’t like him to pass on an opportunity to argue, especially not when it came to him being soft. The silence was disconcerting, was he having regrets? Had you done something wrong?

“I’m really glad that I met you (Y/N).”, he said out of the blue, obliterating your deprecating thought process.

“I’m really glad I met you too Kidd.”, you leant down and kissed his forehead, not entirely sure where the sudden sentimentality was coming from.

“I can’t really explain it but things feel different with you.”, he started, leaning into your hand as you continued playing with his hair, “Anytime we went out, I would get as fucked up as possible. We’d do stupid shit, find someone to go home with, and then wake up feeling like hell, pissed off at the world… Then do it all over again.”

You listened to him carefully, giving him the opportunity to open up to you while wrestling with the emotions his words were building up within you. The ‘we’ he was referring to was likely himself, Killer, and the rest of his friends that you’d met that first night at the bar. They seemed like nice people, but it was obvious that they led a hard lifestyle and Kidd was no exception.

“I guess it’s always been like that, nothing could ever go right or be easy. For a long time, it was just Killer and I taking care of each other.”, he tilted his head up to meet your eyes, “Sometimes I don’t even know how we made it this far… Damn, I didn’t mean to get all sentimental.”

“I wish the world had been kinder to you and that the past had been easier, but I hope I can help make the future something to look forward to.”, you replied, hoping to ease the looming discomfort brought forth by his recollection of the past.

He brought his lips to yours again, intertwining his tongue with your own as a physical manifestation of his feelings and reciprocation of your statement for the future. Kidd wasn’t used to opening up like this, especially not verbally. He was far better described as a man of action, not so much of words. It was bittersweet to be close to him like this, you loved having the opportunity to learn more about him but the struggles he’d faced pained you. It had also become apparent that the closer your relationship became with Kidd, the farther apart you were driven from Hip. It was such a strange dichotomy to ponder, but you pushed those thoughts aside and enjoyed your time in the moment regardless.

Part Four

.⋆⁺₊⋆˚｡ ☠︎︎ ⋆｡˚⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆˚｡ ☠︎︎ ⋆｡˚⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆˚｡ ☠︎︎ ⋆｡˚⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆˚｡ ☠︎︎ ⋆｡˚⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆.

A/N: Thank you for reading! All characters presented in the story have been caricatured to fit the desired plot devices. Some interactions and situations may read out of character, this is only to progress the story and does not reflect my view of their canon personalities.

.⋆⁺₊⋆˚｡ ☠︎︎ ⋆｡˚⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆˚｡ ☠︎︎ ⋆｡˚⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆˚｡ ☠︎︎ ⋆｡˚⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆˚｡ ☠︎︎ ⋆｡˚⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆.

[thesolidar]

Ultrakill greater angels' fan-concept.

According to wiki, the Powers are warrior angels who oppose evil spirits. I decided to realize that idea in my concept. These dudes have no arms (just like the weakest husks) but they have something better - the wings that also are their blades. The Powers' movement would be similar to Gabriel's movement in his 2-nd bossfight. So, yeah.. they would have many cutting and piercing attacks. As bonus, they also can kick the player from behind because why not :)

Before the fingt starts, they would be in their positions on the roofs and tips, awaiting patiently akin to Cerberus.

I also had the idea of their ability to cut the arms off but... that's already too harsh I suppose ☠

[supermarine-silvally]

❤️ + Portada pls!! -🍂

Part 2 of this!

❤️ first kiss / realization

Something was terribly, horribly wrong. 

Ace had first noticed it at breakfast. He had stuffed his plate with as much bacon as Thatch would let him get away with and sauntered over to his usual spot, wedging himself between Yara and Marco. The First Division Commander had greeted him as per usual, but Yara didn’t even bother to glance up from the saddest bowl of oatmeal Ace had ever seen; the only garnishing on it two solitary raisins. 

(He knew for a fact that she didn’t even like raisins. They reminded her too much of the crappy communion wine at the convent she grew up at, she’d told him once, scrunching her nose up in that adorable way she did whenever she found something particularly unsatisfactory.)

Throughout the rest of the day, things seemed to only get worse. She kept her gaze down and her answers monosyllabic whenever he tried to interact with her-- and that was when she didn’t outright leave the room as soon as he entered. 

“Trouble in paradise, yoi?” Marco had asked him when he caught Ace moping around on the Moby Dick’s upper deck.

Ace let out a massive, depressed sigh in response, draping his arms over the gunwale. Part of him almost wished a strong gust of wind would come along and knock him into the water. “I think I did something wrong, Marco. I haven’t seen her this upset with me since before I officially joined the crew.”

The doctor placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You need to talk to her about it. I’m sure whatever it is can easily be fixed. Yara may be stubborn, but she’s not unreasonable.”

“That’s… true,” Ace conceded. He stood up straight, his determination renewed. “I’ll go find her. The sooner I can sort this out, the better.”

“Good luck, yoi,” Marco said, giving him a firm pat on the back. 

And that was what led him here, hanging out near the entrance to the mess hall, biding his time. There was no way that Yara could avoid him forever… could she?

“Ace.”

He instantly perked up, a relieved grin spreading across his face as he caught sight of her heading towards him, a file stuffed with papers tucked under her arm. She, however, did not return his joy, but instead stared emotionlessly back at him as she handed him the file. “Pops said to give this to you.”

He nodded, receiving it from her. “Oh, thanks! …Right, these are the maps I wanted to see.”

Yara gave him a curt nod in return before pivoting back towards the entranceway.

“Wait, where are you going?”

She stopped, turning to face him again, her eyes narrowed. “I came. I gave you the file. And now I’m leaving.”

“Yara!” Ace called out after her, dropping the file onto a nearby table. He reached for her hand, but his fingers passed straight through her. His brow furrowed, confused. Now she was using her Devil Fruit powers with him? She never did that.  

“I’m not in the mood, Ace,” was all she replied, her tone icy.

His entire body wilted, heart thudding pitifully in his chest as she left the mess hall without so much as a second glance. Oh, he had definitely fucked something up. 

☠-----⚔-----☠-----⚔-----☠

“Yaraaaaa…” Ace knocked on her bedroom door. “Can we talk? Please?”

He held his breath, waiting. Finally, after a moment, the latch clicked. Yara opened the door a crack. She was wearing her nightdress, her loose hair cascading down her shoulders. Ace couldn’t help but notice the dark circles lingering under her eyes as she stared at him. 

Swallowing, he took a step back. “Hi.”

“It’s late, Ace.”

“I know. I couldn’t sleep.”

“Then I suppose you’ve come to let me down easy,” she said with a sigh.

His brow furrowed. “Let you down what?”

“Never mind. I shouldn’t delay the inevitable. Shall we go somewhere more private than the living quarters?”

Nodding, he allowed her to step out of her room before following her down the hallway. She led him down the stairs and outside to the second level balcony. The stars glinted overhead as the Moby Dick gently careened along its path, cutting through the ocean’s calm surface. Yara leaned against the railing, the faint breeze catching the edge of her nightdress. Just the sight of her underneath the moon’s light was enough to make Ace’s stomach twist into knots. 

He sucked in a breath. There was no way he could let this go on any longer. “It’s the stupid dare thing, isn’t it? That’s why you’re upset with me.”

“I’m not upset with you,” Yara replied evenly. “I’m upset with myself.”

“What? Why?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does. It matters a lot. Especially if I… if I did something to hurt you. Please, Yara. You’re…” He swallowed. “You’re one of my best friends. Whatever it is, I’ll make it right.”

Yara glanced away from him, a conflicted look flickering through her eyes. “I… made a foolish miscalculation,” she said after a moment. “I thought that… perhaps you might…” She hesitated. For a moment, he could’ve sworn he saw a faint blush spread across her cheeks. “That, well… That kissing me wouldn’t have been as intolerable for you as it evidently was.”

“Intolerable?” His brow furrowed. “Kissing you wouldn’t be intolerable.”

“Oh, please.” Her glare narrowed as it returned to rest on him. “You dragged your feet and then turned away at the last second. How the hell else could I possibly interpret that, Ace? From my standpoint, it was a fairly obvious rejection.” 

Ace’s heart was practically beating out of his chest as the realization slowly dawned on him. “Hold on a minute. You… wanted me to kiss you?”

Yara’s nose scrunched up, her mouth drawing into a tight line like it did whenever she was frustrated by something. Finally, she turned away with a sigh. “…You’re an idiot of the most hopeless variety. Let’s just forget this ever happened.”

“Yara, wait.” He reached towards her, catching her hand. This time, her flesh stayed solid, and he curled his fingers around hers as he pulled her in. 

She let out a surprised gasp as one of his hands moved to her waist, the other tenderly cupping her face. Her skin felt so soft as he lightly stroked her cheek, the butterflies that had been nesting in his stomach bursting to life. 

“Last night, I really, really wanted to kiss you,” he breathed. 

“Then why didn’t you?” she whispered, eyes widening as his fingers traced along the small of her back. 

“Because I didn’t want our first kiss to be something either of us would regret,” he confessed. “You’re too special to me for that.”

“Ace…”

“I never thought I’d meet someone like you, Yara. Someone who just… accepted me so easily. Who didn’t care at all about my good-for-nothing father. The last thing I ever would’ve wanted is for you to think I only kissed you because Haruta dared me to, and not because I’m madly, stupidly in love with you, and I have been ever since Pops brought me onto this ship.”

Her eyes went unnaturally wide. “What?”

“Oh.” Ace blinked, his hand leaving her waist to awkwardly scratch the back of his neck. “Shoot, did I just say that out loud?”

He took her stunned silence as an affirmative. “So, uh… would it be okay if I kissed you now?”

“Please,” Yara breathed, leaning in. Their foreheads pressed lightly together, noses brushing as they revelled in each other’s warmth. His arms wrapped around her waist, the cotton fabric of her nightdress bunching between his fingers as he pulled her tight to his chest. She clung to his bare shoulders, the tips of her fingers smoothing along his collarbone, each feather-light touch setting off fireworks in his stomach.

“You’re so beautiful, Hellcat,” he murmured against her lips, feeling her breath hitch. 

“Kiss me already, Fire Fist,” she whispered, the neediness in her voice sending a jolt of pleasure throughout his entire body, small flames flickering involuntarily off his skin.

He wasted no more time in closing the gap between them, lips slotting into place as if they were always meant to do so. The whole world ceased to exist around him as their mouths moved in sync, the taste of her flooding his senses, all the pent-up love he’d kept locked in his heart for so long finally flowing freely through him.

One hand slowly drifted upwards, tangling in her long violet hair as he cupped the back of her neck, pressing himself forwards to dip her down, stealing a tiny gasp of air before continuing the kiss. He could feel Yara’s lips twitch upwards, the sensation making him grin into the kiss as well. 

They broke away, foreheads coming to rest against each other’s as Ace cradled Yara’s cheek in his palm. “I love you,” he admitted. “I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, and for being such an idiot last night.”

Yara laughed softly. “After that kiss, you’re definitely forgiven. And I…” Her face flushed, looking away for a moment before returning her heterochromatic gaze to meet his dark eyes. “I love you too, Portgas D. Ace. You dummy.”

“You love me too,” he repeated, unable to keep himself from grinning wildly. His heart felt as if it were on fire, burning with an intense, aching passion. I never thought I’d ever hear anyone say those words to me. I’m hardly deserving of them, yet… Yet it still feels so nice.

He slipped an arm around her waist, letting her rest her head on his shoulder as they both gazed out at the moon and stars beyond. “So… where do we go from here?”

She shrugged. “Wherever we want, I suppose. We’ll figure it out together.”

Smiling, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “That sounds perfect.”

tagging: @auxiliarydetective @oneirataxia-girl @daughter-of-melpomene (and @box-of-bats too if you want the narrative resolution to the last prompt hehe)

[gogogodzilla]

day 13, mommy kink

wanda maximoff x reader warnings: nsfw 18+, fingering, cunnilingus, wanda calls reader sweet girl, slight dub-con, vision doesn't exist kinktober ☠︎︎ main masterlist ☠︎︎ read on ao3

Wanda had this innate ability to invade your ever-waking thoughts. You supposed it was partly due to her powers. She gave you a taste of what she was capable of when she was aligned with Ultron, and she effortlessly invaded your mind. However, since then she has been on your mind for a very different reason.

You flit around your shared house, straightening the Halloween decorations as you pass. You halt in front of the full-length mirror in the hall. You were clad in a  tight, black catsuit that hugged every curve of your figure and a belt with a red hourglass on the buckle. You zip up the bodysuit to your neck. It’s a family-friendly holiday, after all. 

You couldn’t for the life of you figure out what your costume is referencing, and you wrack your brain as you stare at yourself in the mirror. You’re broken out of your thoughts by Billy and Tommy walking into the living room and staring at Pietro’s snoring form on the couch. 

Quicker than you could register, Pietro jumps up from the couch and in front of the boys, scaring them. He begins to chase the still-screaming twins around the living room and you watch with amusement. 

“Oh! Somebody better be bleeding, broken, or on fire,” your wife calls as she descends the stairs. You rush to greet her, and your breath catches in your throat, astonished at your wife’s appearance. 

“Whoa, Mom!” Billy exclaims, echoing your thoughts. He tilts his head to the side, “Are you Old Red Riding Hood?” 

She spreads her arms wide, “I’m a Sokovian Fortune Teller.” 

“You’re beautiful,” you murmur as your wife reaches the bottom of the stairs. Her eyes soften as she looks at you, and she cups your chin affectionately. 

“What’re you supposed to be?” Tommy questions, taking in your appearance. 

You shrug, “Actually, I’m not quite sure. It feels right though.” 

Tommy goes to compliment his mom’s costume but quickly changes his mind once Pietro voices his opinion. A moment passes and Wanda looks startled. Billy goes on to talk to someone unseen. You furrow your brows. 

You blink rapidly and next thing you know Pietro and the kids are furiously playing video games on the living room couch, candy wrappers strewn about. 

Wanda laces her arm through yours, “Looks like they’ve already sampled the product.” 

You look up at her, a smile tugging on your lips, “You haven’t told me much about your brother. I didn’t think he’d be so…” 

Pietro hops up and shows the boys how to shotgun a soda. 

You grimace, “... Good with kids.” 

An idea struck you, and you tug Wanda closer to whisper so the kids won’t hear. “How about we let him watch the kids for the night? We could finally get some alone time. It feels like we’ve had an audience for the past few days.” 

She straightens at your suggestion, but before she can object, Pietro butts in. 

“Great idea! Uncle P can watch the kiddos tonight.” 

Wanda’s gaze jumps between the two of you.  “That’s not what you’re—“ she pauses for a moment to correct herself, “It’s their first Halloween, darling. We wouldn’t want to miss it.” 

You take her gloved hands in yours, “We won’t miss all of it. Besides, I have some decorations that still need to be put up before the trick-or-treaters get here.” 

“Problem solved,” Pietro hums as he slaps you on the back. 

You’re thrust into Wanda’s arms, almost as if an invisible force pulled your feet out from under you. She catches you, eyes wide. 

“Guess I fell for you once again,” you grin as you press a kiss to her cheek. You hear a distant ‘awww’ and tilt your head.  

Wanda pulls you up, her hands lingering on your hips. “Where’d you say those Halloween decorations were again?” 

You aren’t quite sure how you got to the bedroom. One minute you’re in the living room and the next thing you know you’re in your shared bedroom. Wanda shuts the door behind her and approaches you. You don’t turn to face her, your mind scrambling to fill in the blank periods of time. 

She wraps her arms around you, and litters kisses in the crook of your neck. Instinctively you tilt your head, granting her further access. 

“You don’t have to worry about anything, hun. No one can see us in here,” she whispers against your neck. Her hands are roaming your body and you can’t think straight. 

Your heart is palpating so rapidly that you think it may beat out of your chest as she reaches for the zipper of your costume. Her breath is tickling the back of your neck, and her free hand is meandering dangerously close to where you desperately need her. 

She gradually tugs the zipper of your costume down, and you let out a gasp as she slides a gloved hand into your bodysuit to cup your breast. She rolls your nipple between two of her fingers and you arch against her. 

“You want mommy to touch you, sweet girl?” she rasps against your ear as her free hand moves to drag a finger over your hip bone. 

Your hips jut forward, begging for her touch. “Yes, mommy. Please, please touch me.” 

Wanda gives a satisfied hum and pulls her hands away. Your whine is cut short by Wanda pulling your suit down over your shoulders. You hastily pull your arms out of the sleeves and undo the belt around your waist allowing it to fall to the floor. She tantalizingly rakes her hands down your body and hooks a finger on either side of the waistband of your suit. 

In one swift motion, your suit and underwear hit the floor. Your nipples perk up against the cool air of your bedroom. 

“Let mommy see you,” Wanda purrs, taking a step away from you. 

You turn, shyly. Wanda’s face lights up as she takes in your naked form. She steps forward and cups your face with one hand. Your lips meet in a featherlight kiss and you smile against her ruby red lips. She smoothes a hand over your ass and squeezes and you gasp. 

She pulls away, nearly as breathless as you. “Get on the bed, baby,” she orders, voice gentle. You obediently climb onto the plush mattresses and lay on your back, spreading your legs. 

A light moan leaves her, seeing your legs spread and waiting just for her. She saunters over and holds out a hand to you, “Put that pretty mouth to use,” she commands, eyes flicking to her glove. 

You sit up, eagerly. You take the tip of her middle finger in your mouth, gently raking your teeth over each knuckle as you pull away. Your teeth latch onto the tip of her glove, and you tug it off of her. Wanda takes her glove from between your teeth and pushes two fingers passed your lips. You run your tongue over the pads of her fingers, sucking lightly. You want to be good for her. 

Her other hand grazes over your cheek, and she tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. She pulls her fingers out of your mouth and nudges you back onto the mattress. Her fingertips dance over your thighs as she situates herself between your thighs. 

“So good for me,” she praises before swiping a finger through your now-dripping folds. You arch against the mattress, and your hands grip the sheets. 

She hooks her arms around your thighs and kneels in front of you, her face inches away from your heat. “Such a pretty pussy,” she coos, pressing kisses along your inner thighs. Your hips buck as her breath fans against your core, and she keeps you in place. 

“Please, mommy,” you begged, tears nearly forming. She tsked, nuzzling against your thigh and breathing in your scent. 

She finally latches her plump lips onto your core. She swipes her tongue against you, moaning at the taste. Her grip on your thighs as she desperately pulls you closer. Her tongue works relentlessly against you as she laps up all of you. Breathy moans and pleas escaped your lipstick-stained lips. You didn’t even know what you were begging for anymore.  You just wanted her. 

Her nose bounces against your clit as you jut your hips against her mouth. She sinfully presses a finger inside you. She pumps it a few times before adding another one. Her pace is tortuous, and you throw your head against the mattress. 

She circles her tongue around your clit as her pace increases, curling her fingers inside you. She slides her hand onto your stomach and you grip it, holding onto her like your life depends on it. 

“Feels so good, mommy,” you whine as look down at her. All you can see is her hair spread out across your thighs and her one gloved hand clutching your own. Wanda moans at the pet name and she ruts her fingers inside you. 

A high-pitched whine leaves you as your orgasm rips through you. Your thighs go to close around Wanda’s head but scarlet tendrils keep you in place. You clench around her fingers, and static rings in your ears. You squeeze your eyes shut and a vision flashes beneath your lids. 

You’re standing on a battlefield. The sun is blazing above you and you’re locked in battle with a monstrous creature. Gigantic wheels tore up the ground and anything in their way as they sped toward you. You finally land a killing blow to the creature, but you don’t have enough time to run. You crouch down, praying to whatever deity that you’ll survive this. The hurtling of the blade stops and you breathe out a sigh of relief as Wanda lands on the battlefield. Scarlet pulses of magic lift up the wheels and Wanda hurls them at a line of incoming enemies. 

You straightened and beamed, pointing at Wanda. “That’s my wife!”

You blink rapidly, as Wanda rubs a soothing hand over your thigh, bringing you back to reality. You attempt to steady your breathing. 

Your release pools over her fingers as she pulls out of you. She brings them to your lips, making you taste yourself. Your arousal covers the lower half of her face, and your cheeks heat up the sight. 

“You did so good for me, sweet thing,” she says as she runs a hand over your hair and cups your cheek. You press a kiss to her palm. 

She waves a hand, bringing the two of you a towel from the bathroom. You lean on your elbows as she cleans you up, a warm, gooey feeling filling your chest. She levitates the towel to the hamper and kisses your cheek softly. 

“Is this real?” you sigh dreamily as she pulls away. Doubt dances in the back of your mind as your vision gnaws at you. 

She freezes above you, eyes scanning your face for something. She stands and moves to grab your clothes off the floor. 

“It’s as real as you want it to be,” she answers as she returns to your side, a soft look dancing across her features. 

You remain puzzled as Wanda helps you dress. If she saw your vision, she hasn’t said anything. The thought unsettles you. Where were you and who were those people you were with? Why were you fighting? And with that the static returns and you screw your eyes shut. 

You blink furiously and the next thing you know, you’re walking through the neighborhood hand in hand with Wanda. Pietro and the boys are running and collecting as much candy as they can. A calmness settles over you. Maybe you were right where you were supposed to be.

[an0ldworld]

GOING FERAL GOING STUPID WE CAN BE SPECIFIC LET'S GOOO

Okay could. I order a fic with The Spot who met the Reader via LITERALLY FALLING INTO THEIR HOUSE. Entered their universe and fell directly into the livingroom. Thing that sets this universe apart? It's a universe where people have wings! Reader is based on a cockatiel, grey wings with a white patch! Either first time meeting or maybe reader asks him to help preen their wings? Gender neutral!! Tysm I love being specific grgrgrgrrggr <333

the spot falls into winged readers home !

RAGAHAGSGAHAGGRRAGR GRGGRRAGAGRG i’m foaming at the mouth *leans on expensive car* heyyyy 🤭 I FUCKING LOVE WINGS GRGAGRGAHRA ok rq, im an artist and also just obsessed with wings and i curse god everyday that we didn’t evolve with them, i instil the fear of god into people when i explain accurate anatomy if people had wings and actually could fly cause there are characteristics you need like hollow bones and all the muscles that go into functioning arms- you’ve unleashed something powerful, okami

please . talk to me about this . if you would like to . *poses in front of expensive house*

warnings: none, i may rant throughout about wings im sorry

pairing: the spot x gn!reader

requests: refer to the masterlist

★⋆ ⋆☆⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆☆⋆⋆★✧

imagine ur surprise when a black hole suddenly opened up in your house and a guy fell through it ! how strange !

your wings fiercely tense up in an intimidating way while you watch the strange figure fumble to stand up, despite being on solid ground it looks like he has sea legs

“Oh- oh god, I am *so* sorry,” he’s baffled himself, as he puts it: “i’m still getting used to my holes”

aren’t we all 😪

it’s takes him a little while to notice all the subtle differences in your home to the typical house in his dimension; the way that doors are taller and there’s a lot more accommodation to winged individuals, which he then noticed you are

you see that weird hole in his face narrow as he studies you from a distance, like a true scientist

i think he’d be really interested in your wings at first, from a scientific view

asking you all sorts of questions while slowly backing out of the room “I like your wings, by the way! they’re very.. anatomically correct”

he’s clearly intrigued, but also trespassing and he truly didn’t mean to

depending on your own response depends on his urgency

“Wow! that’s great- is everyone here like that or is it some kind of mutation? It doesn’t matter, let me get out of your wings- hair!” the whole time he’s doing all of these wild gestures with his hands while his long ass legs carry him towards the exit, his joints stiff while he attempts to evade a confrontation

“They’re very beautiful,” is the last off handed thing he says before pulling your door open to leave your house

now, if society is accommodated to a civilisation of people with wings, there may very well be a very large drop from you home that most people can easily pass over with wings

but spot doesn’t have those

cue him almost plummeting to his death ? but a hole opens up and it open right back into your home, resulting in spot falling into your living space once again

“Oh, would you look at that! trespassing, again!” he curls in on himself in a very pathetic way before getting up again (ily spot)

you’ve just kinda tolerated his presence while all this goes down

but i don’t think you guys are new to the whole stranger danger thing, so you don’t befriend spot immediately

but imagine this becomes a stupidly common occurrence throughout the weeks

every once in a while, he drops by and each time you get a little more tolerant of him, he’s a little funny and also silly

you eventually get on name basis, and you can see he’s getting better at controlling his holes

sometimes he literally just drops through one hole and falls straight through the other, it’s a very short exchange

“hi y/n” and he’s gone

but say it’s ever gotten to the stage where you guys are actually equated, he may one day fall into your home while you’re struggling to preen your own wings

an honest struggle, not a chance i could stretch far enough w my bones popping at minor movement

he’s even started to land on his feet sometimes, and he’s very proud of himself

“ta-da!” he lands, arms outstretched while he still stumbled a little

“oh, are you preening?” most genuinely interested and curious tone ever

he approaches like a fucking rat, a little hunched over with his arms mimicking a t-rex

you can decide how significant your wings are, if they’re a big part of ur culture and ur a bit reluctant to let spot touch them

which i honestly think he’ll respect

“oh, nono! it’s okay,” will keep his distance but now is stood a little awkwardly

but if you’re chill with him touching your wings, man’s thrilled

might whisper something silly like “oo, science!” as he approaches with an outstretched hand

and hey, if you go the extra step further and let him preen you, go ahead

does he know what he’s doing ? no, and he’s confident he’ll fuck it up somehow

please show him and/or give him instruction that include when to breath and blink please

admittedly is staring more at how your wings connect to your back more than anything else, he’s very intrigued in your anatomy

would never say that out loud, dear god

but once you’ve given him instructions, he’s on that shit pretty attentively

he’s a scientist, he’ll figure it out

it’s a sight and a half though, it looks like monkeys grooming each other lmao

★⋆ ⋆☆⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆☆⋆⋆★✧

i genuinely think of a reality all of the time where society had wings and relied on that for travel instead of cars n shit- would we need a licence to fly out in public like dbz ? would the type of wings you have be native to the birds from the place you were born, are the genes recessive from your parents n shit- how disability would be handled and how things would be accessible to people who can’t fly im going insane

i shit you not my spidersona has a few concepts, he’s a character i’ve had for a little while from an mnm campaign- he’s a mutant that has accurate bird mutations so tail feathers and wings and i thought it might have been too cliche for me to like say “he’s spiderman in a dimension where society evolved to have wings!” and it felt mary sue and i was afraid so i took his beautiful wings away hem hem whimper

[hinge]

Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co

[cienie-isengardu]

★ -Sad Headcanon and ☠ - angry/violent headcanon for mk1!Kuai Liang?

Sure thing!

★ -Sad Headcanon 

There was no time for Kuai Liang to process all what was happening, with Bi-Han’s betrayal, Liu Kang’s secret identity out and their timeline fighting for survival. Father always said to focus on mission and not let emotion get in the way; there is time to act and there is a time to grief, so Kuai Liang put aside all doubts, all sadness ripping his heart and did his best to not be distracted by treacherous feelings.

He was doing fine, as much as a heartbroken man could anyway - even if it wasn't easy to keep a cool head when through the portal connecting numberless timelines walked Titans and their Champions. How to not tremble when the impossible was happening? How not to be amazed by all those gods, with familiar faces, coming together to stand as one against a vile evil that so easily corrupted their world?

(An evil that so greedily took away Bi-Han from him.)

It was an overwhelming sensation - the first spark of hope after so long, so desperate hours warmed his heart more than the fire burning through his veins. For a moment, everything felt right.

And then Kuai Liang heard his brother calling out to him, to hurry up and take a place by his side; heard a voice so full of love for him, so eager to face the challenge, to test their skills against mighty opponent --- 

all Kuai Liang could do then is to remember Bi-Han choosing his brothers for Liu Kang’s important mission over many more experienced Lin Kuei warriors. To remember Bi-Han  from the snowy fortress asking him and Tomas if they are unharmed, and be so pleased with them both, and Kuai Liang chokes on this memories as those were the last moments of their brotherhood, still untainted by Shang Tsung’s lies and venom ---

but before he could answer yes brother there was another Kuai Liang at Bi-Han’s side. The man had his face, and he spoke with his voice only you brother could find joy in this madness, followed by the heavy sigh that sounded more like fondness than anything else.

But everything else was different, foreign, wrong. 

(His Bi-Han too would be eager for a fight, as fighting always pleased him, and Kuai LIang wanted to scream in pain, for the sadness burned his soul beyond reason - but there was no scream, no prayer, not even a curse to mutter.)

All Kuai Liang could do was to watch and see himself - different, cold - proudly standing arm to arm with Bi-Han (not-his brother’s soft face had no trace of anger, even if eyes looked like he saw a living hell. Kuai Liang couldn’t remember when he last saw Bi-Han to smile, let alone laugh).

Kuai Liang always thought he and his brother were close; their bond unshaken and unbroken. But at this moment, it wasn’t Bi-Han’s betrayal that proved him how wrong he was but seeing himself cladded in Sub-Zero’s mantle. To understand there was a timeline in which he could share everything with his brother - the power of ice, the responsibility of Titan, the dream of peace and simple joy of living together.

In that moment Kuai Liang knew that no matter if they win, no matter if Bi-Han comes to his senses, he will never wash away this devastating sense of sadness over brotherhood that was denied to him when the fire filled his veins and forever became an inseparable part of his soul.

☠ - angry/violent headcanon

Father always said after the battle, there should be time to heal, both physically and mentally, however healing was a luxury Kuai Liang couldn’t afford. Not now, when Bi-Han was somewhere out there, conspiring with Liu Kang’s enemies yet always slipping away, avoiding being caught.

The honor demanded from Kuai Liang to avenge father and make amends with the Fire Lord for Lin Kuei’s betrayal. He won't - can’t - rest until he stops Bi-Han, either by talking some sense into his brother, or by force, if needed. 

(He knew the weight of duty well - was trained for it since birth - yet it was the first time he couldn’t share this burden with Bi-Han. It felt wrong, it was wrong, but they both made their choices and now needed to live with consequences. Even if it hurted as hell.)

No, Kuai Liang had no time to heal, for he could not stop and allow himself to feel. He needed to keep himself busy, otherwise all the memories of the latest events would flood him and he would drown in a burning sea of anger.

Not just at Bi-Han.

At Liu Kang and himself.

Whenever he closed his eyes, he could recall all the Titans that came to their help. There were plenty of Kuai Liangs yet all had ice in their blood. There were plenty of Scorpions, yet he shared with them only the same mantle and nothing more. Not even their fire felt like his own. The more he wondered about it, the angrier he became at the cruel joke of fate - Kuai Liang could either have the unbroken brotherhood with Bi-Han as a cryomancer or be a Scorpion, but never be both. 

And this realization made his blood boil with anger he had never known before. For Liu Kang - his maker - took Bi-Han away from him no less than Shang Tsung’s sweet promises did. 

If father was alive, he would have assured him that Liu Kang must have a reason for that and he should never doubt the Fire Lord. Kuai Liang was a dutiful son and respected his father's wisdom.

(And yet, he was not free of doubt. Because Tomas was orphaned and it was not clear to them anymore how much it was Liu Kang’s choice and how much just a pitiful misfortune. Despite himself, despite common sense, Bi-Han’s resentment against god didn’t sound anymore as a mere pride and foolish thirst for power. With each passing day, all the haunting doubts sounded more and more dangerously like his estranged brother and Kuai Liang hated himself for that.)

The problem with fire was that it did not care if it was fed by love or hate. As long as the emotion was there, the fire would not burn out - but if you lost control over your own feelings, the fire would greedily burn hotter and hotter, until there would be only ash left. Kuai Liang still wasn’t sure, who would burn because of this the most - Bi-Han, he or Liu Kang.   

(Oh, the Fire Lord kept warning him to control his anger, to not let it consume him. And all Kuai Liang could do was to bitter laugh, because if Liu Kang was so worried, he should not give him the fire in the first place.)

That is why he couldn’t allow himself to stop in search for Bi-Han, in his duties to their new clan. Why he couldn't let all the repressed emotions to catch up with him. He was angry and this burning feeling was beyond his control to cool down.

Headcanon meme

[keyh0use]

Delicate

in honour of finishing delicate + the fic trailer + because I'm emotional + I don't actually know when I'll post either, have some headcannons from my SOA rafebarry fic that only I care about

☠︎︎ Rafe is the definition of institutionalized, needing structure and guidance to thrive.

☠︎︎ His time inside the prison wasn't wasted. Rafe learned many useful skills and bulked up considerably, he even attended therapy to learn how to control his temper and communicate in better ways, though there was still a lot of work to be done. Getting clean definitely helped.

☠︎︎ The Outer Banks didn't welcome Rafe home with open arms. The words cop killer stalked after him and haunted him late at night, remembering the blood and the gushing and the cries.

☠︎︎ Seeing Barry for the first time was a gut punch, waves of emotion the boy had spent years taming crashing over him. At least it looked like the situation fucked Barry up too, the older man immediately asking if Rafe had come to kill him.

☠︎︎ Tig was the one to take Rafe to pick out a motorcycle and give him some pointers on riding it. The two of them had a different relationship with eachother than with the rest of the club, Tig affectionately calling Rafe son instead of brother and always checking in on him.

☠︎︎ It seemed like wherever Rafe went, Barry happened to be.

☠︎︎ More often than not, Rafe would give in to Barry's invitations to hangout, both of them powering through the awkward conversations and shifty glances. Barry was trying to be like they were before, and Rafe wasn't sure if that was possible.

☠︎︎ Rafe knew Barry was trying, the boy just needed time.

☠︎︎ The Cameron family was in shambles and it hung over the patriarchs head like a target from the other snooty families in Kildare. Sure, Sarah had forgiven their father enough to keep in touch and Wheezie picked up the phone every so often, but it wasn't enough. Of course it wasn't. Nothing was unless it was exactly how Ward wanted it to be, which means Rafe flat out ignoring him just wouldn't do.

☠︎︎ As things start to heat up between the SONS and a rival MC, Jax decides they need extra help to maintain their front. Who better to hire to run the garage than a freelance mechanic who's already old friends with a patched member?

☠︎︎ Rafe just about melts into a puddle when he rolls into the lot to find Barry elbows deep in the guts of a Harley.

☠︎︎ Hating Rafe has brought the pogues back together, more determined than ever to foil his schemes like he's some sort of super villain. The accusations never end.

☠︎︎ Rafe keeps Barry's betrayal from the club, knowing what happens to a rat.

☠︎︎ A can of spilt paint is what finally sends Rafe stumbling over the edge of his finely drawn sanity. Red spreads across the pavement like the mess of sludge from Opie's brain matter that night in solitary after the brutal bludgeoning and Rafe has to empty the contents of his stomach into a bush outside the trailer. The flood gates open when Barry tries to comfort the boy, screams of anger spewing out with Rafe's dinner to fall around them, infecting their newfound sorta friendship. But Barry doesn't lose his cool, instead fighting Rafe until they can embrace. It's that very same night Rafe decides to open up and recount all the gory details of his sentence with a very compassionate, very apologetic Barry.

☠︎︎ Rafe has never admitted what he is out loud in fear of repercussions, once from his father and now from the club, unsure where he would stand. But Tig figures it out the first time he watches Barry and Rafe interact, the way they share inside jokes and shove eachother playfully and sneak lingering touches.

☠︎︎ Tig knows—Tig knows and he doesn't beat the shit out of Rafe like Ward has so many times. Tig knows Rafe is gay and all he does is press a kiss to the boy's forehead and pull him into a comforting embrace before the tears even have a chance to start leaking out.

☠︎︎ Time is filled with violent days followed closely by peaceful nights with Barry by his side, feeling content even as tensions between MC's grow and Ward tries again and again to force his way.

☠︎︎ Rafe confided in Tig that he wasn't sure if Barry was into him, let alone boys.

"He's at least half gay," Tig tells Rafe while peeking out from behind a curtain to watch Barry work. "Yup, I can see it in the way he wipes his hands with that rag."

It's ridiculous but makes Rafe laugh, feeling a little lighter at having someone to talk to.

☠︎︎ Meeting the Reaper for the second time in his short life has Rafe making the bold decision to come clean to Barry about his feelings, convinced he's not going to get lucky twice as the infection from the bullet wound spreads.

☠︎︎ Rafe doesn't have a moment to himself in the stark white hospital room, sterile environment feeling warm and safe in the company of his brothers, and Barry.

☠︎︎ Rafe and Barrys first kiss is bloody and violent, split lips and possessive hands.

☠︎︎ Being with Barry is the sunlight Rafe's been missing since he was eighteen and convicted of murder one. All those years he spent imagining what it would be like sinking toes into warm sand and feeling salt water on his skin that came from a source other than his own bloodshot eyes...only to come back and feel nothing. The OBX provided him no comfort, no happiness...but Barry snuck in and lit him up, kept him full of hope and want and potential.

☠︎︎ Taking his place on the older man's lap, Rafe patiently watches Barry sew his Men of Mayhem patch onto his cut—awarded to those who kill in the clubs name.

☠︎︎ Rafe would commit horrendous, rotten acts and return to Barry in the aftermath, violet knuckles kissed and every scar worshipped, before the older man would bury somewhere deep in him and ease away the last traces of guilt with each thrust.

☠︎︎ Tig confessing to the club he's been dating the call-girl the club did business with, who happens to be a trans woman, makes Rafe feel safe enough to disclose his own relationship.

☠︎︎ Later, when Jax and Rafe have a moment alone the boy is pulled into a full body hug, a rough hand on the back of his head caressing affectionately. "I love you, brother," Jax says softly, just like he has a hundred times before.

☠︎︎ Rafe is happy. There are internal issues with the club and with his family, still, but it's okay because things have been looking up. Besides, his relationship is perfect.

☠︎︎ As Ward's efforts grow desperate, his motives starting to present themselves.

☠︎︎ "This life...it ain't romantic or free. There's no path to anything that makes any sense. It's just dirty and sad, and we both know it's only going to get worse."

___________________________________________

I decided to leave out the NSFW headcannons because it's a whole other thing, but I'll post it soon

[linxprime]

Glamrock team personal battle styles

⚔ This means: fight with waepons 👊 This Means: Fight withouth weapons 🦾 This means: Fight with prosthesis 🐻Freddy: ⚔: Mostly uses his axe and shield, and impact weapons, only uses fire weapons if is necesray, since his, is a bazooka. 👊: Uses more his claws than his fists, his attacks are fast and pronunce, both with and without weapons.

🐰Bonnie: ⚔: Uses more strategy than brute force when welding a weapon. 👊: Agile and acrobatic up close, and use the moves of the enemy in his advantage. 🦾: Use them in advantage in the fight, uses the weights of his feet as hamers when kicking and the cannon of his arm when necesary.

🐔Chica: ⚔: Skilled with weapons, and more been a prodogy of fighting. But also good at aiming and shooting granade bombs. 👊: A prodogy of many fighting styles, like; taecuondo, karate, capoeira, boxing, kick boxing. To a point she made her own style with all of them.

🐺Roxy: ⚔: Uses more her weapons and strategy, specially white weapons. Her cuts are agile, living really pronounced scars. 👊: In this case she depends of her bite, speed and claws, and allways trys to attack from the back of the enemy. Also bery stealthy.

🐊Monty: ⚔: He uses mostly his impact weapons like his spiky club, and uses machete to give a final blow. He has amaizing aiming with his fire weapons. 👊: Full raw brute strenght, uses all his body + his powers to demolish or stun the enemy. But in life or death situations, he will use his feared bite to end the fight.

🌞Sun: ⚔: Uses more his shield and hammer, and doesn't have the best aim out of the twins, since he gets nervious when he shots the gun. 👊: Agile with his blows, and quiet fexible, doesn't use it much but helps him in the fight.

🌜Moon: ⚔: Uses his spear, giving powerful slashes to the enemy, and calmer and cooler when using their gun and his gunbow. 👊: Agile, acrobat and felxible, allways uses this in his advantage, and confuse or scare the enemy in the proces, along giving bery painful blows.

🕷Dj Swing MM: ⚔: Usually a shooter with his shutguns and sniper rifle, but talented with his other weapons, but only uses them when is drastically necesary. 👊: He is a prodogy boxer, and his blows are serious stuff, can demolish a whole wall or demolish an robot minion in one or two blows.

🌙🐱Linx: ⚔: Agile and uses her weapons mostly in distance from the enemy, prety much Scorpion or Kratos style thanks to her swadow whips. 👊: Uses only her legs to attack, and her kicks are serious stuff, one kick and fully brokes your bones to small shards. Also fully aerial in the fight thanks to her jumps. Also uses more water style fighting.

☀🐱Felix: ⚔: Only uses his weapons when is really necesary, sepecially his heavy weapon. 👊: Uses his contortionism for his fighting, and dance moves to attack. 🦾: Thanks to his custom protesis. He can do what he used to do. But also likes to ditache his arm and have longer range attack.

🌸🦊Tsune: ⚔: Uses all hear weapons and do combos. 👊: Fast and no stop untill the enemy is down, mostly uses kun fu, tai chi.

🛠🐰Lilif: ⚔: Not a fighter, but only uses her weapons when she is trheathened. 👊: Depends a lot of her powers whew is "fist to fist".

☠🦊Foxy: ⚔: An skilled worrior, mostly uses his hook and struty swords. even been really old, he can still bring a fight. 👊: Agile and study the movemnts of the adversary or enemy. 🦾: Uses his hook, and metalick claws with no mercy. Also, his leg can turn in a minigun.

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Since you said you're still taking asks for the headcanon meme... ahem, I couldn't resist...

♡ ✿ ☠ for Varda? :3

For the queen? Why not?

Minors DNI / 18+

HC game from this post

Warnings: Mentions of pain

☠ - angry/violent headcanon

In light are her power and her joy.

Light can not only scatter the darkness and show the way; it can also cause great harm. In the hands of a being like Varda, light is a literal weapon.

She has an aura of light around her, whether she is in corporeal or non-corporeal form. If she gets angry, this aura grows stronger and brighter. If she fights back, this aura spreads out, and the light is so bright it can blind people. It can even cause great pain to other Ainur. And the heat from that light is so strong that it can burn anything caught in its path.

✿ - Sex headcanon

She is very much in charge. And I mean very much.

Varda is the mistress/queen/my lady. She insists on being called by such titles during the act. Servitude and body worship are her preferred kinks, with her being the receiver. She also directs her aura and warms up her palms, for example, and runs it over a partner's arm or chest as a form of sensation play.

♡ - romantic headcanon

Her ideal romantic scene would be a night under the stars. Going to a field to watch the stars or meteor showers is what she loves the most.

She's not above bringing the stars home, either. Given her ability to create stars, Varda, instead of using candles, creates tiny stars to light up a dark room and has them hover and float all over the place the entire time.

Tags: @cilil @edensrose @wandererindreams @asianbutnotjapanese